Cheating on the Bechdel Test


Starbucks on Conduit Street in London – © Google 2018

“She’s right Monet, Mum, but an expert at oblivescence. Can’t even remember my cell number to call me.”

“Stop trying to be epigrammatic, Jilly. Just say that the little tart can’t be bothered with you after your one night stand.”

Jilly and her Mum Sophia were having their weekly chat over tea at Starbucks on Conduit Street. The younger woman, hardly out of her teens actually, wrung her hands against the edge of the table as if it were wrought iron instead of wood. Sophia, who had always exuded sophistication and confidence, even when she was her daughter’s age, kindly tolerated the angst of her only child while examining the cheap vase sitting between them as if it were a spot of rust on a Lamborghini Venero.

“Are you trying to tangle my brain?” Why are you always so critical?”

“My dear, if anything, I’m attempting to tenon your rather random associations. Perhaps if you hadn’t overslept, you’d be able to consider this situation more objectively.”

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At Gunpoint


Image: International Business Times UK

“Admit it. You voted for Donald Trump. I know you did.”

These were the first words Colton heard as he woke up. Angelique was pointing a .45 caliber handgun at his face.

“Wait. What? What are you talking about?”

Angelique and Colton lived in a four bedroom flat on the second floor of a building in San Francisco’s Richmond District along with two other “flatmates.” The election was a week ago. It seemed like the City, Oakland, and several other Bay Area communities, along with major population centers across America, were burning figuratively and literally with hate and fear over a Donald Trump win and what everyone thought it would mean.

“God damn you, Colton, how could you? I thought we were friends.”

Colton’s head had cleared thanks to the sight of the firearm pointing at him from less than three feet away. “What the hell are you doing with that thing, Ang?”

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