Death Is Old News

Around here, when you have to go, you have to. It’s old news anyway, we all know that. Alter, the newspaper man, started as a paperboy, became a newspaper man and then died last night. He was 75. He brought my draft letter, my first paycheck and the newspaper from which I got my first job. He died and I got the news from the new newspaper boy who tossed the paper in my driveway.
Death is old news I say. Maria died. She took my manhood away in the dark alleyway a few years ago. I’m not sure it was consensual but I liked it a lot. She was 23. So much promise buried in that grave! I heard her mother wailing all night. Her body placed in the coffin wrapped with the flag, she was one of the girls from this neighborhood with big dreams.

Death is old news they say. And if I have to sit here and tell you how many times this true, the magnitude of miseries it let us experience, we might as well wait for eternity. But I’m not sure how much time I got left from this prostate cancer ever so aggressively eating a very vital parts of me. There’s no treatment the third time around. Death is old news I say!



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