Sold.

Published September 15, 2012 by 51percentawesome

My soul leaves my body at half time. I’m not sure exactly when it happens, but behind the bar after lunch is my body without angela. A red wine, another jug of Carlton, a champagne in that strawberry; I am mute and barely responsive. Performing monotony. She doesn’t want to be here. To eat, I am offered an egg and I accept, then sit and stare at it. I leave and drive home at sunset and I won’t be coming back.

When will she learn? Can’t be sold.

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