Paper Boy | Michael Kindt
I used to deliver papers. It wasn’t a childhood thing. I was a grown man, a very poor grown man. In my life, I have experienced extreme levels of poverty, being homeless at one point, living in a car. I have also experienced extreme levels of middle class, living in a nice house with a microwave and a woman who admired how ‘solid’ I was.
Both existences fucking sucked–although I noticed it was far easier to be depressed in a nice house. I mean that in the most literal way. When you are trying to find something, anything to eat, you don’t have much time to ponder how no one understands you. When you are extremely hungry, you and the whole universe you inhabit makes complete sense. You know exactly what needs to be done: GET SOME FOOD.
Michael Kindt lives in the Black Hills of South Dakota. He has determined to die there. Soon, probably.
Semi-autobiographical. All true, except the part about drinking one beer. Come on, who drinks ONE beer?
