We’re short a dollar he says and her disappointment is epic. I count what I have and give all I don’t need. The look on her dried-apple doll face reminds of old junkie Carlos, hot dogs and fries were enough to change his life for the better, we should all be so lucky. I like when the cookie is heated she tells me, soft and chewy. Me too.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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