I appear to be in a kitchen, lying on the floor. Down in the world of kitchen cabinet doors, stains running, Large white tiles.
Faint fridge humming, can’t quite hear a gurgling slug, recently salted, slowly growing, bubbling.
Amongst dust Detritus Little husks Bits of corn A human hair Pencil shavings Eraser rubbings Drippings Sinkings Fridge grime Rot A coin Faintly winking
Fifty cents. I make a curious sound.
I place my forehead on the cold tiles and ponder it. Fifty cents.
My diaphram spasms.
Fifty cents. Payment due? Fifty cents. Coincidence or? Fifty cents. Extraordinary. Fifty cents. Not my level reach of blue. Fifty cents. Left for me. Fifty cents. But by who? Fifty cents. Makes no sense. Fifty cents no fucking sense.
My stomach tightens, air rushes tears fly I curl into a foetus I roll on the floor I clutch my painful laughing sides, can’t breathe, gasp quick gasp fuck what
That’s how it happened to me, When I knew I’d be okay. That happened to me, so I know, heart, For you it might be any day.