because I wanted to see something other than my mother blowing out the tip of her finger, I paid two drunk brothers the same amount to turn and stare at each other.  after a couple gay jokes and while I abused myself with body language, one of the men became blacker than seemed possible and the other man sang him a song.  every day of my life is yours to believe my ears.  

I love my mother but her sadness is that of an invisible woman with the power to shrink herself.  suicide doesn’t exist until it happens and by then it doesn’t matter.