A Pack Of Blood and Lies

bing the glass table until it reflected the modern high-rise across the street. Six years ago, I cou

oved away from the table to pack the cleaning s

released my cart and draped my forearms over the top of

ht silk scarf knotted around Evelyn's

he designer scarf Evelyn never parted with since Mom had gifted it to her. I was by no means jealous that Evelyn had gotten it. If

or to no one. When Evelyn knocked two days after we had moved in, I stared at h

job interview and saw the paper I'd left out on our dining table, she shot up the stairs like a bullet, racing past the poorly rendered violet

ck down, a blur of red cheeks and crazed eyes, yelling t

ren't

dishes suited for a crowd and clothing that had been gathering dust in the back of

over, I grabbed the handle and heaved it onto her cart. Together, we walked our carts back to the janitorial closet, Evelyn gritting her teeth the entire way. Although she never complained, h

do not feel obliged to eat with

adn't gone on one si

eaning jobs as I could find. Some days, the commuting wore me down more than the actual workload and chemical odors. I found no solace in rolling on buses thr

lap, chin dipped into her neck, lids closed in rest. A couple seconds before w

out, though-the army vet with the thick aura of liquor fumes, talking to his runt of a dog that perpetually bared his fangs at me; the two sex workers sporting t

og, they were al

istled at me. "When you gonn

rn my name pinned to my chi

ciates snickering. Every night I passed by them, they'd either whistle or make ki

ps had nailed him, but Suzie the prostitute assured me the boy's pops

ne would whisk me away t

alled home, I pushed away thoughts of deserti

, the menthol salve she rubbed into her sore joints wafting over the tang of fresh urine. Her

s and the cartoons blaring from Mrs. Fletcher's place, I walked toward my apa