glass houses

From his tiny glass studio on my street he asks me how I am every day and I do the same and feel absurd, but he says fine and smiles. He has a sparkly smile and pees himself all day. This morning he asked would I do some shopping for him, he’d pay, just a little bottle of rosé? I said maybe, went on, took the long way back to hide from him and consult my oracle, who answered comfort in extremis. I delivered two ham sandwiches and a vitamin drink and a bottle of rosé and walked home mourning.

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