Easter Sunday

Because these things always collide, the phone bill, the need for a new subway pass, rent, and you know, things like eating food, and I had all of twelve dollars to my name since this Friday's paycheck is going to just pay my April rent, I found myself pissing on the art owner guy in Chelsea again. He asked me what I did for Easter. I told him nothing. He asked if I celebrated it, and there were images of me as a kid, photographs from around our house, me in Easter best, and fast forwarding to this, to standing naked in this guy's living room about to piss on him. And I could hear the voiceover from one of those dramatic tv shows, showing the childhood clips, telling what it had come to now, wondering how these positions are arrived at in life, but in a way free of nuance. He paid me money and now after buying a new monthly card, buying various bath products, renting a movie, and getting Chinese food, I have about four dollars left. I rented more of Six Feet Under. I think I vaguely smell like urine even though I took a shower because I was worried about this smell.