The Secret Goldfish

My mother during one of her fits flushed my goldfish down the toilet while I was at school. This was long before computers ever challenged the supremacy of print. I had won the goldfish at a carnival by tossing a Ping-Pong ball into the fish’s bowl. A hostile public was creeping down a white sand beach the whole time. I have memories of a star-like crack in a windshield, stick figures drawn on toilet paper, floors overflowing with blood. If it weren’t for these things, I might have grown up to be many people talking all at once about love.

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