jadesara11
I looked at the single glove left in the drawer. Red like fresh blood. And I collapsed.
It was so simple, just one half of a pair. Something you wouldn't even think about putting on in a cold Minnesota winter. But suddenly it seemed like a gravestone.
It was excess. The city. The lights. Everything was stylized. Even the people seemed to have been created by men in boardrooms, who knew the best way to make everything commercial.
That's what we were. Welfare kids. So poor that the government felt bad for us. So poor we needed food stamps. Sometimes, it felt like I was too poor to afford an identity.
I never feel informed. I'm always one step away from an improv comedy show, the only one without a memo. Sometimes, I wish I was one of the cool ones. The ones who got the script in the mail, know it by heart.
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