You sit on the step and look around at the jumble of thing you can't take. You squeeze down your enmotions so you don't get caught crying because men aren't supposed to cry. Men have to be strong and calculating and be able to keep the family going in the face of whatever horror the future holds for it.
How do you get here? What series of events has to fall in to perfect place3 to put your whole world on a curb, waiting for the vultures to swoop down and carry it all off? You look up at the front door of the house that made you so proud at first, there it hangs, crooked and curling, from a single staple, the eviction notice. You wonder why they have to make sure that just being thrown out isn't enough, why they have to post it publicly. Is it so that you know that the world can see you are a failure?
It doesn't really matter now does it? It only takes one look at th peeling paint and the mis matched shingle to know that it was all just a pipe dream anyway. It didn't take long after you lost your job to find yourself in trouble. At first it was so easy, they let you sign the papers and gave you a load of shit about the fucking american dream. It kept you frome seeing the fine print.
The old truck is sitting at the curb piled high with ratty furnniture and clothes. Well, at least it is paid for. The one thing that no one holds paper on is that piece of shit truck. The family is waiting out at the place you have to go to now that you are among the forgotten. Exiled to a life where begging government employees who for some reason think that it is their money and not the taxes you've been paying all of your life that they are passing out.
The sun begins to make you sweat through your t-shirt, the darkening stains are like badges to tell the world you are just another filthy, lazy, welfare mooch. You know that they think that since you can look back and remember how you did the same thing. You'd see the moving trucks and the eviction notices and the signe on the lawn with those giant letters "FORCLOSURE" it is only a word but the unspoken shame never hits you until it is your lawn and your possessions piled out there.
You reach around and rub the back of your aching sweaty neck and try to pull yourself up. That's all of it now anyway, a life scattered to the wind. How long before she decides it is all too much to deal with? How long before they go and leave you with nothing but another debt and the empty life of a man who has lost everything important to him?
All in all, you start to wish you were dead.