A Prostitute in Tampa

Jenson made hard boiled eggs for breakfast. He would always overcook them so the yokes would turn green and the sulfur smell would fill his nostrils. To Jenson, this was as close to heaven as he would ever be. He would sit for hours staring at the static on the tv screen. He could have sworn that he saw his fathers face come alive in the black and white specks, but when he would start to speak the face would disappear.
Disappointment and loss had controlled most of his emotions, which were in constant orbit around his underdeveloped mind piece. He would attempt to focus on complex thoughts, but it was no good. So he would think about a lackluster sexual performance he had with a prostitute in Tampa. He could see the razor stubble in her under arms, and smell the urine which had soaked through his trousers some lonesome night before. She had told Jenson that his love was good... that his love was true. He had no reason not to believe her.