She broke up with me.
The next day I called in sick. I walked North. Ina back room a Puerto Rican man washed my hair. I tried to relax. I held my glasses in my hands. I wish he would scratch harder. I wish this would never stop. I wish he was Jess and she loved me. I wish I was dead.
He cut my hair two inches. He brushed it back. He blew it up. He held up the back mirror. “Now, you are looking good”.
kingoffrance 