i wrote this at a bus stup.
it's colder out here than i would like. it's six-thirty five in the evening, pacific time, and i'm sitting at the bus stop on the corner of southwest fifth and southwest salmon in portland, oregon.
the money was in my bank account when i checked it, two hundred dollars staring me in the face in black and green pixels over by pioneer square, at the washington mutual two and a half hours ago. the panic set in right away, making me calm and pensive and untimately good-humored and retreating as my brain ran through the usual systems routine, guilt, anger and denial before settling on the impassiveness i've inherited from my father, eternally containing his emotions in favor of a more situationally acceptable, if not entirely appropriate response.
the letter size paper said the words plain and simple. i didn't read them, of course, preferring to focus on the dates and buzz words: "bad debt," noting with a self-deprecating chuckle the redundancy of the term.
i have done nothing, i continue to do nothing, and the hole just gets deeper and deeper. i'm not looking for sympathy or reassurance, i'm not looking for anything right now.
i don't know how much time i have left. in portland, in this life style, even typing on this laptop at a bus stop, battery inching closer and closer to death.
i just don't know.
it's colder out here than i would like. it's six-thirty five in the evening, pacific time, and i'm sitting at the bus stop on the corner of southwest fifth and southwest salmon in portland, oregon.
the money was in my bank account when i checked it, two hundred dollars staring me in the face in black and green pixels over by pioneer square, at the washington mutual two and a half hours ago. the panic set in right away, making me calm and pensive and untimately good-humored and retreating as my brain ran through the usual systems routine, guilt, anger and denial before settling on the impassiveness i've inherited from my father, eternally containing his emotions in favor of a more situationally acceptable, if not entirely appropriate response.
the letter size paper said the words plain and simple. i didn't read them, of course, preferring to focus on the dates and buzz words: "bad debt," noting with a self-deprecating chuckle the redundancy of the term.
i have done nothing, i continue to do nothing, and the hole just gets deeper and deeper. i'm not looking for sympathy or reassurance, i'm not looking for anything right now.
i don't know how much time i have left. in portland, in this life style, even typing on this laptop at a bus stop, battery inching closer and closer to death.
i just don't know.