On Black Friday, a Few Hours after This is Written, a Man is Trampled by a Swarm of Shoppers
Walking home tipsy with a belly full.
A man walks up to me.
A freeway runs above us.
He asks for the money he thinks I have.
In exchange he offers a few bruises and a stiff neck.
I tell him he can’t take from me.
It is Thanksgiving.
A timepiece appears from his pocket.
The time is turned my way and then away:
12:31 A.M. blinks in my head
He tells me:
“It is not Thanksgiving.”
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