Confessional Bags of ice give birth by night on the parking lot of a gas station. I’ve just paid 9 dollars to fill 6 coolers with ice for the 2nd time today. To answer all the questions: No, I am not having some huge party. I’m exhausted. Though you bore me to death, I’m looking for someone to talk to. The weather concerns us all. The idea behind my boss’s oft-used phrase, “thrown into the fire” may be to blame for this. He tells me fill the bottles, but I tend to listen to the wind howling over them instead of asking, “How fast?” I drive home showered by unromantic stardust. All the lights are porcupines, so the darkness is my closest friend. My life as a doomed comet seems further fragmented. The bass enters the song already marching. I struggle to keep track of all the pieces. To the guy who asked if I was hauling body parts I should have said “In a way” with what smile I could muster. Back |
