rosario raze i shove what's left of my life in a cardboard box and throw it in the back seat. his car is lined with green leather. it takes three tries to close the passenger side door. you have to slam it, he tells me. he says it's a shame the bachelor is so much like the married man. he drives me home as night refuses to fall around us. i ask what it was that drew him to teaching. he seems bothered by the question. he claims nothing guided him to what would become his life's work. things happened. that's all. his voice is as short and clipped as his body is bloated. he swerves to avoid a driver who can't colour between the lines, and i wonder if we're doomed to die behind the wheel, or if this is just another quick correction from the pen of a god who never shows his face to us. 230730 what's it to you? who go blather from