Michael A. Kozlowski


Christmas Time

“He’s coming! He’s coming!”

Jack ran circles in the living room, hands waving in the air, yelling like a damn fool.

“Calm the fuck down,” I said.

“But Santa’s coming! It’s Christmas Eve!”

“For Pete’s sake, you’re 32 years old.” I rolled my eyes.

“But I’ve been soooo good this year!”

Susan rushed in from the kitchen. She joined hands with Jack. They started skipping in circles..

“Presents! Presents!” they chanted.

“Are you seriously telling…”

“Santa comes tonight!” they screamed in unison.

Holy fucktards! I have the weirdest roommates that ever lived. I look at the clock on the bureau. The dying light of the winter day cast beams of sunlight across its face.

“You know it’s only four in the afternoon?”

Eyes wide and mouths open, they looked like two baboons, each trying to figure out how to swallow the other.

“He’ll be here soon!” Susan cried.

They bounded up the stairs toward the bedrooms.

“We’d better get to sleep!” Jack yelled.

I pulled the presents I had bought them from the closest and ripped off the tags. Shaking my head, I wrote “From Santa” on new tags and placed the presents under our small tree.

“Fucktards,” I sighed.

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