It’s been seventeen years, it’s been ten, seven, three. Somebody asks me, “How do you fill the void?” I tell him a good vice and time.
What happened to President Muntu?
The words don’t come as easily as they once did. The ones that do are simple and ineffectual. When I sit, I jiggle a leg up and down on the ball of my foot. Two legs when I try to write. A frequency like low bass in the chest.
Linguo is dead.
Ulysses works as manager at the Jiffy Lube on Hesperian. A woman whose name I did not get works as a manager at the Subway on Bancroft. Ulysses was a professional and friendly person. The woman, who seemed Bengali, had nice wrinkles around her eyes, especially when she smiled.
The esoteric appeal is worth the beatings.
I own a computer in which I have installed the Ubuntu operating system. This O.S. is free and capable, but relatively unpopular. This prevents me from playing certain video games. There aren’t many interesting games in the world for me as it is.
This is where I come to cry.
