Interview

He puts on his black leather jacket,
And brushes off any remnants of crumbs on his
Scuffed jeans,
As he swallows the last bit of his bread

Ignoring the vibration of the cell phone in his pocket,
He realizes that he is running late,
Again

"Don't mess this up son,
You know we can use that money,"
The words RING in his mind

He combs his hair with one slick hand movement,
Grabs the white pills on the counter just in case
And leaves for the door

He doesn't run,
Because he is sick,
And because he is tired

Instead he reaches for the doorknob,
Inhales,
And steps out