Spencer Eckart

We All Know a Guy Like This

He's the kind of madman who buys pre-boiled-and-peeled eggs to eat at home. He sleeps in the morning and does headstands in the afternoon. He has a million little tea pets but doesn’t drink tea. He keeps them in their boxes on a shelf like action figures. He donates a million dollars annually to stem cell research, which sounds good, but his reasons are nefarious. He wants to live forever so that he can watch the final nuclear sunrise, then plunge himself off of the world’s highest bridge— which he predicts will be above the stratosphere. He claims Phoebe Bridgers is his daughter, but they're estranged. I quickly verify this to be false but go along with it anyway. He leaves tuna cans out front every day and names all the cats that visit. He knows all their personalities, which ones you can pet and which will maul ya. He slides around the house in his socks Risky Business style. For reasons I'm unwilling to explain, I trust him with my life.  

Spencer Eckart lives in the Great Smoky Mountains. His work has appeared in HAD, Midcult*, The Bulb Region, Burial Mag, Pithead Chapel, and Maudlin House, among others. His debut collection, Blue Heron Inn, is forthcoming with Hesse Presse.