What’s a bucket?

Eve Blank and James Bowden

            It rained. I left. Worms hoisted themselves through the pores of my heart, if you can call an air-dried aorta that. An edge case, crippling commitment issues stemming from childhood trauma, flooded the apartment. I mean, first a drip then 27 drips but don’t worry babe, we bought carpet for a reason. See? No puddle. Okay, 200 drops is officially a stream, I was a boy scout, duct tape can fix anything, the water came, and then it just came and came and kept coming–what else was I to do but run? LA wasn’t made for rain. We only ever had fire drills (stop drop and roll) and earthquake drills (remain prostrate under a table) and neither response seemed appropriate at that point.
            I always wanted an ant farm as a child.

---

Eve and I have started trying out some collaborative writings and this is one of the first ones. This started as a piece she wrote, and then I came in and messed with it using a lot of the initial weirdness in content but particularly in tone and character. I quite like it! And I don’t think I’d have written such a piece sans her, so quite having fun with this whole collaborating thing. I mean, to be expected, I think. Gives me some *Rosebud* vibes @ Citizen Kane.