by Aaron J. MARKO

One day, not so long ago, Agnes War­ring­ton was stand­ing at the kitchen sink, peel­ing car­rots peace­ful­ly, when she heard her hus­band grunt­ing and swear­ing from be­hind her.

“Fuck­ing oranges.”

Agnes looked over her shoul­der to see Lar­ry fum­bling with an or­ange. It was al­ready look­ing less like an piece of fruit than a mass of pulp. Lar­ry threw the fruit at the cup­board where they kept their drink­ing glasses.

“i swear to god, Agnes, if you bring an­oth­er or­ange in this house again, I’m go­ing to kill you.”

“Lar­ry, I want a di­vorce,” replied Agnes as she turned around to face Lar­ry, “I know you’re fuck­ing the pa­per boy.”

Agnes stormed out of the house, leav­ing be­hind sev­er­al un­fin­ished oil paint­ings which she in­tend­ed to sell. It took a mo­ment for Lar­ry to re­al­ize what had just hap­pened. he ran to the door just in time to see her peel­ing out of the dri­ve­way in his 1954 Cadil­lac. He did­n’t even both­er to run af­ter her. Lar­ry closed the door, walked back in­to the kitchen, picked up the phone and called the pa­per boy.

“You can come over now, she’s gone.”

Lar­ry hung up the phone and lit a cig­a­rette. Tonight was­n’t go­ing to be so bad af­ter all.

Filed under Fiction on April 27th, 2005

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