is is always this way, isn't it?

it is always this way, isn't it?

this morning i read jack lemmin was born in an elevator. before that i watched the front page. i didn't sleep, but could have. it is always this way, isn't it? i smoked a cigarette in the snow and pondered a fake-stone turtle on the back porch balcony- his plaster face peeking out from the snow on a rail. i pulled a red coat towards my chin. has it ever been any other way?, i asked the tortoise but he did not say a word, not even shivering. you are stronger than i, i said, pulling the door closed and wrapping the butt in a napkin. what hadn't been packed yet?...too much, I’d forget. i came in loud, i left loud
and in between, i slept. i did not think of leaving.