desculpeme

The couple shimmied to their seats. decked out in their team gear and they had hot dogs. Big, fat bratwursts in their hands that inevitably would leave trails of yellow mustard and ketchup on their getups. They looked inbred. A constant look of confusion and carelessness reflected in their eyes. I leaned over to the boy who has yet to know he’s gay and said, “that, now thats wisconsin for you.” my mouth felt dirty after saying it, like i had just deemed myself as superior to folks out to enjoy the ballgame. And all the while, I know the truth. the truth about people. the shameless commonalities that we all share. the undying attempt to eek out even a moments worth of joy from a greasy brat to the click of the bat when the ball soars towards centerfield. its all there, like the botox, the shopping sprees, the morning runs on the beach, the garden, the strip club, the airconditioned cinemaplex, the midnight snack. im guilty. i had to redeem myself. this is the only way i knew how. so i say, LET THEM EAT THEIR BRATWURST! i’ll own up to this fallacy of superiority that i somehow convinced myself i possessed and hope in some way i’ll be pardoned. just this once.  

good night wisconsin.