“I just called to tell you that it’s a metaphor for collaboration. I mean, communication. Or collaboration.”

“I said that it was red.”

“I said it was a metaphor. A metaphor. Yeah, you know what that is. Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“It was hurting my feelings, making these choices. It all felt wrong somehow. If you have to ask—yeah,—that’s right, you don’t get it.”

“She doesn’t pick up.”

“So, just leave a message.”

“Do you have change? Oh, fuck it.”

“Text her then.”

“America, I’m calling you to tell you that major corporations just ate one of your testicles.”

“America, I’m telling you they’re roasting your testicles on a stick.”

“Come on, answer the damn phone.”

Hello? Hello? Gimme a pissing break. I hate this.”

“This is a metaphor for the divestment and destruction of public infrastructure, public space and protections under law, the pillaging and plunder of the public trust, public unions and the public welfare by private corporations and private profit. It’s called pissing in your own bed, fouling your own nest.”

“The message has been sent.”

“You knew. You can’t say you weren’t told. At some point you knew.”

“You heard me. You knew the whole time it was going on. You chose to do nothing.”

“I texted her.”

“What?”

“With that guy, you gotta get in his face, practically, to make yourself heard. Even then.”

“Even then.”

“Lights are on, nobody’s home.”

“You’ll never get through. That’s what it feels like, anyway. But you just have to keep trying. Isn’t that what you’re saying?”

“Changing up the figures of speech. Radicalizing the language. Something will work.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s busy. She’s always too fucking busy. She keeps herself busy on purpose.”

“That way she won’t have to deal with all his shit.”

“Come on, let’s get something to drink.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t have anything to say. Maybe he’s burnt out on all this shit, that’s why he doesn’t like to answer. Isn’t that why most people don’t write any letters anymore?”

“How could you not have anything to say? We’re alive, good fucking alive!”

“Prove it.”

“She told him to get over it, move on. Move on already.”

“Maybe it’s like survivor’s guilt?”

“Same thing as always.”

“Why discuss this motherfucker? Why don’t we just—you know—adjust the motherfucker?””

“Adjust.”

“Like I said.”

“I love you.”

“Call me when you get a chance.”

About these ads