overcome by the stink of mildewed wash, i have
been three months behind in my rent for thirty years, my
countrymen do not love me. even my lines have
lines. we are getting old in a city where the old are
invisible, i have nothing new to eat and barely five minutes
to use the jane. and less…
Yesterday evening, my uncle walked through the front door exhaustively and planted his feet firmly on the carpeted floor he called home. He had that working man’s fever sweating off of the sides of his face. It didn’t help that it was slightly warmer than usual around this time of year in California. I greeted him not with my usual childlike hugs, but with a grin and teasing question - so, how was your day at work?
He replied, “I’m tired of this life.”
His tone was sarcastic but his body language was serious.