Feast Days. Ian Mackenzie
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Unemployment, if nothing else, gives you time to think.
For instance, it is insane to walk down a city street in America and expect the homeless men there not to attack you and rob you.
I wondered if that boy had ever used his knife on a woman whose purse he wanted. It was an enormous blade, more enormous now in memory. The fact that he had taped up the handle only made the threat seem more authentic. I felt a horizon of rage expand within me, long and bright, something like what I imagined my husband was feeling when he spoke of killing the boy who had the knife. The rage was simple, satisfying, and I savored the sensation as it melted out of me like ice.
I couldn’t think of the boys as thieves. Jean Genet was a thief.
Thief —from Old Saxon and Middle Dutch, and a whole gene pool of other dead tongues. I find it difficult to come across a word and not think about its origins. This ends up being debilitating, as you might imagine.
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