These are reserved for the rich. My Honda is a strange combination of patchy white and filthy brown. A suitable practical language that s what I am all about, that s my place. I used to hate poor people for the simple fear of not being able to get by. Now all of the judgements drift upon the dead leaves piled along the curb.
Nothing really matters.
I have seen things. I have touched the prickly fangs of something bleak and unending and it s trying to break me as I sit trying not to think about Lilly. Last night when the news was on I couldn t have cared less what was happening. The series of images flashing through my living room from some unimaginable jungle resembled a Hollywood film never even phased me. I changed the channel.