Me and my friends, we’re animals. We spit curse foam at the mouth—fuck this, fuck that, fuck you.
Listen for a second. Don’t go away yet.
Me and my friends, we’re reckless. We die young. We don’t care what you think who you are who you think you are what you think. We don’t care what you think.
Wait. Wait just a minute.
Me and my friends, we get it. We get it all and we hate it. We’re not dumb and we’re not naïve. We’re the neo avant garde of fed-up punching bags in Small Town, Nowhere.
Listen a minute. Stay there a minute.
Me and my friends, we’re animals. They’re animals, these guys. They foam at the mouth—fuck this fuck that fuck you…
Don’t go yet.
Me and my friends, they’re animals. They’ll die young. They don’t care what you think.
Stay. Don’t leave yet.
My friends, they’re animals.
Take me with.
My friends, they’re animals, they’re animals, animals.
If you won’t stay then get lost ‘cause—
you’ll get hurt
stay with them get hurt
stay here get hurt
get lost or else ’cause
lost cause because
—me and my friends, we’re animals: you’re liable to get hurt.
Danny Judge’s short fiction has appeared in many literary journals, most recently Lunch Ticket, Twisted Vine, and Flash Fiction Magazine. He is the Founding Editor of The Indianola Review, a quarterly print journal. He lives in Iowa with his wife and son.