the trifecta

1. ain't my fuckin' problem.
2. whadyougonnado?
3. i got it.

William died: happy, young, and beautiful.

There was no room in the cab of the pick-up, so he sat in the bed. He did not mind this and in fact quite liked it. It reminded him of home, his childhood, tree houses, rivers, fields filled with fireflies, and old friends. Right then, he loved his life sitting in the bed of the pick-up. This was much better than any convertible. He loved how all the city’s lights shined on him, lit him up for everyone to see, how the crisp air, which came a little early this year, blew through his hair and over his teeth as he smiled face to face with the travelers sitting behind at the stoplights who smiled back or laughed or waved or showed faces of concern for his safety. He appreciated this small stage, the fleeting solitude and attention that it afforded him. He thought about how it was slightly uncomfortable sitting on the steel and how he would never see if the truck was to hit some obstacle in the road, a pot hole or a dog or cat, how he could very well fall out. He thought of all this, his possible end. he smiled.