Under the Blue Tarps
I hate blue tarps. Ask most people what comes to mind when they see a blue tarp, and I suspect they will say, “camping,” or “shade.” When I unfold a tarp and hear that rusty plastic rattle, I see the stains of fluids of decay; I smell death. Blue tarps cover the corpses of my failures.
I touched too many tarps this summer, overheard too many phone calls that tell the whole story.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is he old, or … ?”
“I see. That’s too bad. Yes, we can take care of that for you. I’m
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