Why don’t you quit your job, she says.
It’s not that simple. I need insurance. What if I get cancer. What if I have to spend eight hours a day in chemo getting my blood poisoned. Brain erased. Plus commute. It costs a lot for them to kill you slowly. What if I get someone pregnant. The baby gets cancer. What if I can’t provide. What if my rent goes up. What if I had to move. To get an apartment you need good credit. To get good credit you need to borrow money. To borrow money you need to have money. To have money, you need a job. Don’t you get it. I work, then come home. Go to bed early. I got a better shot at cancer than at a girlfriend.
Quit your job, she says. She lives in France with a coke dealer slash model. She’s pretty. He pays for everything. She insists. Spending her money makes her less of a woman. Her husband was rich. She must have enough to never work again. Still, a man must pay. Don’t you get it.
An old Chinese woman backed into my car. All stereotypes are true. A Mexican stole my bike. Jews took money from my bank account, for some legal matter. You agreed to this, they explained after hold music. In the fine print. A hillbilly tried to beat me up for fucking his hooker girlfriend. I saw a funny headline about a young grandmother arrested sucking cock for meth. The mug shot looked like the shaman in a diorama of early man. It was my cousin. When I was fourteen we went swimming at the family reunion. I beat off to her for ten years. When her daughter hit puberty I started beating off to her Facebook photos. Now the daughter has a daughter.
I need an up-to-date phone for the insurance company app. To take videos of the damage to JP Morgan Chase & Company’s car. I need wi-fi to upload the video so they can deny my claim and I can pay three grand for new pieces of plastic so the car doesn’t make people think I’m poor. Don’t you get it.
I was in line at the grocery store. Buying eggs for dinner. All cage free; they passed a law. Behind me a girl. I smiled at her. She smiled back and I had no words. Ahead of me a woman I knew working in Hollywood. She had a better job. Thought I was a worm even then. I’ve been out three years and I could tell she only half recognized me. Looking at me thinking: what is that.