Persons living or dead

You have to imagine the last guy he ever drank margaritas at the mall with was like what hell Dave? Whole time I thought we were having a few laughs there. Talked mostly about the game. I didn’t know you were thinking all that. 

The other day you asked if I had been tromping out through the heavy drifts of snow in the backyard for some reason and I had to think about it for a minute to be sure. No it wasn’t me I said. We went out to inspect the scene together and learned that it had instead been a good-sized animal of some kind. Perhaps a bobcat if we have those here. Just going about its business. Taking a short cut. 

I used to try to explain to my friends and family that the characters in my stories are not literally them. Giving a brief unwanted lecture on what writing is. How things can be real but not true and true but not real. I think the disclaimers just made it worse. 

I know that’s just me with a different kind of hat on man. I’m not stupid. 

This morning when I went out to shovel the new light accumulation I saw your bootprints heading down the steps and out toward the street and I thought briefly of you at long last walking away from me for good. You were obviously just going to work but that’s the kind of sad shit you have to think about when you have this problem I have. Every single thing is always some other fucking thing. 

Punching yourself in your own face anew each morning but your fist is a metaphor and your face is also a metaphor. 

The punching is just standard punching.