Darkness
“You alright?” asks the cop.
I try again. It’s harder and harder to breath. My chest.
“I can’t breathe. My sternum. It’s bursting out of my chest.” I lean on his car.
“Whoa there, fella, I just got it washed.”
“Please. Help me.”
The cop laughs. “Looks like you’re dying.” He stretches his arms back with a yawn, then straightens his hat. “Time for me go.”
“No.” Another gasp.
Empires collapse, fortunes evaporate, and stocks nosedive into hell—but a deep sleep, a clean shit, and a laugh that shakes your skeleton remain the closest thing humanity has to real wealth.