(found in a cold snowbank or whatever other cliché could be imagined, okay)
What is the price of the fare? I can have mother send you a check. I can have her send two, and I can tell her to keep one blank. It doesn’t matter what the price of the fare is. I can have mother send you a blank check.
I may shave my head. That’s the news from me. Maybe the eyebrows too. The woman at the salon gave me a sideways look, and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of shampoo and combs and really the whole world actually. I may shave it all off.
How is your chest? Mine feels heavier than ever. Mine feels like a ton of bricks is weighing down on top of it. More than that. Two tons.
I was in the museum yesterday. The art museum, looking at paintings. A boy ran up beside me, and he clutched at a fold of my dress. I looked down at him, and he looked up at me with big wide eyes.
I wonder if my eyes ever got so big?
He looked at me and said “All these people,” he said, “the ones who did the paintings,” he said, “well, they’re all dead now.”
“They’re all dead now.”
So I left the museum and just went searching for a bit. I didn’t find anything, so I just kept walking. Finally, I looked up and saw the sun. I figured that was enough searching for one day, so I just went back to the park and sat on a bench.
These two kids were playing tag, and one of them kept breaking the rules. There’s always somebody breaking the rules, using those broken rules to hurt somebody else. There’s always somebody, isn’t there? Right?
So, yes, I’ll have mother send the check. A blank check.