I'm even starting to say it.
When Doreen was leaving for good and ever, was on her last walk-through to be sure the last four years of her life were completely boxed up, we'd of course had to have it out a little. The main thrust of her accusation involved me just wanting to feel young again. That I'd never let that part of myself go completely, like other men did when it was time to grow up.
I hadn't had any accusations for her to feed on, to cultivate, to take with her and coat with saliva like a pearl. Just apologies, and very little eye contact, and one last offer of the apartment, which we both knew had just been a gesture, as it had been mine when we'd met.
For dinner I ate sliced deli turkey straight from the container. Hang around a hospital for even ten minutes, you'll see the nurses huddled up at the handicapped entrance, stabbing cigarettes into their mouths. Hang around chefs long enough, you'll find us in the fast-food drive-throughs of the world. There we'll be, walking out of the gas station with a bag of chips for dinner, so we can have enough energy to plate some salmon at sixty-per.
The world doesn't make sense.
I tuned the news back on.
The eyewitness—a senior citizen in a tracksuit with actual stripes on the sleeve and legs—was telling her story about finding the bodies.
I watched the woods behind her, where the camera didn't mean to be looking.