fictionary… 8 megapixel artist… bloody awful poet.

Patient Son



I have lived here for 54 years, 2 months, 29 days, 19 hours, and 45 minutes, as of the moment I started writing this

With my thumbs, on my phone, in the aircraft-hangar-sized United Airlines Cargo hub at LAX

It has been a day, and now a night, of discovery, of self-inspection, of learning one final lesson about my time served in this concrete shithole with the pretty name, prettier ocean, and prettiest promises never delivered to a patient son

I will find my inheritance, and claim it

Just not here

Sorry dad


© 2015 Bill Friday


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