nine sentences

perhaps it was the cup of coffee at 3 p.m., or the hundreds of black and white photos – the tattoo artist, the bucket of fish, the sky over the ocean – or the puddle of melting snow i stepped in that purged me of my tears. or maybe it was last night’s insomnia or, more likely, my menstrual cycle who always manages to fuck with my emotions. all those things could have been the catharsis of the tears that dripped off my reddened nose and cheeks as i hurried along congress street to my door. but they weren’t. all i have to blame are nine stupid sentences. and one dumb bitch.