As soon as the aftermath of one death becomes manageable, another occurs. Don’t question yourself now; I’ll tell you exactly how to do it. Get sunburned at the funeral. Keep a bottle of bourbon on the nightstand. Buy coral-colored sheets and bury yourself in them at the end of each unairconditioned August day. Drink bourbon for dinner. Drink your dinner in the hot coral cocoon of your bed. Carry a Ziploc bag filled with old photos and show them to no one. Fuck the neighbor. Eat a piece of chocolate cake while sitting on the curb in front of the bank. Rub broken aloe leaves on your charred shoulders. Walk in circles around the block. Kneel at every boarded-up building, every stack of bricks where a window used to shine in sunlight, every orphaned set of stairs.
