Fat Anteaters

Fat German strong men looking down, chomping gum at the pretty boys with their pink, sharp nails. Those nails, only good for scratching in offence, but useless when it comes down to picking up cents from the table. Sissies have been defeated.

She said, look at those bulls with their thick, 4K necks. Of course they’ll win in this kind of competition; they chew soil every day like anteaters. Americans here are good only for singing Sabrina Carpenter and sounding sassy. Turn off the box, baby, time for nail polish. Why do I have to deal with my mind all the time? I’m still stuck with MA sentence: chicks need to trust their needs and nature. What a Joker.

Look at him, the worst BRO a sister could have. Dog fixing his phone, dirty T-shirt, one sock, two visible toes. Just decomposing there. His thigh slung over the arm of the armchair, gaze glued to his phone.

Don’t do that dog, you’ll break your screen.

Or maybe your voice will do that.

Or your face.

Pimple head.

Miserable.

I hate him. I’m sure he’s watching girls on his phone and that’s why he holds the cushion on his lap. Humper.

Funny, the only moment today he actually took his eyes off the little screen was to listen to that writer on TV. That aged steak, soon to rest in peace, started to read one of his short (porno) stories in plain day. He was watching TV and I was watching him, disgusted and confused. His reek after football in the morning stinks up the room with a scent I already noticed yesterday, when I was out. Dang Marcus, thick neck.

My brother and his brain. It’s like scrolling through nothing. Swipe your finger in the air and you just get uncensored verbal junk. Our parents should really throw in some genital words now and then when talking to him, maybe then he’d actually pay attention.

Better to leave the room, time for hydration.

Go on, fat ass, bring me a Coke.

It’s four in the afternoon, mum is going to notice that.

She’s already given up on me, you should save yourself and redeem me.

Why do guys all share the same kind of sweat?

Cold soles on the tiles expensive, FA keeps telling us. How hot is it today? 33? 34? Like yesterday, but not like last week. Last week I couldn’t sleep dressed, and I had to turn off the fan because it made me feel like I needed to wee. I even laughed when I decided not to take a shower before bed, what’s the point? A little hop between the living room and kitchen. Another summer. Our favourite part of the year. I just need to adjust for my missing class girls, the best you could have. In fact, I thought this year everyone was the best. It’s only been a week, and I already miss talking crap, figuring out politics, whatever the hell the story was about mortgages. I didn’t even get that. I’m 14, not old like in my twenties. Cold. Water. Coke. Let the shiver begin, like the kiss with ice Marcus, the other German, gave me. The new German guy who lives nearby, not the TV one.

I saw broad shoulders coming out of the public bathroom, barefoot, front-flipping into the pool. He came over and touched my skin. He claimed he was warm, but he was as cold as the water I’d just taken from the fridge. I noticed his slightly dirty nails and that scent, which is disgusting on my brother but somehow makes me bite my lower lip. Delicate. Blood. Smile. He leans in, mouth close to mine, and bites that same lip; tasting the blood. New sensations. FA says Germans eat soil. When they’re babies, they let them play in the dirt so they can build antibodies as big as cranes. He knows because he’s Polish, and sometimes he let me play too, I think I remember. I’m just thinking that when I’m old, like nineteen, I’ll definitely marry an anteater and watch our baby grow up strong.

What a summer it’s already been.

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