Johnny is our token Viet Nam vet. Was cut from his throat to his groin. Was known as a real psychedelic killer when he served. Now he just roams the two hundred hall to the cafeteria where he gets a giant black pitcher four times a night full of coffee.
A lot has has happened. I celebrated quietly my birthday, quietly... Donald the fuck is tearing down what our previous, first black president, rebuilt, from the previous administration.
I feel like I have moved on. The scenes are a split second behind each other. There are two of a dozen moving close together forever.
I am one with the freaks now. I am beginning to understand my own insanity.
I will be remembered by my brother and his two boys, by my daughter and my grandson. The rest i am a mere fading memory.
I was spared that moment of transport to another life.
I give Johnny change when I got it so he can get as he puts it a coca cola.
Johnny befriends the beast as Barb the klepto calls a newbie schitzo giant.
It's weird at the home right now...
We all are raw slabs of meat waiting for processing.
We are all so medicated that life is sleep and death is not waking up.
The admin is a bible thumping ex military man that made sure his flags were hanging in the common area and is fine with death being medicated sleep.
We are calculated as sleeping or dead. Being human doesn't matter any more.