Parlay

—an excerpt—

I have a name. I “have” a “name.” I’m trying to make sense of this, to hold onto the shapes the world has given me.

What I remember is taking it, placing the little paper square on my tongue. It’s all muscle and bone, I’m aware of this now, remembering pushing it around with such force as it slowly dissolved. Though it has long disappeared from my mouth, I can still feel its microscopic fibers. How long ago? Two hours, maybe four. Which means I have something like six hours left until I return from my trip. I’m sitting on the grass, the dirt is cool, a little moist still from last night’s rain. I have been sitting here. I will sit here.

Before all of this, late this morning, I placed a $20 bet on the Canucks game. Why? I was fuelled by ambition and a sense of impotence. I earn a salary. It is relatively small. Relatively. This only means that some people are richer than is considered profitable for me and the rest of the world. They hire other people to build glass towers. They sell them for ones and zeros. This is starting to make less sense to me. If the bet pays off I’ll get back $220. I will spend that money on alcohol, I’m sure. I will waste it. And of course I probably won’t win. The odds aren’t on my side. So why did I place the bet? I’m thirsty.