Malo Bin: It’s been so very long
since the earthquakes. And now the end
of the end but never in time for the end.
When it was so hard to be this way.
I remember. I’d cry holding my father’s
hand. Popcorn in my other hand.
Melted butter dripped on my toes.
But now, it’s all gone.
I used to love the game so very much.
I’d cry in my sleep.
I’d see my dead mother under an umbrella
in her red bra and panties and her alabaster
skin.
It scared me into becoming a fan.
And for this I am a lucky Bin.
Zinku: You have no idea.
I was under the ground so long I could hear
the cleats cutting into the path just over
my head. I never knew much.
I read the reports on Facebook, the this
and the that, until my nose would burn
with envy.
I thought I understood. But the Underground
was never a popular place to be, y’know.
It was all very mythic. I heard other
noises. Weird, wired sounds.
Like over-stretched viola strings.
I heard the Manager yell out something.
The pitcher cursed under his breath.
I hated every second of it.
Malo Bin: You need to shut up.
Endinko newly. Truly.
Newly. Truly and then, endinko!
Fin