Someone asked me if I was in a fight, today. This someone was a woman in scrubs feeding quarters into her meter. She said, "Sir, were you in a fight?" I didn't know she was talking to me. She was feeding quarters into her meter. "Sir," she said again. "Were you in a fight?"
"No," I said. I didn't stop. I wanted to get home and feed Warden and drink coffee.
"I can help," she said.
"I'm fine," I said, "really."
When I got home, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. A scab had appeared on my nose from Warden a few days earlier, there were burns on my arms from the dish detergent, and a cut on my thumb from washing a knife at the diner. I looked a mess. I felt a mess.
Help me
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