Merging into a six-lane freeway clogged with cars stacked up.
(the second-worst reality is the wanna-be)
Mothers with long faces, fathers working on their laptops and phones in parks–grotesque, obtuse caricatures–while the kids pull and tug at them to come play. Snack at this time. Lunch at this time. Nap at this time. Groceries. Cleaning.
We walk dogs. We exercise. We piss.
This is how it is.
I leave an IOU: “next time I’m here, I’ll bring Polaroids so you can laugh at my bowl haircut and brown corduroy Wranglers.”