Almost at Home
Driving home in our spanking-new SUV,
she said, “White noise,” and I heard,
“Wet nose.” Then I said, “Why not?”
She thought I’d said, “Wipe snot.”
In Munich, as in Berlin, the links between
naturists and socialites were all too
evident, the excitement, though, not nearly
so great. “Take me,” she said, slyly.
“To what?” I replied. After all, she was
still behind the wheel. “Stimulation,”
she said, thoughtfully taking up the cause
of atheism, anarchism, and other
such propensities. Political currents were
rampantly running, nearly upon us.
“Turn left,” I said. “Bereft of what?”
Her most pugnacious manifesto.
Halvard Johnson was born in Newburgh, New York, and grew up in New York City and the Hudson Valley. Having lived in Puerto Rico, Germany, and Japan, he currently resides in New York City, but spends his quality time mostly in San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico. "Almost at Home" is reprinted with permission from Organ Harvest with Entrance of Clones (Hamilton Stone Editions, 2007).