On Mondays, I do the laundry at a twenty four hour place next to the Dollar Tree. I know that I could walk, but god I love to drive. I thought about calling and asking forgiveness, but hell, I'm afraid of the dogs that I live with. I guess you take it one thing at a time. I thought about Jesse on Tuesday morning; last I heard, he was still doped up in Portland. I could call and ask, but hell, I know he'd lie. Like my neighbor, he's got business. If you don't know about it, better keep your distance. Ain't no one on this street ever called a cop in their life. On Wednesday, ran into Connor, drinking like he was already a goner. He said he'd like to change if he could grow a spine. I said: "When you talk like that, you make me real nervous. No, don't be inviting me to your funeral service. Throw down your fucking chips, let's play for keeps this time." Like on Thursday when you called and woke me up. I heard you started smoking crack again and caught up: catching cases robbing houses, just to stay alive. So I hung up, and called Vanessa, and I told them that I left the rent on the dresser. It wasn't even half of three weeks late this time. On Fridays, I do the laundry at the twenty four hour place next to the Dollar Tree, past the neighbors reaching heaven with their trucks so high. I thought about calling and asking forgiveness, but lately I don't even know what that word is. I've got police on my six, because they think it's a crime.