Thursday, October 16, 2008
The garbage men came and hauled away what I didn’t use. They looked at the snowman and pulled their stocking caps higher on their heads. The snowman seemed absurd, so rich and useless—these men, so poor and useful, and I ached for all my uselessness-bones marinating like a stew. I wanted them to knock the snowman over and haul it away. I had thrown the Polaroid onto the trash pile. It was a snap judgment, but its glass eye has been forever closed. There’s not much left.