I cannot possibly attempt to pass off what follows as anything other than big fat steaming pile of shit. This story is shit out of luck. I was shit out of luck in writing it. The characters, the prose, the elevator, the verbiage, the lack of dialogue, all shit out of luck. But you know what, sometimes that happens.

These Brief Attractions are the result of live writing exercises. I sit down to write a short story specifically for this column, with no concept, no outline, nothing, and publish whatever comes out. In this case, it’s a steaming pile of shit. But who knows? Maybe you’ll read it and find something worth grabbing onto. Dare I admit that there exists themes here which may be useful? If not in this story, then certainly in another retelling.

Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. Proceed with caution. This is not my best work. In fact, it may be some of my worst. But we’re fucking running with it anyway. Now, without further ado …