Soy sauce spills on couch cushions. He yells at the take-out man; I take cover behind a crab rangoon. Sour straws and premade soup, presumptuous of before, quite possibly, indefinitely. He notices when I cower. He says, “Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.” I recover the soaked tile with paper towels. My hair is weaved into carpet fibers and he says we are connected in that way. I’ve never been one to complain, I would just swallow up rope and let my stomach receive the knots.
March 13, 2019
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