this morning #1223.

this morning, i leaned over the edge of the bed & reached underneath for my wooden stash box. slid it out. brushed off dust. i hadn’t grasped how long it’d been sitting under there untouched. i set it beside me & thought this over one more time. last night, over a bottle of whiskey, i’d decided that today should be the day that i start making good on an oft-broken promise. in the light of the morn, it still seemed like the best course of action. i opened up the box. its contents: some college-era polaroids. magic mushrooms far past their expiration date. a fat stack of cash. a handgun. an unread letter from my pops that may or may not contain clues about who’d killed him & how i could find that man.