Today I heard the wailing of ambulance sirens in the shower. I rushed washing myself and shivered into clothes, sped to Midas to have my car inspected only to discover my insurance card expired six months prior.
I’m thirty-two—a prime but informative existence. Mortality upgraded from acquaintanceship to booty calls. She too hits me up now whenever she wants—sundown, sunrise. (Why a she? Because I’m childless.)
Last week I awoke, commenced the routine of brushing my teeth only to find in my grip my razor.
There’s still plenty of time to giggle about these things. (A frightening word, giggle.)