Inside Me, There Are Two Wolves
My Name is The United States of America, by the way. Case That Was Unclear.
The first one? Doesn’t like you, especially, but is essentially like “Live your life. I don’t give a shit what you do, just don’t bother me, capice?”
The second one locks eyes with me while he puts a kink in the hose to my grandma’s oxygen tank while he shits on the floor of a museum.
The first one does not give a rat’s ass who you sleep with, because he’s clear on the fact that it’s A) none of his goddamn business, and B) doesn’t effect him in the fucking slightest.
The second one drowns a barista in front of TV cameras.
The first one doesn’t believe in god, but doesn’t begrudge you doing so. Because, again, it has zero impact on his own life if you do or don’t.
The second tromps through a daycare, windmilling a pair of sickles at the kids. And, yes, technically he is correct when he calls them weak and slow. But they are like four, so.
The first one recognizes that some among us need help from time to time, and accepts his individual obligation to pick up his share of that tab. He’s not thrilled about it, you understand, but he believes the society he lives in should function.
