tender_square
|
he left a crumpled carton of boost (vanilla flavour) on the porch, just outside the front door. a small single serving he chugged and threw for me to find and pick up when he's sixty-three years old and knows where the fucking trash can is. i marched up the steps, picked up the piece with two timid fingers and dropped it into his mail box marked "upper." "merry christmas," i said.
|
230820
|