“Go home, you’re getting crazy.”
Oh, my sweet motorcycle riding, cat loving co-worker,
what if I’ve been there for as long as I’ve lived?
I don’t know what the other side looks like.
Probably just as crazy, huh?
Everything feels like the apocalypse.
I know. I know. The word is as loaded as a baked potato.
Just imagine flames and feelings that aren’t yet in the registry.
I see people begging or asking for donations on Higgins Road
on my way home from work.
There’s no rotation. It’s always a new person. I scrounge my car.
Here, take it.
This is everything on me.
No, keep the lollipop.
I don’t need any more sweets.
I always look the person deep in the eyes until mine burn.