Finding something I wrote in all earnestness when I was young, when I so earnestly wanted to please.
Cleaning deep under my desk, I find something that makes me wish I'd cleaned sooner.
Connect Four pieces clattering on the table like a slot machine jackpot.
One guy grunts at the weights, another groans at the weights, a third vacuums the carpet, and a fourth gasps on a treadmill.
They'd like me to be a receptacle for their unpleasant emotions. A sponge that will soak up their excesses.
The standup routine is raunchier than anything they've watched before, giving them new words to mouth in wonder.
In every season there's something to make you slip: ice, leaves, a slurry of mud and motor oil, blossoms rotting.