Rummaging through my things in the spare room at my grandmother’s today I came across the first and, coincidentally, last book my father ever bought me. It was 54 dollars. My mom says the reason I stopped believing in God was because at the age of 12 I’d ask for things like this, know all the stories in religious mythology and read books like Dante’s Inferno when I should have been doing shit like playing baseball. She also remembers me briefly wearing rosemary in my belt because I believed it kept the devil away. She was really hoping though that I’d become a priest, and then a businessman, and then a doctor- not a dude who studied pornography. Sorry mom.
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I was laid off two nights ago. I was informed by a third party, unrelated to my job who gave me a bag with two paychecks, my shoes, and my favourite knife. Bummer.
I miss the years before my city was becoming more and more developed. When there were no condominiums, or high rises. When the core was absolute shit, and no one knew about anything. When the tea sellers were humble, and their tea was cheap. When they were ungentrified. When Kris and I would go to nameless Chinese restaurants and ask for fresh ginseng root in the smallest clay pot. It was more potent than medicine. Like drinking eucalyptus. When we would meander the university late at night and steal covers from old books for Kris’s art projects. poo.
