Tina, Bea, and I went to a non-baby-shower baby-shower for Neta. Everything was golden lit in the post-rain autumn. I was sleep-deprived.

There was a party in the bass and throughout the house. Cigarette butts were on my floor, my sheets, when I came home to dance with the t33ns for whom I had supplied “Allsups Water.”

Everyone at works asks about Dion, asks me to ship their packages, asks where Dion is to ship their packages, asks how Dion likes college.

Dion drives from Soccorro to our house at 1 am to sleep in the bass.

“How is college at Tech for Dion?”

“Tech-beards are the worst.”

“Humidity of depression.”

“Worst place you can be.”

Dion lies across the table.

I come home at 2, ready to work at 9, eating green chile soup. Dion comes up from the bass, mouth bleeding.

“Do you have any other brain drugs?”

“I have maca root if you want.”

Dion dropped out of college after beating the final boss in the platform game of paperwork. He is back at Workshop and is everyone’s favorite.

When I got home one day, unsurprisingly sleep-deprived I made #somecoffee and found that Dion had written me a check for $10, the memo line saying “donation.”

Noah punched me in the arm repeatedly and River gave everyone haircuts. Santi untied the front tendrils of his hair, exposing the shaved back of his head, resulting in a perfect bob in the front. Dion wrote a check to River. Dion wrote a check to Angel Pie, with the memo: “Cat.” I said Angel Pie only accepts checks, then Noah reminded me that she also accepts EBT.

Angel Pie killed a mouse the other day and ate half of it on the couch. She is 21 now and I will take her out for a celebratory margarita.


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