Aunt Ruth just called and she wants to know how you’re doing.
Whatever the hell that means, “how you’re doing.”
Like that stupid b**** even cares.
Ten years wallowing in the clutter of an ill-lit house that
smells of six cats licking nail polish from their claws,
peeling wallpaper dangling from the ceiling in a schizophrenic daze,
asking the floor what the hell it’s doing so far away on a Tuesday afternoon.
Yeah she doesn’t care.
But anyway, your Aunt Ruth called and she says “hello.”