3

I have these flashes now, different from the ususal flash-backs, different from memories, like just now: standing in Bojangles, I looked down at the counter and it flashed into the one at the Burger King in K___, long ago, then it flashed back and the guy handed me my iced tea.
I hate myself for acting like such a kid. Out of control. The boy I am is obviously there, has been there all along. I feel a hate for the boy. Because he was so .. innocent .. in this world of all places.
I wasn’t totally innocent. But I was innocent enough to feel betrayed by it as a boy.
People are counting on you to make this job work. The others like your self,
I just got a new job, the logistics of how I got the job were strange and sordid, but suddenly I had a federal job with benefits, a legitimate, true job, not like the ones I’d been working which were mostly under the table. I have to move two hours away from my home town.
When I‘m Real, I find I have no stories to tell.
I stop thinking at myself, and just think naturally.
I’m wordless.
But until the Realness lasts awhile,
I have too many stories. I think to myself, often.