An evening at Ameretto’s

He said he hates this place.  The house disgusts him.  In the isle  between his door and the fridge, a dog takes a shit.  He stares back up at us blank.  No one has ever told him not to.   I sit at home and figure, Id type this on word where no one can see but she’s taken that from me too.  I wonder if anyone gets how hard it is to keep flowing when you’ve got so much to keep you down.  

 

I wish I could fly away on wings of kerosene and burn everything- his ugly old house.  My tent out back.  The back pack full of meth.  All of it.  Instead I’m just sitting there watching the animals shit everywhere while he says- 

“See what I mean?”

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