Carnegie considers his resources.
He denies himself certain rights. He feels around sluggishly with his toes on the insides of his dense socks, but doesn’t take them off. He sips the dregs from his third mug of coffee.
He’d woken up with a hard-on, but had a piece of toast instead. He’d dropped crumbs on the legal pad on the coffee table, but hadn’t brushed them off.
‘I have nothing to offer the world’ is the overlying message of the day, and was the day before, and every day to come.
The soap opera on television is inane. The pain and humiliation, misunderstandings and dark jealousy of the hollow characters is reduced to cartoonish yelling.
“It was an honest mistake!” Carnegie cried, in unison with the scoundrel on the show.
Shit. He hadn’t meant to do that. So true, though. Funny how it works out.
Carnegie is hungry, wants to go back to sleep. Fuck not offering the world anything. The world had enough. Selfishness can save your life.
Carnegie denies himself certain things while he considers his resources.
He tightens the drawstring on his drooping sweatpants and sucks the tip of his brush. Dipping into the water on the side table, Carnegie considers what he is denying himself and uses his resources.