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Tiny Grey Box

December 19, 2021

Not much point in reading on, because I’ll tell you now. This'll end the same way it begins.

In a tiny grey box, staring at the wall. And if that doesn’t send you running, then you're probably a lot of fun at parties.

When they let me go, I’m a free man. I breathe free-man air and do free-man things in free-man places. The park’s as good a place as any, so I wander to the manicured shrubs and this lady yanks her kid away from me. Can’t blame her, I probably look like some deranged hobo with rings under his eyes.

I’m thinking hey, it’s summer, why not get some ice cream, because that’s what people do, right? Eat popsicles on park benches or whatever.

So I get one and I find a bench which makes me chuckle because it has B+J Forever scratched into it. I’m staring at the pond, only it’s not a real pond, it’s one of those artificial things the city council bulldozes into the ground to “integrate nature” into real life. The spotted koi fish circle under the surface, poking out to gape at me every now and then.

Going back to school is not an option. We all know how that ended up. Maybe I should start a print shop, ask Joe to help me out. Never was good with the business side of things. Backpack across Europe for a year? Become an organic vegetable farmer in Okinawa?

And I realize this is stupid, because I got cherry and it tastes like Benadryl.

If Pops were here he’d probably clamp his hand on my shoulder and say something like, “Listen here, it ain't about your options or the choice you make. It’s how you see.”

Then he’d dangle the fishing line in my face and say, “Say’s by the end of the day I catch twelve fish and you catch one. Whatcha feel?”

“Pretty shit.”

“And if I ain’t got any and you got one?”

“Well, happy.”

“Happy! But you still only got one fish.”

Fair point, Pops.

“When you’s distracted by other options you look at things different. It ain't about whatcha have, or don’t have, sonny.” He’d tap a finger on the bridge of his nose, flash a grin of more gaps than teeth. "It’s whatcha choose to see.”

I want to believe you, Pops.

But there’s really only one way I see this ending.

I’m in the tiny grey box again and every day is the same. The monitor blinks its cold blue light at at me and it’s 10pm and I’m still here, staring at the wall.


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