My goal in life is to have a regal apartment, comfortable desk chair, and a maintainable imagination. I’ll start here.
Instagram: @allisonleeb 🕷
We Are All Sorry
Karmen never knew it all but she did know the sun sets best when her head is clear and the windows only fog when her mind is in the bottle. She hasn’t had the best life, but she hasn’t had it bad enough to complain. She blankets herself with Cabernet and watches her dog chase his tail each night. What a blessing she thinks of her life, to come home with wine and paws and sit amongst the silence. She is a daily drinker, meaning, the drink drank her. Nobody ever saw Karmen lit up like a balloon, she only drank alone and always sank in the same pink chair. She is a skinny woman with thin lips and long black hair. She works as a spacey receptionist at a plastic surgeon’s office. She is cordial with her coworkers but her lack of cosmetic alterations makes her stand out amongst the crew. Her thin lips have taunted her since high school but she can't bring herself to numb up and face a new kind of pain.
Mind in Mexico
Jen was a frisky woman, poor as hell but free as the bible. She had long blonde hair that she wrapped in a scarf only because she was too frazzled to fix a whole head. She dressed in Goodwill findings and always wore boots. She made men turn their heads and it riddled her wiring. Her willingness to cause trouble often forced some of her own. Entertaining men became second nature, and robbing them of their time looked best in new shoes. With a full moon and half set of plans, she found her keys and walked into the night.
A Pound of Oranges
Dear Mom, I’m writing you this morning as I’ve had a battle with insomnia for quite some time. It’s really not the worst thing, I enjoy opening my window and letting what’s left of the night crawl onto the walls of my room. Lonliness doesn’t exist at 4am. I have coffee in hand and it looks like this page will soon see a few stains. You know it’s funny, my mug is chipped in the same place as yours. I think of you every morning as I take my first swig. I swear some mornings it tastes like home, or maybe it tastes like Folgers and a twisted sense of admiration. Either way, these beans have a way to clear the fog from my mind, meaning, my writing can only get better from here—