His cats are throwing up everywhere. it is raining. The dog pees in puddles.
The problem is that I am standing in his kitchen; in an apartment on a sinister street on scummy landfill ridden with drab apartment complexes. The town is called Baggageport. Like Intercourse, Pennsylvania and Hell, Michigan.
When I talk about this, which I don't often, people smile and stare at their shoe laces.
They wrap things up, label their friends "depressed and dreaming" or "once spunky now sad".
Sighing and smoking and huddling there next to the dog... peeking out at the neat world.
Honesty can go to hell.
So, another step forward and nobody claps, the houses are too far apart.
Something vomits below me, I hear that, and I hear sirens. I can wrap myself up in this sky.
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