Two days ago my brother came over to see my mother. Conversation topics were the usual. Law suits, business is bad, there is no money. As he listed off the stores he was closing, he mentioned 13 and 3rd, my dad's original store, the one opened since the Sixties. This caught my attention and I asked what he planned to do with the original sign and if we could keep it. He said no, it would cost him money to take it down and not that it mattered anyway because the original sign was no longer there.
Odd I thought since I had just passed by the store the other day and saw the old sign still there like it's always been. To this he replied by saying that this wasn't the original sign. The original sign had been destroyed in a hurricane and he hired a sign painter to restore it two years ago. Well that doesn't make any sense I said. Why would you go through all the trouble of restoring a sign and not keep it in the end, to which he replied, if you were a man I'd kick the shit out of you, you fucking dirty cunt.
My father has been dead almost six years but he is still felt. I have him to blame for never having a brother.
It's taken me my entire life to believe I'm good at something. Maybe if I hadn't felt the need to run away from my family when I was younger, I'd be employable.
I'm not employable. My resume is a fucking joke.
I'm drinking wine left over from Christmas Eve. It was my mother's name day and she threw a party. Despite the heaviness of being sad with it all, she still knows how to cook a baby lamb so tender it should have it's own passage in the Bible.
Old Testament. Something about sacrifice and slaughter.
Sweet meat and sins of the father.
