Last Call for Unicorns

by Shaina

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

I love you.

I love licking batteries, but batteries aren’t food.  And it’s not good for you.  Take the batteries out of your mouth, and put them back under the couch cushion where you found them.

Batteries?  Why?

The metallic taste is truth for me.  They’re cold on their own, round.

I don’t know why I love you, but I do, and I don’t even think you’re a good person or anything.  I don’t even know you.

These things happen.


Some people like to lick batteries.  Justification for society’s sake is not the only justification.  Reasons have multiplicity.

I think you’re beautiful.

You’re drunk.

Everyone says that, but I’m not.

Facts are not always bracketed to connotations.

Someone at the bar told me you’re a unicorn.



Facts are not always bracketed to connotations.

I want to marry you.

These things happen.

What do I do?

Sleep on it in a pair of wool socks so you don’t get cold feet and then meet me in Vegas.


Does your place have heat?


Ah.  Let’s postpone the wedding to our next life.

But I love you now.

Meet me at this bar in ten years’ time.  We will always have Paris.


I believe that’s what they say.  It’s from something.

What’s your name?

I’ll see you in ten years.  Right here.

We’ll always have Paris?