At least the bird is alive (I rescued it). The human is too, for now. The difference is that aside from the feel-good thrill of rescuing any of God’s creatures who get trapped, I don’t give a shit about the bird. But the other thing will rip my heart out.
crisis
She had been right all along in matters of the heart. Thank God for what little charm I did possess, because I’d treated her like dirt. Exactly like my alcoholic father, too, no empathy at all. Ironically, this revelation eased my pain enough for me to fall asleep. She’d done nothing to me. Whatever else I had to deal with, she wasn’t it. All I had to do for her was be a man.
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