¿tienes hambre?
¿Tienes hambre? I would say.
I am Jack’s lingering guilt. There can be only one reason for inspecting a bag such as that. It, piercing the nose when you first pick it up while oily fluid leaks onto your hands, is yet another reminder of my fortune.
¿Tienes hambre?
I would say, not knowing what would follow. He might look up for a moment, his face sad and incredulous. The streetlight casts shadows on his face exaggerating the dirt on his face while illuminating his hair just so. Why does he look so familiar?
I am Jack’s broken record. Let it play.
Striking matches to kill the time:
The Tides Warf, Bodega Bay.
Who knows what he might find. No,
Play that broken record, he’s on the fray.
I think I have some spare cardboard, and
¿tienes hambre? I should say.
