Even as they walked me down the hallway toward the morgue, it didn’t hit me. Step step step like a dream like a blurry memory step step
Step.
But something buzzing deep inside me something wrong.
Buzzing louder later, after they let me go and I wrapped my hands around the crack pipe and burned my thumb on the lighter and breathed deep.
Step.
At the door of my apartment: We need you to come down and identify.
Getting closer to the double doors and everything was too loud but faraway at the same time. I walked between the two cops but they kept their distance, and I didn’t think about my son I thought about someone else.
Later, my brain was fried and the sun was down and I thought of him again, I thought of my father.
Step.
Inside the morgue, they rolled out the drawer and peeled
