Truck Wash Blues
I accidentally stumbled into a bit of money. It wasn’t a lot– a fraction of what I actually need. And it came to me not for the quality of work performed, but more from a place of pity. Not that the origin mattered. Bruised pride did not keep me from cashing the check. It was enough to stock the pantry of poverty- cheap, processed, convenient portions of sadness to later be microwaved in solitude. But even that was a stretch, given the skyrocketing costs of living. So I cancelled future meals for the sake of more immediate beers. Because it was just that kind of day. It was inevitable that I would find myself drawn to that familiar little hill. The odometer of existence was on …
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