Tell me what you want, child

It was always the first thing I saw when my train pulled out of Union Station.

It was right on the fence line near the tracks; red brick and narrow. It had a patch of yard garnished with various children’s toys, and an ever vigilant assortment of small square windows.

The children must be happy. Happy as in bliss, bliss as in ignorance. All they know is a piece of purgatory on earth. Right now they need wide blankets, hot food, and heartened imaginations, poor fledgling things. One day they’ll plough through last night’s macaroni, laugh it off over coffee dates, and turn off the T.V. at 11. Cheque, relief, sex, relief, shot, relief.

End?

Or….

Fireplaces
Waffle cones
Orange juice
Coffee tables
Coasters
Dented pillows
Break room chats
Background radio
Pancakes for dinner
Long hugs
Forehead kisses
Breakups
Makeups
Spooning
Singing
Laughing
Drunken falls and old shoe laces.
Choice, love. Repentance, love. Wisdom, love.

But instead I get off, and look for the nearest place to get vicodin.