i have no need for change. it's meaningless to me (in most senses).
so i plop $6.24 (exact change) on the counter. he throws pillows filled with guilt at me. and i hurriedly leave as he's shouting threads of vitriol that could trap me there forever, with my bags of guilt (what else do i have?)
commuting home is easier now. we stand on the backs of alligators.
brave men fit them for harnesses.
but it's all good here. until a beautiful women steps out of her house.
nothing good can come from it.
my alligator lets me off at my house.
i only have to blow on the front door at a certain angle, my shelter has been charred so many times; touching it might make it collapse.
my house is the only one with no electricity or running water; noone knows why.
but i've learned to improvise.
a man on the street once told me, "it's better to be adaptable than to have no need to adapt."
i asked him "why?" but he was gone.
i unload my haul of guilt next to my collection of desires; seems fitting.
no. i'll have them pad the totem of regrets; it's much more delicate. and maybe if i make them more comfortable, they'll stop haranguing me every night.
every evening the floor gives out, and worse, nothing to hold onto. but while i'm falling, a fish hookΒ Β always finds it's way to my chest and sinks into my heart. and i just dangle there for an hour or more ("where do i keep these things?").
the floor comes back (as it always does), frozen solid. i don't know where it goes but it is not to the core of the Earth.
as per ritual, i'll give it painful fit of body heat; i know where i'm sleeping tonight.
i don't get any visitors, but if i did, i'd like them to be comfortable.