You don’t beg to be weak. Hopes are not expensive. Dreams are cheap. You can feel it in the summer evenings. Couples out trying to hurrah up the final late-ish days. Children recognize the end of summer is here almost. Time to go back.
Almost getting up and on the bus is back. Those days actually end faster than now. Now that the head on my shoulders in resting on the greasy pillow. It is crinkle-y and my neck and ear itch because of it. The semis roar past me constantly on the highway beside the motel.
I can hear the room above me. There is the whine of the television, and I think a woman turned on the shower. I think.
But the itching is terrible. It crawls up my arms through my bed sheets. I slap at the lamp next to the bed.
“What the fuck?” I said out loud. My fingers and joints hurt and ached hard. “Damn it.” I swiped at the lamp again and nothing. I try again only to hit the remote that is bolted to the table. I think I break my pinky on the outside edge of it.
Sometimes I don’t think that Yudsilia really wants to be apart of this relationship anymore. I shake my hand in pain.
I mean, she hasn’t called me in years.
My hand located the switch and the bulb pops to life. My legs are covered in fleas.
“Butterscotch.”