#halfgone

I don’t know the WiFi password, not sure what size underwear I wear in MeUndies (they don’t put the size on the tag 🙃), I miss trash and recycling - ever single week...it’s getting bad, and suddenly, I can survive off 5 hours of sleep.

The darkening dusk sky was a warmer greeting than the silent spouse on the driver’s seat. She stared outside, upwards, to the thunderous violet sunset. “So, how was your day?” Stifling a sigh, she turned, her fake grin falling effortlessly, confronted by eyes not bothering to meet hers. “How was work?” perfunctory words in a perfunctory marriage.

Someone told me once that you can sell your old iPhone on Facebook for a few hundreds, or at least a fifty. People will pay for the gadgets that you’d spent thousands of your hard earned dollars or of the easy fast personal loan that you can’t seem to stop refinancing year after year after year.

Another said to me: I knew a chef, 20 years in business, who found his dream boss, who allowed him to built his dream kitchen, who worked until there were grey streaks on his temple, who worked until there were whites in his tongue, who were told, that’s stage 4B, sorry, we have to remove 3/4 of your tasting organ, sorry, you have 30% chance of surviving. Sorry.

Second chance is the name of the Facebook group.

Second chance is what the Chef got, after an experimental chemo.

Second chance, is what you’ll get, if you look up and smile at me.