Once I nearly fell off Riley’s houseboat and drowned. Now, I’m going to get my pants altered. Took the muscle relaxant. It’s nearly noon, but my hands are still near my fingertips. They say I’m adjusted, but not well-adjusted. Sometimes my skin melts off my face. Last night the sky gave me the silent treatment, but if you’re like me, you always keep a bag packed, under the bed. You never know. Driving out on Tunnel Road, usually I don’t miss myself until it’s too late. Riley was like that, too. I loved him like a brother. It happened on Good Friday. I don’t trust the county sheriff’s office. That’s why I asked the judge, Was he found hanged or did he commit suicide? What was Riley even doing in jail, anyway? That’s what I’d like to know.
Appears in the October, 2017 issue of (b)OINK