It is high time for the man’s voice to be heard in this country.
My depression left me. Just like everyone does.
To reflect, on all those who have wronged me.
Who, I ask, is the more interesting person to talk to at a party— a man slouched in his chair, drinking a Heineken? Or a man leaned against the fireplace mantle, drinking mysterious brown liquid from a glass, regarding the flame?
Sometimes I DJ at remote-control car convention, sometimes I cat-sit out on Staten Island. I guess you could say I’m a jack of all trades.
To say I looked like the personification of death would be a callous mischaracterization of those who have died.