Pennifold



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  1. Public Bookmark 49

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    They’re not poems or songs or lyrical sentences. They’re bugs in the grass and bare feet in a hammock and skin against skin in dirty quarry water. They’re years upon years of knowing there’s something out there waiting for them with no name and that makes Eddie angry enough to want to scream. He could have had Richie this whole time.

    *

    They just killed a clown, Richie can't sleep and sometimes it's okay to just forget all that and dance with the forgotten love of your life.

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    30 May 2020

  2. Public Bookmark 66

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    The first time Richie kisses Eddie is an honest to god accident. The uncorking of a steady, eighteen-year-long brew of hormones and puberty and the inexorable pull of those goddamned red shorts.

    The next time he kisses Eddie has less of a clear-cut answer.

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    26 May 2020

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “If you were in LA, I’d invite myself over to your apartment, and bring you bad takeout, and we could have like, a movie night.”

    Eddie huffs a quiet laugh. “What, would you climb through my window?”

    “Nah, dude, we’re forty, I’d use the front fuckin’ door,” he says, gratified to hear Eddie’s snort of laughter on the other end of the line. “You’d be on the top floor anyway. Penthouse shit. I’d fall and break my skull open trying to get in.”

    “No you wouldn’t,” Eddie says. “Your head’s like titanium. Thickest skull around.”

    “You’re the worst,” Richie whines. “Be nice to me when I’m bleeding out on the ground outside your beautiful Los Angeles apartment. Cradle me.”

    “I can’t,” Eddie says. “You’re too heavy.”

    “Guess I’m not allowed to die, then,” Richie says.

    “Nope. Not ever.” Eddie pauses. “You’re still allowed to crawl in my window, though. You’re the only one who ever was.”

    --

    Richie catches up on a few decades' worth of phone calls.

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    16 May 2020

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    "We promised to confide in each other, and cherish each other, and sustain each other, and all that jazz.”

    Stan stares at her, blinks twice.

    "And right now, that means going back to your horror-show hometown, and facing your trauma, and potentially killing a demon. Together."

    ---

    Or: When Mike calls from Derry, Patty answers the phone instead.

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    16 May 2020

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “How have you been here like, five hours and you’re running my shitty life already,” Richie grumbles, stifling a yawn. “Are there type-A dogs? Is that a thing?”

    Hot dogs for breakfast, courtesy of chef Richie, who wonders aloud if this is like, cannibalism before he puts it on a plate in front of him. Being a dog sucks, Eddie thinks gloomily, thoughts thick with visions of steel-cut oatmeal and green juices and honeydew melon, although his new taste buds have decided that hot dogs are actually just fine. His mind is the same, unfortunately, and he has to keep himself from thinking too hard on macros and his sodium intake and whether or not hot dogs are gluten-free, because he’s already got a fragile grip on everything like this and he thinks he’d lose it entirely if he did. He’d spent forty years knowing his body, every little thing about it, maintaining it carefully, like a temple, and now he doesn’t know the first thing about it. In fact, he has no idea if dogs can even have gluten allergies.


    After Derry, Richie is caught in the throes of grief, and Eddie is a miniature American Eskimo/Pomeranian cross.
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    16 May 2020