Long Sleeves (short story)

I’m wearing a long sleeve shirt in summer.  It’s been a long time since I had to.  Fifteen years since I stopped putting stupid scars on my arms.  But today it’s cold outside.  Or at least it feels cold outside to me.  I’ve been losing weight, wasting away.  I’d probably feel cold regardless of the temperature.  Everyone I know assumes it means I’m an addict again, even more pathetic at my age.  I just want to crawl under a bridge & die.

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2 Responses to Long Sleeves (short story)

  1. Peter says:

    He crawled under a bridge and died, but then regenerated into a heavy sweaty dude who was kind of into horses and really liked cilantro. Ugh!