"See ya in a couple hours kid," he says to me as I stuff another dryer sheet in between the couch cushions as I fold laundry.
"Yeah, good night Dad."
As the door shuts I realize I'm sitting by myself on a white and green striped couch throwing somebody's underpants on another pile on the coffee table. My mind is full as I build a sky scraper of thoughts.
My hair is soft? My hair is short. My tastebuds are gone from sour "poppers". Will Val kill us tomorrow because we're among the unfaithful who did not take the test? When does the drama end? Why do I bite my finger nails off in the dark? When did the music in my head stop? Jack White, "white stripes", I get it now. Why does Ewan McGregor have so many bumps on his face? Why don't we remember stuff that happened when we were a baby? Who are we saving the whales for, exactly?