Post from the fissure

I’m eating dark cherries. Grinding my teeth around the seed, scraping the last fruit bits. For my lunch break I went to an old church now a library to write. The Osterhout. Old women fishing for microfilm. Old men reading the news on the internet. Is my job obsolete?
Moments ago on the sidewalk, dog shit was smeared in a paw print’s pattern.

This post was from yesterday and I never got to finish it.
And now, this morning I feel venomous. The Robot boy behind me butting in again to conversations that don’t involve him. I could feel this hot biting surging through me. And on the way to work, I wanted to bash my umbrella against a cement load-bearing block.
I feel like I’m not getting anywhere. I need to work harder. I feel like I’m not getting anywhere.

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