Getting Laid

“Crow!” she screamed. “God, crow!”

His hips continued to slam against hers. He was close and all those shots were making the room spin.

“What?” he asked through a clenched jaw.

“Crow like a goddamned rooster!”

“That’s… what?”

There, that spasm. Just a matter of seconds.

“C’mon. Please, for me,” she whimpered. “I need it.”

He threw his head back and crowed.


She moaned, she screamed, she bucked and writhed.

The neighbors banged a broom against their ceiling.

He collapsed, rolled over, fell asleep.

In the morning she was gone. He wasn’t surprised.

After puking in the bathroom, he drank a glass of water and poured, one, two, three aspirin into his palm. He rubbed his temples and fished another two out of the bottle.

The kitchen was dark. He flipped on the lights, stumbled to the fridge, and grabbed a beer. All five pills disappeared into his mouth followed by a quarter of the bottle.

His eyes caught something.

There was a note on the stovetop.

He shuffled over and picked it up.

Thanks! Keep the oven on low. Good luck.

The corners of his mouth turned down.

He opened the oven—

An egg.


Claire Webber is a student from the majestic Pacific Northwest. She plans on persuing her childhood dream of being an archeologist or, since today's job market is so uncertain, reverting into a zygot.