There are three things left in the room. A Gibson guitar, a sleeping bag, and the erroneous impression that I loved him. The first two things will stay with me. I'll pawn the guitar but keep the sleeping bag. Mine is getting old. The latter, I imagine, will stay with him forever.
I pull the vacuum from outside the door, a Hoover that I brought from home. It sucks up all the trouble that we made. It picks up wrappers bottle caps and ashes. It cleans up very well. He's...[read more]