I’m all jazzed out. It’s month number three of unemployment. The past three days, I’ve been wet. The past three days, it’s rained. A weary, dreary, gusty unnatural rain, coming here at the start of Florida spring. Rain is quicksand for me, my feet get sluggish and my mind drains. But back to the wetness. I’ve had a window down in my car for months now. The drivers side window. My neighbor says I can go to the junkyard and find a replacement part. I cannot bear the thought of doing such a thing, especially on a sunny day. So I procrastinate and now, the rain keeps coming down. Yesterday was my long-anticipated second appointment with the city’s finance office in pursuit of health insurance. Do I want to discuss the meeting? The pleading? The way poverty becomes me? I’ll just say that I must return one more time, bringing along a sacred document that proves I am poor. So I wanted to say: look, my fucking tooth fell out. Do you think I’d let this happen if I had money? I wanted to say, come for a ride in my car and feel the rain as it breezes through the open window. No, better yet, you drive. feel how wet leather feels as it creeps through your pants and meets your butt. Feel my skin that can’t (won’t) take a shower because I have no hot water and feel my craving for a hot shower and a cheese omelet…oh, the gas people turned off my gas. But of course, I’m fucking poor. Do you think I’d live without hot water and a way to cook hot meals if I had m0ney? Come for lunch. We’ll have a ham sandwich. Or come for dinner. We’ll have a ham sandwich and coffee. I’ll share a cigarette for dessert. So the rain keeps beating down. The fucking rain.