It’s cold and rainy on the carnival midway. Only the masochists are out, and the desperate, the recovering alcoholics who are terrified by the idea of going into a warm bar, the meth heads who have blown up their homes, blown up their mothers who’d been sleeping on the couch with aggravated expressions on their faces.
I’m there with my kids. I buy them blue popsicles and they eat them in the rain, avoiding mud holes when they can. I’m fulfilling my responsibility, teaching them about life.
When we get home, soggy, muddy, and they’ve gone to bed, I turn on my Latino laptop. The tiny fan keeps me warm. I have a hundred messages from people wanting me to like them. I don’t even know them, but I like them. I like most people.
Out of all the people I’ve met in the last five years, only one stands out as obnoxious, a dwarf albino epileptic. I didn’t dislike him for any of those qualities, only for his insufferable arrogance.