I
was in a dream
walking
down a street
toward
a distant but familiar beach
big
rich houses to the left
the
park across four lanes
and
I stopped
thinking,
This is
Vince's
neighborhood.
What
am I doing here?
but
I couldn't finish
I
turned quickly
felt
someone behind me
he
said, That's it,
Kid.
before I could speak
It's
over, I'm done, time to go.
But Vince... I tried, crying
But Vince... I tried, crying
You
little asshole
don't
be so dramatic,
he
said without anger,
puffing
his cigarette, a Parliament
wearing
his same old outfit
almost
a uniform
the
way I remember it
laundry-damaged
thrift store polo
tired
khakis with faded stains
unnaturally
bright brown hair
slicked
back
his
mustache
and
eyebrows brighter still
It's
over, Son, I gotta
go
now, he repeated
It's
over? I echoed
couldn't
help myself
choking
on tears
It's
over, I gotta go.
I
gotta go, I'm done.
he
said, impatient
part
of me going with him
then
he was gone
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