You know, this year’s just been fucking crazy. I notice it in the dailies, an apocalypse-in-waiting from the headlines to the way mail carriers are wading through hurricanes in winter. Each season’s a splintered version of its former self. The summers are scorching as the Arctic wilts. It rains through January, drought in July, August is hearing voices for another Christmas wasted crying.

I notice it in the supermarket, its disheartened patrons, disgruntled clerks, working toward starvation only to spend it on the mortgage first.

Hey, whatever works, right? our leaders tell us, then turn away like the smell of us obstructs them. Now I’m young and naive, right? I wouldn’t know the difference between what’s wrong or right, and why would I? You seem to know me well- hell, the NSA probably knows me better than my mother, if she knew me as a number, that is- but I could say “fuck you” to her, and I can also pronounce the same for them.

Oh, we haven’t been introduced yet?

Yes, I am quite the little gem, a diamond that could rip you to shreds with my glare alone. My skills are gold, twenty-four carats and I stand atop a terrace of the stuff, a true labour of love melted down and sold for a fraction of the dollar’s worth you waste on inaction alone. And I may be prone by being polemical but no one should feel so cynical by twenty-eight.

I should still think I can change the world, rather than the fall of an empire you conspired to debase. It groans under the foundations as pieces of the basement are siphoned through the drainage pipes to be stripped down and flipped, profited from and trickle down economics?

Nah, that was such a foolish concept.

(As so many stories above it sway.)


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