DEPRAVITY

I’ve slept in a car for THREE DAYS. I’m sleep deprived, groggy, agitated, stressed, and the temperature is equal to Hell.

My feet ache, I’m dehydrated, my head is spinning.

The line is being held up.

I have ONE miserable question, and the line is being HELD UP.

The Maori man with his thick lips pressed tightly together, leaning on the counter, wearing an expression of open dumbness.

The woman with the stroller, standing, frowning, as her gross-looking child chews on an Ipad—

Siri not available, please connect to the Internet.

Siri not available, please connect to the Internet.

Siri not available, please connect to the Internet. 

Sweat is running down my back.

The dingy, bright pink convenience store with the white-trash bride and stunted daughter, ripping strips of paper from the credit card machine—

I’m sorry we don’t have any record of your money transfer.

Yeah—FUCK YOU.

The traffic is thick for some ungodly reason.

My eyes feel greasy. 

I stink.

The seatbelt is chewing on my neck.

Who the HELL is this profane bastard they call Marvin, and why on Earth is he buying twelve packs of chewing gum? Why on earth is he wearing that silly deplorable hat?

The hostel is a million miles away, sluggishly crawling up and down hills and around slow corners, winding through the trees toward the desolate town at the edge of the water.

I collapse on a sheet-less bed—tonight I will freeze, but for now—now I will shower.

I start to feel human again.