This is first thing Wednesday morning, although the sun won’t be up for hours.
Most people right now are in bed and dreaming. Falling. Barefoot. They say dreams where your teeth fall out betray worry. I don’t sleep nights, anymore.
Somebody’s elbow slaps mine, and some of my Heineken splashes out onto my sneaker. It blends in evenly with the other stains already settled in there. The unspilled beer is Amanda’s now.
©2004 by Karim Pearson