dj

The orderly hugs DJ and helps him into my car. The door closes. The orderly grins silently behind the window.  

 DJ tells me, “Get me the fuck outta here. I need a blunt.”  

Then he says he is terminal. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck that,” he mutters. 

I startle and mumble a quiet apology.

“Forgive me. I didn’t know what to say.”

He checks my eyes in the rearview mirror.

“No. Not you. Fuck that. Ain’t nobody gonna tell me when I’m gonna die. In Iraq, motherfuckers buried me in a box and buried the box in the sand. When my friends found me and opened the box, I tried to kill ‘em. But I’m here, ain’t I?”

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