Dear Don (both of you; all of you)
Crime has never stopped paying. How naïve I have been all my life thinking that one day it would…not pay.
Crime has never stopped paying. How naïve I have been all my life thinking that one day it would…not pay.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?