i'm that asshole cop
that writes speeding
tickets while i wait
to lead a funeral procession.

everyone is moving too fast.




- - - - - - -


I'm sitting in my office, which isn't really an office. It's a storage closet. With a desk that has broken drawers. And a computer. And a coatrack. And a handwritten sign that reads 'do not close door.' (The door was taken off its hinges two summers ago.) The light crackles and flickers all day.

I've been carpooling to work with my mom. (I don't want to talk about it.) And every night she asks me How was work? And I just start sobbing until we get home. She doesn't know how to deal with me.