Through quiet neighborhoods that I can not see clearly 65 years here the memories block any experience of now.
Except the heat. The heat brings me to the moment briefly. Then it's struggling to escape. To get the fuck out of my life. To get everyone out. Get out and leave me be. I dress to fit in. To belong. To not attract attention. The blue collar kid. Now the among the poor. You will send me to a camp. To die . I just want to go to my home where there are no camps and murderers roaming the streets.