Victim

by Andrew Boryga

Disbelief isn’t a strong enough word, dear reader. “You’re telling me that you, Giovanni Ernesto Mejia, read the fucking Rag?” Gio’s face became stoic. “You know I know how to read, right? I’m not a fucking caveman.” I imagined Gio in his cell. Legs crossed at the knee, sipping a coffee. Reading an article in The Rag about the merits of sustainable vegetable gardens on people’s roofs in Brooklyn. “I’m not saying you’re a caveman. I’m just surprised. Can you blame me? You weren’t much of a reader before.” “I’m a surprising dude, what can I say. I’ll also have you know, motherfucker, that I got my GED upstate. Among many other certificates—bitch. And, not for nothing, I’ve always liked reading. Sometimes I was jealous you had all these books in your room, and that you and your moms would go to the bookstore. That sounded dope. I just made it seem like I didn’t care. I thought people would call me corny. It was dumb. That’s what I’m talking about right there. That’s the sort of stuff I shouldn’t have cared about.”