My Father Tossed a Blue Savings Passbook into the Mud at Cedar Ridge

I dug my fingernails into my palms until it hurt.

Then I pulled the wadded bills out of my pocket.

I smoothed out each bill one by one and stacked them on the table next to the empty pie plate.

I left my last dollar and forty cents as a tip.

I walked out of the diner with absolutely nothing.

The walk to my Buick felt like moving underwater.

The dry oak leaves on the pavement sounded like thick paper tearing.

I drove back to my apartment without turning on the radio.