Angel
Cameron Darc
The first man is the only one that kills you.
—COLETTE, La Naissance du Jour
Who is Angel? Who am I.
Have you ever loved a mirror?
Laughed, on suicide watch, until Kool-Aid spilled
The first man is the only one that kills you.
—COLETTE, La Naissance du Jour
Who is Angel? Who am I.
Have you ever loved a mirror?
Laughed, on suicide watch, until Kool-Aid spilled
What most people don’t know is that most of your town butchers are on some kind of pill, powder, or liquid, to get them through the day.
I
am the only man to come to Las Vegas w/an ex-gf and not fuck her—arriving two nights early on my own to hike up in
The summer she was without anyone
and I had just left the other girl
in Jersey City,
Molly and I kissed at her house. We were adults
who lived with our parents. She seemed like
He was too poor to erect an everlasting monument in her likeness, all he could afford were words.
I’m trying to do this story to get Kim’s feelings out there, but there seems to be a lot of secrecy and rumors about her death as if people are ashamed of how she died instead of why she died…
That was my youth: I developed a sickness, a ruinous crush on the man at the filling station
We chased the tail laid before us. Scratching and sniffing our way to pain. We took turns leaving consciousness for a few seconds.
I was stationed in Osh, a forty minute flight south of the capital. I had
a decent sized apartment
1. A bottle of orange wine – half a packet of cigarettes.
2. You caught at the bar the space so crowded that people were practically caught under your armpits – grinning nervously, two pina coladas in hand.
3. A kitchen dance – or two.
4. Luther Vandross.
Gone, like T9 texting, is the once exciting novelty of being important, popular, scandalous
One night—which was, as it turned out, my last night camming
I knew the talk about a baby was another red flag, but the more uncontrollable Amelie became, the deeper I got hooked. I couldn’t go back to what my life was before. I think it had been drowned the
I am not sorry about most things I’ve done; I really do try my best to be good.
My opponent was curly-haired and perpetually smirking. Everything around him – his fancy collared shirt, shoes, wristbands, tennis bag – was emblazoned with an Adidas logo
But her coup de grace was when she started bringing a white boyfriend to our parties. He was a real champion. His name was John.
I try to imagine the various people the specks of bubble gum had belonged to. Try to give them faces and purposes.
gen x girls grew too cool to touch and millennials gayed the world the rest of the way limp in their piteous attempts to save it.
The hangover was ruining the romance. Last night I woke up a friend and made her drink wine—Chateau 2016. I had to deal with my nerves somehow.
We started as open, NOT poly. This was a very important distinction to us, despite not having a working definition of either types of relationships. It was, we both agreed, substantially less cringe
By March of 2016, my cousin Josh and I were practically flat broke. We’d been having an incestuous and adulterous affair, one that elevated his title to “cuzband” (he hated that term). Four years
Sometimes I think I won’t understand what it is that I’ve lost until I write a book about it.
One night I was so drunk, I couldn’t feel my face.
I was drinking bitters and soda with lemon, my new signature drink. It has .03% alcohol, less than a bottle of kombucha.
Is this new relationship self-sabotage in disguise, or is it the cure?
Garielle's longest, most peculiar, most particularized book. A sure-to-be collector's item. Not be be missed!