Stereotype

I finally got into her house so I could say my piece. And she let me say it, more or less. She basically just sat there, looking content, oddly content, as though I was some friend of a friend. I tried to explain myself, told her all the things I'd been thinking on the past few months.

"I'm not the man I was," I told her.

"Yeah?" she said. "You better or worse?"

I'm not sure how long it was before she ushered me out. It could have been an hour, it could have been five minutes. Whatever the length it was silent. I stood there, dumb, deaf, listening to only my own pulse because my head was vacant and my thoughts were elsewhere. Better, I thought, or worse. Was there a difference? Wasn't the important thing that I'd changed?

It was a nice night for walking save the wind. I'll keep the couple bucks, I thought, I could stand to burn the calories. And so I marched on, thinking of her question, following the V of yellow street lamps, lighting my way to my stereotype.