Let’s do the math. Let’s carve out our losses. I imagine you in a white-knit grin as you poise yourself with the knockout win. You are wrong, mostly. This will end more badly for you.
So tell me I am a little old, a little rusty. An aged model with sticky notes of steel. So tell me I snore, I belch black smoke. A little loud and messy and coughed-up. So tell me I’m too much, too colorful, too true. A personality in purples and greens and yellows and blues.
But darling withstanding, I am a sweet lover; a driver driven with horses all over. And you know I’ve always been pretty, been the talk of the town and the world. I am the tinted space machine who struts your roads come night or morning. The queen of the highway with skins of love and God and country unwavering. And yet here we are, and I know what this is about.
So you have found someone else. So be it, I’m an afterthought. So she is modern. So she is new. So she doesn’t smoke and snore and have too much to say about things. So she provides for you too. Now I know you live in a nicer house with her, the deal shut with a neoliberal seal. But I implore you to think about our children – I take them to school every day.
Think about their hassle, their expenses, their bothers. Think about the rest, who depend on me too. Live off of me too. Think about my bearers, my drivers, my equestrians. Who will feed them then? Who will give them solace? And color? And direction? Who will drive them to house their families, their children, our grandkids? I assume you haven’t given this any thought.
You’ve always had a history of impulse; cash-rush adrenaline. But do the math again. Flesh out the losses. So maybe I’m wrong and maybe you’ll win. But what cost have you unbridled now? Gambled how many pawns now? Because when all else unravels, I’ll take the fall, I’ll take the burden – I’ll take the custody.
Words by Jennell Lee Jr.
Art by Yuan Simbulan