I sneak up behind the old thief. I yelp in his ear but he saw my reflection in the boss’s eyes, so he laughs in my face. I smell stale booze on his breath. He reminds me of so many men I’ve known in the past. I reflect on what I used to be. He tells me I’m too dumb.
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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