Flesh And Blood -Rex Sexton A loaf of bread, a crown of thorns, to make ends meet I sell my blood. That “bank” is the only one I can make a deposit in since the recession began “Take it all.” I told the blood lady the last time I was there. “I can’t afford to make anymore. The next time you see me I’ll be in a morgue.” The economic recovery is going slowly, they tell me. Just enough jobs are created each month to keep up with the population growth, almost. The young and the useless get first dibs on the starvation wage gigs that provide no benifits. Old hands like me, doomed at fifty-three, can fade from the scene. We’re just walking dead letters which the Republicans hope will never be delivered to Medicare and Social Security. A decade or so without food or shelter or medical attention should eliminate that budget problem. The place in Jersey where I went to sell my kidney got raided the day I was supposed to get my surgery. I need to find another body parts chop shop, and quick. Blood and guts are all I have left.
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