I am the red parrot fish you watch in the Chinese take-out joint while you wait for your cheap dinner.

How did I get here, to this bar, to this seat, laughing with you, a man whose conversation is burnt toast sticking to the roof of my mouth.

RED PARROT FISH BY REBECCA DIMYAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 38

The other side of the bar is Antarctica. I go there for exploration and frostbite. That’s what his conversation does to me. I’m cold and desolate. Alone…

This post is for paying subscribers