The Parking Lot Sparrows (3)

I didn’t want to move—how terrible, to admit that you were stuck, frozen in the middle of the parking lot, watching two fags suck face?

I think this is a statement rather than a question.

Why was the snitch at the supermarket to begin with? It seemed a little random. Oh wait, I see (has reread); maybe clarify that he works there? Otherwise, it's momentarily confusing why he can just take the keys.

I like how this is structured, I like how matter-of-fact everything is, and how, within those matter of fact boundaries, the whole story is eventually coloured in. And I still like how all the narrators can still have their individual voices, and I have nothing left to critique.

Karim smiled to himself.

This part confuses me about where the narrator is stranding--where is he standing so that he can view what is going on in the car but can't be seen? might want to clear that up? [Might just be me though, haha]

Probably would have jumped your bones in the theatre.

Actually, from being around all the guys I know, I'm pretty sure bone should be singular there? and you spelled theater the British way--I'm not sure if that was intentional or not.

Silence but for little muffled castanet calls when their belt buckles touch.

that is so Decemberists.

but [s]t[/s]he never saw me

but he never saw me

Again I can't do anything that is like a critique. This is overpoweringly beautiful. I don't think there is anything else I can say? You do this amazing job of twisting together prejudices and weird misunderstandings into this horrible story that I want to read but don't want to read. It's so sad. So so so so so sad.

And something I forgot to say in the last critique and kept forgetting to tell you is a love the play with Stark's name. Stark. It's stark.

I kind of hate you, you know. I'll have to revenge myself by writing The Party Killers and being amazing the first time around.