Fifty (50) at 4:00 a.m. Nobody cares about me. All they ask - TopicsExpress

Fifty (50) at 4:00 a.m. Nobody cares about me. All they ask about is the worm farm. How are they doing? How many are there? Can I see it? Now when people are nice to me, I suspect theyre just trying to worm their way into my life. My wife loves the worm farm. She runs her hand over the surface of the ground to see the little wrigglers wriggling. Wrigley Field. I watched a documentary about Marilyn Monroe and I know exactly how she felt. She, isolated by her beauty; me, isolated by the worm farm. Who would think my life would come to the point where Im tempted to be jealous of worms? But, I resist it. I embrace my fate recalling Zorba the Greek: ...just the same, and hell peg out and lie as stiff as a board beneath the ground and be food for worms, just the same...

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