Our city is changing. I’m not sure how or why. I’m not entirely certain when these changes take place. I hate to admit it about the place where I was born and raised, the only city I’ve ever truly loved, but the truth of the matter is that something about our fair city is different. The only way out is to die, we know that much for sure. The living cannot voluntarily leave the city limits.
I hate wearing ties. My collar is too goddamn tight. My neck is getting all chafed. I haven’t smoked a cigarette in eleven years and here I am, almost fifty years old, lighting the next one with the last one. The kids are vaping these days. I don’t think they even leave ashtrays outside anymore. What do I know?
So anyway, um, I’m here. Your sister called. I don’t know how she got my number.
Jump spun at once, peering under blood-red bangs. Rearing into a hunch, she recoiled in the desk for emphasis, and spoke as if addressing her extremely petite hands with a crucial piece of news: I heard you’re an anal vampire, she declared, zero inflection. I can feel your AIDS on the back of my neck. Which strain is that?
The strain with your name on it, because I’m giving it to you tomorrow.
Die before you die. Die now. To all of it. If you feel less than then cherish it. Cherish it completely. Make light of your life and the armor you’ve worn, protecting an imitation of what you can never be anymore than you could enter your dream bone flesh blood still no way you aren’t wearing same shoes you wore in the dream.