What happened?
After putting things off until tomorrow, tabling hard conversations, not opening envelopes with type that gets progressively bigger and redder and louder, ignoring the shriveling tendrils of your anguished houseplants, kicking the can down the road while wearing blinders, committing to the guilty bliss of denial—Tomorrow actually came.
Tomorrow came and wants what she is owed, and she wants it all now. In cash.
When Tomorrow shows up, you don’t say, “Ahem, now’s not good for me. Could you come back another time please?”
Tomorrow is carrying and would certainly lick her teeth and slowly, almost absentmindedly reach into the folds of her long velvet jacket and stroke the nickel and mother-of-pearl butt of her weapon, the way a mother strokes the rosy cherub cheek of her youngest child as they slumber.
While you stand there stuttering on your porch behind the screen door as if a screen is going to do you any goddamn good when you open the door and Tomorrow stands there waiting.
Ready to collect.
