MicroHorror

It was all over between the two of them. Henrietta had made that quite clear.

And so Alexander went about the business of removing all traces of her from his life.

He wrapped up the faded rosebush in some butcher block paper. On his way home, he threw it in the dumpster behind Penrod’s Flower Shoppe.

The bust of Shakespeare–a gift from Henrietta on the occasion of Alexander’s thirty-fifth birthday–met a similar fate in a trash can behind the library.

The Harley–or rather what remained of the Harley, for one can only be so neat in such matters–fit tidily into one of the garbage cans down at the DMV; the eagle and flags were left at the VFW; the four-masted schooner Gaelic at the Yacht Club; the lightning bolts at the power company and so on and so on.

For the life of him, Alexander couldn’t remember when breaking up had been so much fun. It was like taking apart a jigsaw puzzle. Still, he swore this was the last time he’d get romantically involved with a tattooed lady from the circus. It was so much easier disposing of regular old, plain vanilla body parts.