Rich

I’m sitting underneath the overhang of my porch, bundled in layers on a cold, drizzly night with half a butt cheek resting on the corner of a decrepit chair with a hole punched through the middle of the seat.  The pitter-patter of the rain is picking up.  Behind my head, a fan whirrs in the window blowing fresh air into an apartment, which is currently uninhabitable due to the noxious fumes emanating from the window sealant that I applied earlier this evening.  The temperature inside is now in the mid-50’s and plummeting.  It will surely be warm and cozy sleeping tonight!

Across the parking lot a woman adjusts her bedroom drapes—she probably figures I’m sitting out here to spy through her window.  A gnarled cat skirts by and slinks off into the darkness.  A bit of a shiver.  Pitter-patter, pitter-patter…

A few weeks ago someone stole the radio out of my roommate’s car at night.  A few months ago there was an armed robbery in my block of apartments.  Questionable people aimlessly meander through the neighborhood.  On some nights, I sleep with a nine-inch knife next to me in bed.

I had frozen vegetables and cheap pasta tonight for dinner.  That’s what I had last night.  The night before I mixed it up with frozen vegetables and eggs. 

Life is cold at the moment, but life is good.  My friend Chan would point out that statistically I am one of the richest people in the world.

I know.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter…