Lawrence Benner


Most of the writings here were originally published in the essay magazine The Weeklings between 2012 and 2016. 

WITH THE POSSIBLE EXCEPTION of those poor souls who have had their tongues removed by agents of the Inquisition, or those who through some unfortunate congenital deformation were born without a tongue, everybody loves licking things. Home to five thousand taste buds and sixteen muscles capable of working individually or in groups, the possibilities...

THERE IS A row of large rusted yellow dumpsters. People in blue coveralls scale the sides and dive in. They root around and toss their findings out to others standing on the asphalt. There are cries of triumph and delight emanating from within the metal bowels. A man with a megaphone shouts encouragement: "Very good, Maureen. That's Chicken Tikka....

An immense round water tower of a man named Sally trained me for the job. Sally was a black man, but he had the sweet lilting voice of a white Southern lady. He always sounded like he was just about to offer me a mint julep, which was disconcerting.

LIFE'S A LOUSY DEAL. Like I'm at a card table in a casino and some guy with dead eyes and elastic bands on his sleeves just dealt me the shittiest hand that's ever been dealt, and like a man I acknowledge it. I smoke my last cigarette and tie on the blindfold myself because c'est la vie, right? You only...

© 2021 Lawrence Benner. All rights reserved.
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