Headlines

When a popsicle costs a dollar, we stop taking twenty out of the machine and advance to one hundred. Housing prices eat upward on their graphs; half a million dollars now a starter home. At the bus stop outside the ferry terminal, a teenage boy fists a bottle of pop. We still drink to dull the senses. Excitement slurs his words, all huh-huh-huh’s. Beside him, stands a girl in heels and a short pleated skirt. At thirteen, I wasn’t ready for the need that entered, loveless. My best friend’s mom calling to say it was time for me to wear a bra. Now there are girls as early as ten that want to.

In conversation, we repeat ourselves for emphasis. "A 64 year old bus supervisor beat up over a fare dispute, now he’s got liver damage. 64 years old. Can you believe it? Christ." What do we do with this information? An 11 year old girl abducted, then found. Six dead in an aerial raid. I can’t help but wonder if we store it in our bodies as illness.

People wait for their luggage at the baggage pickup, trust their belongings will be returned safely to them. A small comfort. The bus arrives. We fold up the paper and go home. There are bills to pay. Everyday, a little less certain, we can shop our way out of escalated conflict and one in four breast cancer rates.