January 2, 2019

Postcard


Hello, I guess you’re not at home so I’ll leave a message...did you get my postcard?...you know the one with the pretty sunrise on it?...the one that said I’m doing fine?...it cost me a whole fifty cents for it...not including the stamp...I’ll take their word about the pretty sunrise because I haven’t seen one...it’s rained every day like I’m in the middle of the Amazon rainforest—I’m just missing the caws of the pastel parrots in their lime green and orange and red hues...even the puddles have puddles...a lot of people might find it depressing and it gives their brain the muddles, but I find it cleansing as a cool waterfall cascading off a hillside and drenching me in fresh water that refreshes my outlook...it’s been one long nonstop rain since I’ve been here but I don’t care...I just look out through the rain and watch the headlights come and go and listen to the big trucks engines as they come in and pull out of the parking lot...anyway, back to the postcard...you know the one that said Hi, how are you?...I lied about that...I don’t really care anymore how you are...sorry to say—I know that sounds cold...but you stopped caring for me a long time ago, don’t deny it...why play games?...I think I even wrote having a great time, wish you were here!...that’s what you’re supposed to write on postcards...in fact, I think it’s a requirement...a federal law passed by the United States Congress back in the year of 18 and 24...well, actually, I’m glad you’re not here...you were driving me crazy...I just couldn’t take it anymore...maybe I was driving you crazy too...it wouldn’t be the first time I did that to somebody, and it won’t be the last...I don’t know what happened but it all went wrong somewhere...there comes a time when you just have to call it a day and move on... it just wasn’t working out...I needed to go somewhere where I could clear my head and get my thoughts straightened out..I finally got some peace...it’s just me, this little hotel room with the worn out carpet and the stained and threadbare sheets...it’s also luxuriously appointed with a dingy light and a little chain on the old faded pock-marked splintered door that’s supposed to keep me safe...one time for the hell of it, I asked the dingy light bulb in the room what life was all about, but it began quoting Nietzsche and I was dumbfounded so I told it to shut up...my room is also conveniently located next to a sketchy looking liquor store across the street...a store that I feel makes me feel that I’m taking my life into my hands every time I go in there...not far from that, is a truck stop with a special section just for truckers but I sit there anyway...they make a delicioso burrito and it's got a cute waitress that always winks at me...or at least I think she does...but maybe she’s got some kind of nervous affliction...I know on the letter I left for you I mentioned that I would be coming back in a week or two to get my stuff, but I decided to get as far away as I can...once it stops raining, I’m going to get in my car and keep on driving...drive down that long gray highway...all day and all night...now that I’m thinking about it, you can sell or throw away whatever I left behind there...there wasn’t nothing of value there anyway, and if there was, you can sell it and do what you want with the money...you always did anyway...I’m not going to be coming back...you probably don’t even care if I did come back or not...don’t expect another postcard not that you would be anyway.

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