I want you to know I always thought you were a bastard, and this place took away any chance of me thinking otherwise

Nick Schenck

Rent costs vertebrae and knucklebones and skin and injections into your spinal cord, boss’ clean hands gripping syringes slowly and evenly skewering lungs and meat and gristle picked from between molars wrestled out of hiding by a meaty, twisted tongue, spat out,

coughed into crumpled napkins

35 years he clung to the side of the meat grinder and they took his backbone, and acid seared his skin. He thanked them for every second.

Comfort costs your tastebuds

Life costs your time.