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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1965098-65-cents
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1965098
Written at my Thurs night Writers' Guild in undergrad
65c salvation
Poker draw. Will it be lucky number seven tonight? There are stupider things to base a decision on. The cold would decide for her if she didn't get herself warmed up soon. She sat on the steps a moment longer, toying with it, before excusing herself from her conversation with the stars to step in for a cup. 1-E3, 65 cents. She fished for a bill in her wallet, taking care not to dislodge the empty condom wrapper she kept in there for reasons long forgotten. She drew out a rumpled $1, the only thing she'd seen all day that she could really relate to. She smoothed it out on the edge, taking care with the tattered middle. It didn't clean up too well, but it was good enough to feed the machine. The cardboard cup slid into place, upright and expectant. She wondered if the cup ever grew doubtful, like she did, in the needless stretched out seconds between "dispensing" and dispensed. Wondered if the cup saw in her a kindred spirit in emptiness. Always stretched to the limit before buzz-whiz-hiss and you were filled. It threatened to overflow every time, but always stopped short just before too much. Now sit, wait, just to be sure, and ok, the steam has settled. Too hot to really take it in right now, but it's there, it's enough for now. Later, you'll drink it in. Later, you'll understand when he said "Don't forget to take a breather," he meant "Please, don't throw away your later. You can't take it back." There will be later, if you push through the now. Now, you'll just wrap yourself around it like it's the only warmth left in a dying universe. Now, you'll just sit, and wait. Opportunity is never past until action is taken. Better to take a breather, to think about it for a few minutes. A few hours. A few days. If you still feel this way in a month, the stars will still be there to bear silent witness to your final act. For tonight, just finish the cup. One sip at a time until you've raised the last of it to your lips and see the light shining through the other end. You've drawn lucky number 7, the 7 of hearts even. There are stupider things to draw strength from.
She tosses the empty cup in the bin by the door, before heading home to get some sleep before tomorrow.

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