New York Story Night #29
Then the needle, like the worst static shock when he helped his mother fold the laundry
He had eyelashes like a girl’s falsies. Even the sign does him justice.
A mom-age woman in sunglasses walks baby steps inside.
The service will start, it tells us, with an open-casket viewing of our friend.
Later, I do anything I can to get as high as Josh, to feel how he looked lying there. Whoever took care of him in death powdered him like a baby.
Whatever they pumped him full of makes him look stuffed. But in real life he looked starved.
To my reflection in her sunglasses, I tell her, “At least now Josh will always have a place to sleep.”