scraps of stories i couldn't finish

all this shit's been taking up space on my computer, so before deleting it i figured i'd do something constructive:

The first thing he remembers is his mouth. There is a feeling of detachment about his teeth, and when he probes over them with his tongue he feels as though he is kissing himself. In the dark he achingly stretches his neck and tries to picture Jimmy's Camaro.
It was an old Camaro, white and dirty with big round headlights. Jimmy loved that car.

He laid there in the grass staring at the night sky, laughing every few seconds. When I stepped closer I could hear him whispering to himself.
'You alright, man?' I said, laughing. 'I think these are yours.' I dangled the car keys, which I'd found on the grass a couple feet away, over his head. He didn't seem to care. He was transfixed. So I dropped the keys onto his chest, which landed with a jingling thud. 'People are gonna trip over you if you're not careful,' I said, and nudged him with my shoe.

Craig Erickson had enough money shortly after graduation to open a theme-based restaurant.

Stepping out of the fight with only a red spot on his left cheekbone, this guy was giving the cockiest interview of the event.

I couldn't figure anything out. I'd party all night and freak out in the morning that I'd done something stupid and couldn't remember. My attempts at college were brief and impulsive. Nothing in my life was working.
Then I read Joe's book. I learned to calculate the most precise, logical steps to go about my business. My drinking became spare, my partying minimal. I found that sex could be better if delayed. Everything was beginning to make sense.
Then I had a realization. it hit me one morning while i was peeing in the shower.

As I spin cookies in my ex girlfriend's mother's lawn, this guy in the back seat sits up and yells something incoherently into my ear. I tell him to shut up. This has nothing to do with him.

I don't call Sara. Most of her stuff is crammed in this laundry basket I sat next to the front door. I'll throw it all out eventually. But if she wants the tapes back she'll have to come get them herself.
It's been two weeks. She came for the computer and said she'd be back sometime in the next few days.

The other night I had a dream I was kissing Mussolini. We were outside a barn at the edge of a cliff somewhere, surrounded from all sides by waves of bright yellow ducks. Immediately I woke Patty and told her to write it down. This one was different, I explained. She pulled out the notepad and scribbled as quickly as I could talk.

The weather's getting worse here. I've been wearing a coat everywhere, which is something I haven't done in years. Nancy has to remind me to grab it sometimes when my shift is over. I'll often leave it on the back hook for weeks at a time before remembering to pick it up. It's just a cheapo thing I got at a thrift store anyway.

You're too sloppy drunk to eat pie. But you insist. That waitress is giving you a look like she's worried you're going to puke into your water glass. You don't think about any of this. Pie sounds filling tonight.

Cory's not in the band. He knows this, I know this. But he gets the rent paid on time so I let him ride around with us and talk big. He says he can play the bass but I've never heard him. Nothing that he says is ever very consistent. Tomorrow I'll ask him to show us a riff or two and he'll act like he doesn't know what I'm talking about. He's fat and dumb and over time we've all grown to hate him.
'Cory,' I shout over the sound of Baba O'Reilly blaring from the speaker.

I stood at the refrigerator for the second time that night and smoked a cigarette. I was restless. I really didn't know what I wanted to do. The fridge was nearly empty, for one thing. There were some condiments, cheese and tortillas, but that was all. So hell. I decided to go for a walk.

Jack wants very badly to relive the situation. There was a bubble in time when punching the Carney in the face would have made sense. When he was laughing with those big nicotine-stained teeth, breaking one of them off would have been, if not justified, at least partially excusable. Who wouldn't have busted the guy's lip for the things he was saying?
But Jack blew it. Going back now would be an act of insanity. He knows this. He carries his cotton candy by his side, looking for someplace to dump it. It feels ridiculous carrying cotton candy at a time like this. It feels ridiculous walking with his sister and two little nieces in pink dresses. The Carney is in the same spot. Jack knows this without looking back. Looking back would confirm his thoughts to Missy. Missy is carrying a stuffed pig that she won from the balloon toss. The girls are five or six steps ahead of them, laughing and pointing at things.