CHAPTER 2

On the Road


Rigid movements, Sir Jane thought. Rigid is getting to the point. Rigid cuts to the center. My arms and my legs don’t think for themselves but they can be taught, I bet. I’m walking right now, but if I want to I can run. If I focus when I’m on the run, I can pipe it up a notch and freak. I can freak my squabbly flesh into a violent bone machine. Spinning like it was out of control, but I would be in control... Just a little. That’s rigid movement. My blood is oil so my bones won’t cut. I’ll pull it together so tight that my base will blast through rock. That’ll protect my speedy limbs. When a car comes by, I’m gonna smash a hole in it. I’ll run through the god damn thing.
A car just happened to be driving by as Sir Jane worked herself into a frenzy. It was a small blue boxy thing, probably about 10 years old. Sir Jane heard it seconds before. It fueled her angry happiness, and her vision drew back behind her body. The car crossed her path and she took it. She lowered her shoulder and struck, sending the car spinning across the road. Sir Jane flew back into a ditch. The car stopped at the side of the road. The left side.
Sir Jane couldn’t feel her body move. Like in some mad, drunken haze, her vision blurred in and out of reality. Sounds chimed in and then billowed off. Out of nowhere she got a Bob Dylan tune in her head. Something about not working on a farm anymore. No more... She got a picture of him walking into a town alone with 50 bucks and a high school degree. Then she pictured him walking in the street and getting run over by a car. At that moment she knew what happened. A moment after she knew what happened, her body began to come back to her. It was like waking up too soon from a dream. She was a closed fist opening up to the morning air. The feeling was stiff, but no pain. The gray, metallic jelly underneath her was seeping its way up into her flesh. She started to move her neck around. Soon after, she moved her legs and arms.
A woman, who was now standing next to the car, was in shock, but otherwise fine. She hoped that she had hit a deer because she knew it probably wasn’t a deer that smacked her car.. It looked human... Nobody was stopping to see what she was doing out there, off to the left side of the road. They just drove past. After a few minutes of thinking blankly, she began her dissent across the road.
With each step she grew more aware of what was happening. When she arrived she saw her, an average girl with junky clothes on, sitting on her knees- but looking closely she realized the girl was alive.
Sir Jane looked up before her and saw the woman shaking violently. She looked like she was scared to death. "Are you all right?", Sir Jane asked. The woman replied with a slight nod of the head. She was a very normal looking woman, wearing a very normal skirt. She had on average glasses and plain hair of an ordinary color. Sir Jane realized what she probably had done to the poor woman. She began to feel like she was walking down a cave made of blue shards. Stone. She got up off her knees and slowly walked over to the woman. Her body was still quite stiff. The woman’s mouth gaped open and her throat made a slight guttural sound at each step Sir Jane made toward her. Sir Jane could see the car off to the left side of the road. It had a nice sized dent in the side. Her memory still recalled the event in a solid form. A single image. She looked over at the woman and said,
"I’m sorry."
"Thank you.", the woman replied.
(Sir Jane looked at her oddly)
The woman said, "You look all right. You’re not hurt... At all?"
"I’m all right..... Are you OK ? Do you feel victimized?"
(The woman stared blankly for half a minute.) "Can I give you a ride somewhere? I imagine it still runs fine, you only put a small dent in it.", she blushed and then blurted out,
"I’m just glad you’re OK. Do you wanna ride?"
In silent agreement they both headed to the car. The woman’s name was Pat. Pat realized this after driving for a few minutes with her silent passenger. She had been trying to think of something to say, but this ‘name thought’ just wouldn’t leave her alone. She was named after her father Patrick and she was an only child. Legally her name was Patricia, but it was never used. She didn’t have a solitary memory of either of her parents calling her that. They called her Pat. She did have two forms of I.D. with the name Patricia on them, her birth certificate and her Social Security number. Once in awhile a teacher or doctor would call her Patricia, but she would promptly correct them. They understood the mistake. No one ever called her Patricia twice. She remained Pat because she began Pat.
Pat thought about her name further. She spelled it backwards. T-A-P, tap. She began to tap the steering wheel with her fingertips. It gave her goose bumps. She noticed Sir Jane from the corner of her eye and began to panic. She forgot about her passenger! How could she have forgotten her passenger?
Sir Jane saw the wild panic run through the woman’s quiet eyes. She’d seen it before... The old medium. Recognized again. She knew what to do once they started staring. It was time to move on. So she said, "This will do." Her voice was calm stone. Pat pulled over because she couldn’t speak. She wanted to say something desperately but the only thing she could think of was Pat. After Sir Jane left the car, Pat gave a nervous wave and drove off. The panic began to wear off after a few minutes and she began to consider her name in a more comfortable manner. Something stirred within her and she didn’t know what it was, but she liked it.
Sir Jane walked on. 76 West. Something wasn’t right. The wind wasn’t breathing, or maybe the clouds looked like they were in comas. A bunch of crows landed on the ground 30 yards ahead of her. They carried on squawking for awhile and then stopped. When she was 20 yards away they formed a line and stared at her. A car pulled over to the side of the road at the exact spot where the birds were and scared them off. Once Sir Jane approached the car she was greeted. "Hey Beautiful, you need a ride somewhere, Honey?", said a man. It was a man with a gray hat. Needless to say, she didn’t feel comfortable in his presence. In a casual manner she said, "No thanks, man. I don’t need a ride, but thanks for stopping." For one brief moment she saw the deaths of children in his eyes, and then he drove off. She began to wonder if she had screwed up. Maybe she was supposed to get in that car with the man. Maybe there’s something more to it than just avoiding a situation when there’s warning signs.
Another car pulled over and offered her a ride. This time it was a taxi. Sir Jane told the cabbie that she didn’t have any money. The cabbie said that he wasn’t on duty anyway. He was just borrowing the cab from his friend so he could visit his girlfriend in the city. "You see, my girlfriend is black and I’m from India. I showed up at her apartment last month and her whole brotherhood was giving me the shit. I know it’s because I’m Indian. They said so. My name is Rodget by the way." He held out his hand, and she shook it. "I love her nonetheless, so I’ve come up with a plan. My plan is to show up at her apartment in this taxicab and beep the horn for her to come out. We have already planned that much... I have brought along a pair of dark sunglasses, and I intend to wear this baseball cap as a disguise." Rodget was quiet for a moment as his eyes scanned Sir Jane. He thought she looked pretty ragged. He imagined that she must have escaped being kidnaped into the sex trade. She was probably hungry and broken. "Yes, she’s definitely hungry and broken", he thought out loud. "Are you having on rough times yourself, young girl?"
"No. Not especially. I’m on a mission of sorts. (She knew why he was asking). I know I look like a wreck, but I don’t feel like one......... Have you ever listened to Jimi Hendrix?"
"Yes, I have."
"Have you heard of a song called Highway Child?"
(After a pause) "I don’t know, what song...?"
"That’s all right. All you gotta know is that it’s about walking on. Jimi said, "Walk on, Brother." What I’m doing is walking on – like the song. My instructions are to head in this direction, down Route 76 until I find out more."
"Who are you going to meet?"
"No one. At least no one that I know of. I’m just walking on"
Rodget started thinking about it which made him remember meeting his girlfriend. He had also been walking on. For no other reason than going forward. He didn’t have anywhere to be that day, but he felt the need to move on. He moved more than he had bargained for, and found himself lost- it was the first time that had ever happened to him. He remembered seeing her at a bus stop somewhere and he told her he was lost. She walked him home. How unbelievable it was! She was going to point him in the right direction after a few blocks ‘cause she had missed the bus herself, but something clicked between them and they were in love after the 2 ½-hour walk back to his place. He had just been walking on. Sir Jane interrupted his train of thought just as it was stopping, she said:
"I admire the quest you’ve taken on for yourself. Your love’s need has pushed you into a more terrible dream, and yet you are talking about it with some strange, urgent happiness." (She was staring at him like someone glazed over from a needle shot but wide awake.)
(Rodget felt the gaze and he tuned in immediately) "Yes, I imagine for some there is no such thing as pain. No such thing as suffering."
"Just differences in the sight..."
(Sir Jane trailed off and followed sleep)




Later

She woke up with the smell of old garbage clinging. It was dark, except for faint traces of light filtering through cracks all around her. She heard buzzing flies and considered the possibility of being dead for a moment, but no, she was about to get up... She stood up straight and her head pushed open a plastic lid above her. Light flooded into her eyes. Blind for a moment, or whatever the opposite of blind is. Eternal light. It all faded back into regularity, and she could tell she was in a dumpster. She felt normal otherwise. Sir Jane pulled herself out and looked around. She was standing outside of a hotel that was part of a truck stop. There was a gas station and restaurant also. The place only had a half a dozen people wandering about so she was probably out in the country still. The garbage smelled on her. There were different substances smeared all over her ripped clothes and skin. She looked back by the dumpster and saw a pair of pants. A few feet off from them was a T-shirt. Against the wall of the hotel was an empty container of dish soap, but the inside was still coated. She gathered them all together and headed into the woods. In less than a mile she located a stream and stripped down to nothing. The moment she laid down in the creek her memory came back.
"Sir Jane", said the memory. "You fell asleep in that man’s cab. He called over to you a few times and then pulled into the truck stop. He pulled you out of your seat and carried you over his shoulder into the hotel. He handed the person at the desk money and they gave him a key. He brought you down a hallway and then through a door. He laid you down on a bed and then he bent down on his knees and folded his hands together. After a moment he stood up and took a pen from his pocket. He wrote something down on a piece of paper and then stuffed it in your pocket. Then he took money from his pocket and placed it on the bed next you. He left the room. Time passed... There was a knock at the door but you didn’t wake up. The person from the front desk walked in. They reached down and took the money from the bed and then they repeated the word "whore" a few times. They left the room. The person from the desk and another person came back in the room a few minutes later. They brought you down the hallway and out the door, and then they dropped you in the dumpster. You didn’t wake up."
Sir Jane lurched into consciousness! She began to cry, and she tried to think of why, but couldn’t concentrate. She was being flooded with feelings that didn’t make sense. She started moving her head around rapidly looking from the water to the trees to her hairy legs. She picked up rocks that were next to her and threw them anywhere. She wanted to swim but the water didn’t touch her knees. She wanted to do something. She put her face into the water and screamed. Water gushed up in her throat and nose, but Sir Jane stayed under. The water gagged at her but she knew something else was happening. She had closed her eyes, but she could still see. A warm pleasant rush ran from behind her eyes through to her stomach as she forced herself to stay put. She felt like she was breathing in the back of her head but she was still choking violently. Her body began to spasm, and a sharp pain wrapped around her neck. Her neck felt like it was ripping itself apart but she kept her head planted. Pressure was rising inside of her skull, popping her ears and forcing her to scream into the water. Everything blacked out for a second and then turned back on... Her eyes were closed now and she couldn’t see anything, but she could breathe. Sir Jane laid there for a moment realizing her face was still underwater. She was inhaling water through her mouth and nose, and she could feel it come out through the sides of her neck. It was a tingling sensation like pissing in a lake. She felt her neck with her fingertips and sure enough there were slits on each side. A regular set of gills!
Sir Jane picked her face up from the stream and gurgled for a second as the air filled her nose and throat. Water streamed out from the sides of her neck as she leaned back against some rocks. She let out a murmur of a groan and looked around. ‘What was going on?’ She felt like she was the only thing in existence- except for the apparition of scenery all around her. After a good stare, she walked over to her newly found clothes and put them on. It felt less like an illusion at that point.
Sir Jane remembered the note her memory had mentioned, so she felt through the old pants and sure enough it was there. She read it:
"Before I met you I was off to kill the men that came between me and my girlfriend, but now I’m just going to pick her up and get a bus with her to somewhere, like she suggested before all this. I wish you good tidings on your journey." Rodget
Sir Jane put the note in her present pair of pants and started walking back to the hotel. She was becoming colder on the inside. She was feeling more like a stare than someone behind one. She wasn’t thinking really. There was a sunset that made the woods she was walking through appear like a video game. A low drone was rumbling inside of her, quieting the surrounding woods. She could still feel her new gills tingling in the air.




There was a beautiful sunset outside of the hotel, but it looked a little unsettling to the people behind the desk. There was something violent about it that made Ms. Chalk think that foreigners were landing on American shores by the dozens. When she voiced this concern, it was immediately shared by her son Ray. He didn’t want to be taken over. There was nothing worse than being taken over. He knew that his mom wouldn’t get angry at him for saying that, so he repeated it out loud, "I don’t want no foreigners taking us over, Mama!" She agreed. He was trying to think of something else to say to her but he was distracted by a demon that walked through their front door. After he looked closer, he decided that it looked more like a whore. In fact, he recognized the whore. "It’s her, Mama." The whore stopped in front of the desk and stared at them both. Ray thought she was beautiful for a second, and then definitely evil right after. In fact, she was looking more like a demon to him. No demon girl ever stared right at him like that before. No one ever stared at him like that before. He felt younger than his age, more of a 14 than a 16. Ms. Chalk was staring right back at the demon with the fever of The Lord brewing in her. She said, "What do you want, Whore?" Sir Jane looked hard into her and said, "I want you to admit that you’ve done wrong." Ms. Chalk forced a movie laugh ‘cause she felt a little uneasy talking to whores. "You ain’t gettin’ any sorrow from me. You are what you are." Sir Jane took a step back and closed her eyes. Ray let out a scared squeak ‘cause another eye opened up in the middle of the her head. It was definitely a demon now, he thought. The demon whore spoke in the voice of a drunken man:
"I’m a very religious man. I have many gods. I have the best gods. My gods are dangerous, my gods are pure. I made enough money to stop pretending. I divorced to kill the witch. Now I fuck young girls in their asses to show them who’s in control. If they don’t thank me, I make them thank me, then I leave them the rest of the coke, and I’m on my way. A healthy man is a strong man, and the only man is a primitive man!"
The boy Ray had tears in his eyes at hearing this. "Daddy?", he muttered, "Mama, that sounded like Daddy talking!" She knew well enough who it sounded like, and she told the boy to shut up. She was lost in a sea of feelings and it made her dizzy. She just watched the demon’s eye close, and then the other two open up, but she felt an empathetic emotion from the eyes of the whore and lost it, "Demon be gone, be gone demon! Demon be gone!" screams filled the lobby, and Sir Jane walked out in confusion. She walked out to the highway and as she walked, she heard the screams grow weaker. Behind her a few people had entered the hotel to see what was wrong, although they already had their opinions about that family.
Sir Jane walked in a stupor of electric force fields. Every movement of her body was accounted for. She was ragged, she knew it. She always was after the old medium stirred up inside of her. The sun was already down making the road below glow lightly in blue, and she could feel the stares of the trees. She was back with her family. Back on her walk. Route 76 West, although someone was following her. From the corner of her mind she felt him back there, so she turned around and waited. It was the boy. He was carrying a baseball bat.
"I brought this bat for my own protection, it’s not meant for you. I just want to say I was sorry for what we done to you before. I imagine I’m going to stop hating demon whores like yourself. My father is really the one I hate... and maybe my Mama too, but that’s what I come here for."
Sir Jane didn’t remember anything after the boy’s mom had laughed at her, so she asked the boy to tell her what had happened, and he did, after making strange facial gestures because he didn’t understand why she didn’t remember. After he told her everything she felt better about the situation. She asked him what his name was and he told her. She asked him what his mom’s name was and he said Sally. When she asked him his dad’s name he stopped cold. "We don’t mention my dad’s name...", he trailed off and his body grew tight as if he were getting ready to fight. Sir Jane started walking and he followed behind a few steps. Her eyes were caught in the moonlight as it spoke to her about blood... a vision of the man on the highway with the crows appeared. The man wearing that plain gray hat. She thought about him as she said,
"Your daddy isn’t all bad... he’s feeding from a bad cat, and he is not very sane. But he’s not all bad... yet"
"How bad is he then?" Ray looked down at the ground.
"I don’t know. That’s up to him..."
Sir Jane stopped staring into the moon because she could hear the boys’ nerves scraping against the backs of his eyes. She knew he was lost, and she knew he would follow her for awhile. It occurred to her that he helped throw her in the trash can earlier when she didn’t wake up. Waking up would have changed everything, but she didn’t....... Strange. Stranger still, her and her new companion walked on down the road.






Back at the Alleyway



Jimmy had told me about the replacement system, and it got me thinking about my life a bit. I knew that I felt like I had to make choices, but was trying to remember where my choices came from. I remembered meeting my wife for the first time, you know, before she was my ex-wife. Me and a couple of friends of mine. Maybe I should say me and a couple young men who looked pretty similar to me went out to purposefully meet women. We didn’t discuss it or anything, but I remember the search for a mate was part of the theme in my mind at the time. We went to a coffee shop because it was daytime. If it was at night, we would’ve hit up a bar. We waited in line like cattle and then we went outside to a table. Some girls about our age sat down at the table next to ours, and through a series of offhand comments, both groups were joined in conversation. One of them was going to be my wife, and her name was Becky. That day I actually wanted her friend Stacy because I thought she was prettier, and I was sort of interested in her friend Marcia, but my similar friends made their choices quicker. None of that matters though because over the next few years each of us had dated one another for awhile anyway. We would grow bored , or get annoyed with whoever we were with until it became inconvenient to carry on. When this pattern was emerging, we spent less time with our current partner and more with someone else’s because usually our patterns matched the other couples’ patterns. It was a very convenient mating ritual system, except I became lonelier after each switch up faded out. After awhile, I became estranged from the people I was with, and I could tell they were getting that way also. My similar friends both got married and suddenly I realized what a virtuous reality marriage was. Marriage was a holy vow that said out loud to the world, "I’m not playing games anymore!" It was a symbol of maturity, like an older woman cutting her hair short. Some noble salute to fate, with folded hands. I didn’t find the love of my life. If she existed, she would’ve recognized my pickup line. I decided to follow the wisdom of my parents and my peers. Those who created Santa Claus and then uncreated him, all in a lesson. Life is what we let you make of it my friend. They were right. They had all gone through similar rituals and training. I was to carry the burden of regular life myself, and if someone was willing to help me carry this burden, I’d be lucky. I felt a surge of pleasure for the woman who would help me carry this burden. I knew her because she was the only one who was left. My sweet Becky. The first maiden of her group whose lips I touched.
I knew she’d say yes because I was the only one left also. It seemed like fate bound us together, but we knew better. We tried. At least I think we tried for awhile. We took pictures of ourselves together in different situations. I went back to school so that our income might be comparable to most other white couples that we knew or heard of. There wasn’t much of a difference between couples that we knew and couples that we had heard of. Becky and I were friends, if I had any friends, but I didn’t. She didn’t either, and the day she told me was the first day that we ever spoke to each other truthfully. It was also the day that we agreed to get a divorce. I think it was also the day I realized I could’ve loved her, although that still doesn’t make any sense.
Anyway, Jimmy had told me about the replacement system, and I told him all about what I was just thinking and he said,
"I want you to meet somebody. What do you think?"
"Sure, where?"
"Further into town."
As we walked further into town, I noticed that he meant the ghetto. There might have been two other white people in the neighborhood, and they both looked more like Jimmy than me. All he was missing was a shopping cart. I looked like a kid who was probably going to buy drugs for my fraternity. It didn’t help that the sun was starting to set. People were staring at me too. Poor people who were staring at me for what I was. They were standing outside buildings that had boarded-up windows, and all I heard when I walked by was, "You straight?" I answered, "Yeah", real low-key like. I looked over at Jimmy and asked,
"So who are we gonna see?"
"We’re going to see my friend Pops. The first original black man."
"Why’s he the first original black man?"
"Cause he says he is... and I believe him. He hangs out in an alleyway off Central. It’s directly in the heart of the ghetto."
"Do you come down here often?"
"No. I’ve been beaten up around here a couple times, so I’ve developed an aversion to it. I have to force myself more or less these days, although nobody has done so much as scratch me since I quit drinking."
"That’s cool..."
"Yeah, it makes sense in a couple ways...the ghetto is unknown. It’s the harshest place I’ve been besides Las Vegas. They say that most of the future geniuses are being produced here."
"How’s that?"
"The tension. From conception until birth a whole lot of stress is transferred from mothers to children and it subsides after the children are born, then it increases again. This pattern continues as the child grows, and their mental activity adjusts to the changes in pressure. It can make or break the child. They experience relatively more in a shorter amount of time."
"It sounds like weightlifting."
"Yeah, mental weightlifting. Much more dangerous."
It was dark when we reached the alleyway and I had my second and third thoughts about it but really, I didn’t know what to do but trust. It was a slow walk down the corridor as we couldn’t see anything. There was steam floating up through grates and plenty of places where somebody could jump out from. Jimmy called out, "Pops" a couple of times and then kept walking. Nothing. We made it halfway down the alley when a candle lit up the face of The First Original Black Man. He was sitting in a nook wrapped up in blankets. His eyes lit up like glow sticks when he talked...
"I didn’t recognize you Jimmy. I don’t recognize your friend." Pops looked at me and said, "Can you see the light in my eyes, Boy?"
"Yeah... when you talk..."
"Well that’s good, Boy... you recognize me, so I’ll recognize you back. I’m the first original black man, my name’s Pops."
Before I could tell him my name, him & Jimmy both broke out in the type of laughter you hear between people who find it amusing to know each other. I had never heard it before. It made me wonder if I’d ever been amused by somebody before. The only name that popped up was Sir Jane. I didn’t know what the hell to make of her... the beginning. The beginning of all this. Matter before. Now matter interfered with. I don’t know why I’m here next to two bums that hold like lords. The man before me is dark. Darker than I’ve ever seen. Some mutation of rock – stranger than Sir Jane. There is something in his voice. Caves. Caves under thick rock. Deep and cool. Guarded. Someone screaming for days. He is an illusion of someone who’s been there for awhile. Longtime. He’s seen rock curdle like milk, I’m sure about it. I don’t know...
He asked me and Jimmy if we wanted to sit down, so we sat down. I thought that was amazing for some reason. Just the way it was done. Something about the way it was said... I can’t comprehend. The deliverance of the myth through communication of sound waves – not language. Something was being promised. Not something good or something bad, but something definite. Maybe I’d be put to death... it frightened me. Maybe I’d be told I wasn’t smart enough to quit being human... yeah.
We were sitting down now. Minutes were passing by, and Jimmy and Pops were talking about some kid named Tyrone. I was thinking about covering up my pride. They were talking about an Angel. Jimmy said,
"Last I saw him he was at his usual corner by the mini-mart. Of course that was months ago, so... I don’t know."
"I haven’t heard from him in a month or so. He’d been helping out a stray near that mini-mart, some girl with a new disease. I’m afraid the boy might have done something foolish."
"What, you mean like get caught stealing from the machine?"
"Maybe. He’s big on Robin Hood themes, and I’m weary of his 24 ounce habit."
"Yeah, but Tyrone’s been sticking with twenties for a few years now. I never saw him drunk."
"Maybe so... It still holds him in a weaker state. He’s not as sharp."
"I gotta tell you Pops, Tyrone doesn’t make sense. He’s never made sense. When I first met him he scared me... And ever since he hasn’t ceased to amaze me. I almost believe his path might be generally controversial."
"Mayhap be..." (Pops turned and looked at me, but I couldn’t see his face until he spoke.) "Did you ever see an angel before?"
"No. Not that I was aware of."
"If you’re interested in how one might become one... Draw your name in the dirt there where you stand... When you want to know."
"Can I do it right now if I want?" (I said this as I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he gave me this big happy horror movie type grin. He winked without winking and I think he could have probably eaten me if it suited him at that moment, but I leaned down and drew my name in the dirt.) He looked over at me and said,
"All one has to do to become an angel is believe in something so much that they can’t help but walk the talk."
A couple seconds passed and he said again, ‘They walk the talk.’ I heard him say it again but his eyes didn’t light up. I wondered if it could have been in my head, so I mentally thought up a sentence to him,
‘Did you just speak into my head?’
‘Yes I did’, he thought back. ‘I’m going to tell you a story as you two leave.’
Jimmy gave me a look so I knew we were to start walking then. I couldn’t see Pops anymore but I could hear him. His voice lightened up as we made our way through the dark of the alleyway.
‘Time make sense to you, so I’m gonna tell it to you in time. A while ago I ran into somebody that reminds me of you. In fact it was you, but you’re not aware of that now. My name was Charles then. I left working in a factory because something stirred up inside of me. I went straight to the highway and started walking. After a few days of getting rides and meeting different people, the thing that was stirring inside of me rose up in my brain and I began to understand things... Slowly. Well, it took too much effort to do anything else but zone out, so I took a break out in Tennessee, and that’s where I met you. It must’ve been seven in the morning when I saw a young man with a guitar on an empty street smoking a cigarette. You interested me so I walked up and asked you for a cigarette, even though I didn’t smoke. I was talking to you about our bodies being nothing more than spacesuits, and I could tell you had some notion about how I felt. I think I thought you were an angel at that moment and I told you what I thought. You told me that you thought I could be an angel too, then you walked back up to the road. I had a feeling we’d meet again at that moment, and I had an even bigger feeling rising through myself. I was becoming something, and I knew it. Well... I wanted to tell you it was nice seeing you again.’
I didn’t know how to respond. It didn’t surprise me at this point that I had met him before. Prior life, alternate reality? I was trying to think of something to think back to him but Jimmy nudged me on the shoulder, knocking me out of what seemed like a trance. There were three lean mean gangsta looking guys blocking our path. One of them was like,
"You boyz gonna get fucked up tonight!"
(I blurted out) "What do you want, man?"
He took a step toward me and punched me in the face. I think it hurt and I knew I was scared. Jimmy’s eyes rolled back white... He had a slight convulsion as he said,
‘My poor black face is dying in the snow
As you hung me, I watched your soul grow cold’
That must’ve startled them ‘cause they kind of stood suspended in time for a moment. Then I saw the hate flash back into my attackers eyes, and I thought we were screwed, except out in the distance I heard a thundering, "HEY, HEY, HEY!" The gangsta boys looked over their shoulders and we all saw him bound out of an alleyway. It was Fat Albert. Never in my life had reality crossed the line of rational boundary. This huge, black man-child, wearing a red shirt and beret, had a huge smile on his face. He walked up to us and said to everybody,
"Thank God I found somebody. I was getting lonely. But look here, now I’m among brothers!"
He had a real jolly attitude but his stare was hard. It reminded me of an identification scanner from some science-fiction flick. I noticed Jimmy looked completely at ease now, in fact he was glowing. The lead gangsta boy spoke out,
"You ain’t brothers with no one here, except maybe this pale pussy we run into."
"Pale pussy, huh? I bet you could land a record deal with a mouth like that!" He lit up with a big grin. "You’ve got adjectives."
He meant what he said. You could tell that he thought the kid had some talent potential by the way he said it. That confused them for a moment anyway. The kid stared off and I bet he was trying to think of something deadly yet poetic to say. The big guy looked over at us and said,
"I’m Novocaine, and if you don’t wanna feel the pain you better follow me right now." He looked over at the gangsters and said, "These boys comin’ with me, but I’ll see you around someday. Like a doughnut, y’all!"
We followed close behind him as he trumped away, but some grey knifed voice tried to reclaim its meal,
"We know you’ve been cut Novocaine. Why don’t you drop them bitches or you gonna get some more... You in store for more."
Novocaine turned around, "I like that too Gray. You can’t help but to make art out of every statement. If you cut me down tonight you better promise to make a lyric out of it.... When you make me that promise, I’ll have nothing bad to say about you on the other side. When they ask me which bitch blew me down, I’ll just say, "Death by poet Bro, bring me in."
Novocaine turned toward us and we all quickened up the pace away from them. Gray’s voice shot back out, and we heard the cock of a gun. We stopped and turned around. He was aiming at somebody but I couldn’t tell who. Gray said,
"Tonight’s the night, man..."
But Gray saw something that we didn’t see. A few blocks behind us, below a street light was the figure of a man. Gray remembered him. He always wore that Freddy Krueger hat, and his voice... There was something inhuman to it. He remembered that voice talking to somebody near him. It was surrounded by whispers... He didn’t need this tonight, and shit, Novocaine wasn’t all that bad. He said,
" Tonight’s the night I let you walk with your pale children... get the fuck out of my sight."
"Gracious Amigo." Novocaine shot back, and we started off again with a quickened pace. We didn’t see the figure, because it had gone.













Pat






It had been two weeks straight now. She didn’t know what the hotel room smelled like ‘cause she had been smoking packs of cigarettes a day and consuming whiskey with the sick love that comes from prolonged desperation. Pat had been aware for two weeks now, although she wasn’t aware of that yet. She was aware that she was comfortable talking to herself regularly though, unless she heard someone walking by her door out in the hallway.
Pat had arrived at this hotel because she didn’t want to go home. She got into an accident with that strange girl and after dropping her off, Pat became a bit psychotic. She started out feeling neurotic because she couldn’t stop feeling amazed. It was a very uncomfortable experience, to say the least, but then it became more and more enjoyable. She became accustomed to it... Too well. The bridge of sanity was crossed. She was psychotic now. Pat never imagined it could be such an enjoyable experience, in fact, she wanted to prolong it before she checked herself into a hospital. She arrived at The Holiday Inn parking lot just as the sun was hitting its highest point.
Pat looked up into blindness for a moment and noticed a rundown establishment across the street as the blur cleared. It reminded her of the OK Corral and she said it out loud in a newly discovered voice that expressed only awe. Pat crossed the street, leaving her car and The Holiday Inn parking lot.
Pat paid for a week’s worth of days that cost less than two days at The Holiday Inn. Her room was dim and trashy, yellowed from living and smoke. There was no television and no phone, just a bed and a small table. There was an ashtray on the table next to Gideon’s Bible, and a pencil. Pat felt somewhat depressed at the sight of the table set up. It was a sadness she felt before but not in a long time. Tears came to her eyes and a melancholy warmth arrived with them. She felt attached to the moment in a way she couldn’t remember ever. Pat decided to get drunk.
There was a gas mart mini- mall a few blocks down the road, so she walked it. Walking was different from driving. Everything around her seemed less secure. She was out of the action. An onlooker watching the flow. She felt like a lost child out there, and all she was doing was going to the store.
Inside the liquor store she bought whiskey and cigarettes. She was more nervous buying the cigarettes for some reason, probably because she had never smoked one. Pat gave a nervous smile to the clerk, who gave the signature smile back, and on the way back to her hotel she thought about it. She recognized that smile all too well.
When she was inside her room with the door closed , she pulled out the bottle and took a swig. It went down easily. The warm rush filled her gut and she turned to a mirror on the wall. Looking into it she performed the signature smile... Perfectly. An emotion without a name crossed through her body, and ever so slowly her expression turned into a gaping, lifeless stare. For a good moment she stared back at it. Who the fuck is this woman? Pat stared into the mirror amazed at the dead look on her face. Minutes went by. 35 years old and she had never taken time to look at her own face. She took time preparing it before- but not actually looking at it. Her face she kept hidden from herself. It was their face she carried around. Tears welled up and out of her, bringing the appearance to life. What was she, in this shadow of the world? What place was there for her to claim as her own?
Pat looked over at the dim bulb glowing above her head. "They’ve harnessed light." She said out loud. "They’ve harnessed the fucking light..." said in the voice of an angry funeral victim- ever so quietly. Pat’s eyes found the cigarettes on the table, and then the lighter next to them. She set the bottle down and picked them up. Before opening the pack of cigarettes she turned them upside down and smacked them gently against her palm although she didn’t know why. It just felt like the thing to do.
She lit one up and drew the smoke in. A lightheaded feeling came over her so she sat down, staring at the glowing red ember on the stick. "They harnessed the light." she said softly and then giggled at the thought of her subject matter.
Hours had passed and the Gideon’s Bible was being decoded. Pat circled random words from sentence to sentence. Her method was just connecting different words in a way that made sense. They made enough sense to her, but she didn’t stop to read all she "wrote" until the book of Genesis was completed. Her version was about some strange guy who moved around in water and animals. Her favorite part that she picked out was, "Like I told you. What I said. Steal your face right off your head." She had said it out loud, and was repeating it to herself when she noticed those words weren’t circled at all.
Pat was drunk. Real drunk. She’d never been this drunk in her whole life. Where she was, and how she got there were making the experience all the more intoxicating. She held a cigarette in her hand and stared out the window. "I like it." She said. "I like this... I don’t want to go home... or to a medical institution, or whatever. I need to stay here.. .for awhile..." She picked the bottle up and made her way over to the mirror. Then she sat down on the bed still staring into the mirror. She lit up another cigarette. Extending her arm towards the mirror, "Hello...I’m Pat. I’m dead Pat." Her face went grave. Eyes were locked on her own image. She leaned over close to the mirror and whispered to it, "You let the bastards grind you down, Pat, you let them grind you right down... didn’t you, Pat?" She stared at herself accusingly, then she stared at the cherry of the cigarette. Her expression slowly changed into a mildly wicked smile. She let drool extend from her lip until it detached onto the floor, and then she snapped out of the haze. Pat put out her cigarette and then the lights before she flopped onto the bed for sleep.








Back to Sir Jane and the Boy Ray






Ray was amazed with the demon whore. He had been following her, just a few feet behind, for a couple of days. In those couple of days he saw her dig huge holes in the ground with a rapid spinning motion. He got to sleep in one each night. He also saw her catch small game by leaping at whatever she had surprised, and she ate some of them raw. Now she was under the water of a stream, and she’d been under there for 20 minutes or so. He would’ve thought she was dead if he couldn’t see her buck naked backside staying in one place. Everybody knows the dead float away. Yes, this was the first time he had ever seen somebody naked, and he was glad about it. She was a female demon whore. It was strange how they had hair on their legs, he thought.
Sir Jane surfaced with a fish in each hand. Water poured out from her mouth and gills as she left the stream. She knew the boy was staring at her, and she was amused by it. Instead of staring straight at her or looking away from her, he did both continuously over and over again. She threw the fish down on the ground and said simply,
"I have one of those female bodies. Does it frighten you?"
Ray’s eyes bugged and he said, "No. Not me. It’s cool... I think it’s cool." He gathered up enough courage and asked, "Why do you have so much hair on your legs and under your arms?"
"It grew onto me."
"Yeah... So why don’t you shave it off like everybody else?"
"Because I don’t want to take the time to be like everyone else... You know, being a demon and all... takes time too." She started to put her clothes back on.
"I guess." Ray seemed confused. "Where did you get those cuts on your neck?"
"I got them near you and your mama’s hotel."
Ray thought she probably got them from when he and his mama threw her in the trash dumpster. He felt naked all of a sudden, so he stopped asking questions. After all, he didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe he should stop asking her about what she was doing. He couldn’t help but wonder though. She was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.
Sir Jane wondered about the boy herself. She didn’t know what part he played in all this. She just kept going her way and he went along too.
The problem was the man in the gray hat. He had said, "Do you need a ride somewhere, Honey?" Do you need a ride, Honey? She thought to herself. Why was this guy stuck in her head? What was he up to? Death. It must’ve been death... In one form or another.
They moved on. Traveling along Route 76 West along side an aging road. This time when cars stopped, the 2 ignored them and walked on. Days went by, and each melted into one another. The walk was simple. Sir Jane could hunt like an animal, and the boy made small fires because he needed his cooked. They slept up in trees or else in holes spun into the ground. This went on until they hit the city.








Back at the Coffee Shop







There was no one there at the coffee shop... At least no one who had anything to do with the story at this time. There was a football player and his date. They were sitting down talking about the abusive relationships they’d had in the past. There was a guy who used to be a town drunk somewhere. He had been in A.A. some years back and succeeded. Now he spent a lot of time drinking coffee and writing in the corner. There was a waitress and a waiter on duty. Both of them were fairly new at that shop, although both had been wait staff for a number of years in other places. These people were the normal people- those allowed to hold the worth of the world simply by being human. Not just in this coffee shop, but just about anywhere. The great majority... although there were Others.
The Others


The Others were a section of humanity that couldn’t be described as normal... Their physical appearance was fully human but the nature of their minds conflicted with the outside world. Where most people spent a lot of time conforming to structures already set up in society, Others grew up with a lesser or greater aversion to those structures. They viewed the world and it’s people as a work in progress and this perspective forced many into estrangement at a rather young age. The most difficult thing for these folks to do was act like ordinary human beings. At this they failed miserably because they weren’t meant for that type of existence. The Others were guardians, symbols, creators, perspective points, and other oddities which continued to form around the population that they served. Mutations of the Spirit World. The reason for the existence of the Others was to influence humankind where it needed it. The path they were to lead was exactly the same as a pure human’s path- to find happiness in being. The closer an Other came to that path, the better they made the world around them.
The Others were not born with instructions any more than humans were. They had to find their way just as anybody else did. Just as the human child tried desperately to fit in with humankind, the Other child began to search itself in relation to humankind. If the path was right, the Other developed an appreciation for humankind as it learned to develop its own independent abilities and perspectives. These abilities and perspectives were in turn integrated into humanity, breathing new life into the strength of the walk- which was good.
The problem the Others faced was a potential lack of development. The biggest mistake one could make was to confuse him or herself with the dominant majority of regular humanity. This led to hatred because it couldn’t be done. After prolonged periods of disillusionment some Others eventually learned to hate themselves or humanity in general. The suicide rate among them was higher than among humans because of this type of confusion, and the Others also had a heightened sense of the Spirit World. In general they felt a higher certainty of life after death.
The replacement system was the greatest danger to Other kind. It supported the most dominant illusions of life that were perceived as reality by the majority of people.
Example: A man was attracted to a woman that he casually knew and felt the desire to have sex with her. Before the replacement system, that attraction led him to consider other aspects of who she was and what she meant to him on a personal level- but the system replaced his individual perception... and all of that diminished. That basic desire for sex took precedence over any way he may have related to her before. She became a vessel for intercourse. There was nothing else to her anymore- not in his eyes. As a matter or fact she became a vessel for sex in her own eyes as well. She had known the desire men had for her as a woman and it was part of her identity but under the replacement system it became her identity. Above all else she was what pleased men... They lost themselves gradually as everyone around them did. That thin veil of common thought weaved itself carefully through the fabric of their minds simplifying their perspectives of the world and themselves until the 2 eventually merged into one impenetrable shell.
Like those mentioned in the example above, individual perceptions of all beings conformed themselves to basic generalities in order to adapt to the mind set. The Others, who depended on individual perception more than humans, fell apart first. Humans also suffered from it but deteriorated much more slowly. They greatly relied on the Others for alternate perceptions, without ever being aware of who or what an Other was, so as the Others died a little... They died a little.
When the replacement system was in place, The Others became blind on the inside. They could find no rational means to become something different from what was around them. Instead they accepted the illusion for how it seemed and wondered about the growing sense of panic within. In a short time their behavior suggested that they weren’t comfortable with themselves and humans caught onto it. Unfortunately, not much frightened humanity more than finding something wrong with one of the Others. People felt threatened though they couldn’t put a finger on why – and they should have felt threatened... their super hero was dying. But in ignorance they beat the hero down in self defense, and ridiculed them for each unique trait – which furthered the state of the individual’s alienation.
The Others began to go mad as their human counterparts became one-dimensional copies of themselves under this replacement system.
And in a matter of time that system would complete.




The Prophecy of Sir Jane – According to Some Dimension





"Baptized in the newborn hallway with crisp bills of communal affection. This one will rise above the sexes, beyond transvestite knowledge, through all lost and curious translations of normal and indecent thought. Postmodern vaginal idealism puts brackets on minds belonging to those of trash island.
They cannot describe how they feel, and this breaks them down.
Lonely and lost because of indecent, routine messages known to the collective. Highbrow, know- it-all bigwigs left without self torturing parents have grown accustomed to the knowledge. They have grown into the fatty tissue of the knowledge and have drowned, if not sizzled, in it’s after birth texture. With fat bellies they stare at tanned asses with eyes like holes. Yes we know what Romans know and we get our coke for free..."
Jimmy was saying all this...we were hanging out in an alleyway with Novocaine, and Jimmy just went off. He was slumped back against the wall staring straight ahead at nothing. Novocaine didn’t say anything, he just listened.
"Muskellunge at the bottom of the lake, mixing with new materials,
developing an appetite for human ears, oil cans of plastic, newborn babies and gas station food.
Their texture is turning into a loose cloth of snail shells and black ivy. Memories are developing their tiny fish heads, forcing their brains to expand; pressuring cartilage skulls.
The pressure brings on madness, which brings on abnormal digestion rates, which brings on memory change and growth.
The pain is just becoming understood when the musky fathers devour their musky sons.
New ideas settle.
The survivors form complexes which form new ideas.
Diets of garbage make adaptation a quickly improved system.
Human thoughts fall to the bottom where the dwellers feed.
Genetic material, Polaroids, springs of sofas, and anything personal aides growth. Somehow time is retarded down here...
A new reality for each muskellunge identity brought on by each individual experience.
Textures are growing sickly thick like hot tar, and then rough like cooled lava. Breaking apart and then rebuilding, completely fueled by an awareness of pain, they move in to life and death."

Just then Jimmy regressed right before our eyes. His expression turned to that of a frightened teenager. One of his eyes actually changed color – I think green. Then he bellowed out and fidgeted, talking to the same piece of nothing...
"I had a dream an hour ago about some crazy fish, Grandpa! I was a corpse, you see, laying at the bottom of the Lake. I can’t tell you how I knew, but I knew I was a corpse. I could see my dead arm raised stiffly above me! There was a ring on my pointy finger but that doesn’t matter. The fish! It was the fish that mattered to me. I saw them over a thousand year span it seemed. They were growing all around me... And then the bastards noticed I was down there with them. They started getting an attitude with me, like I was in their way or something! It was really weird, Grandpa. The big fucks disappeared for awhile. All of a sudden I felt myself collapse and I woke up. Alive as I am right now."
Then Jimmy looked over at me and Novocaine, but it still wasn’t Jimmy. His eyes were brown now and his face looked paler. It spoke:
"Serpents broke free from the site of a sad Dawn.
Living further inside of the mind away from the fake face of their reality zone.
Heroes involved, yes.
Antiheroes heroes needed, but only feared or ridiculed.
My mind is part of their new evolution because I am the author of this personal life and death trip.
We are in love with the thought of what might be there in a union of self.
In love with the patients down the hall in a way which advances upon them would be only disrespectful.
Living a life to die wondering would be the true complement and rightly so, it is being worked out on the thinner field..."
Whoever Jimmy was stared off for a second and obviously left. His eyes went back to the green and blue of the scared teenager type person, although whoever it was didn’t seem that scared anymore – just sort of confused...
"I met my new neighbor today, Grandpa. Being the professional person I feel I am today, I professionally walked up to their apartment door and knocked in a medium tone. The spouse or live-in opened the door, fully exposing my new neighbor. It was sitting in a chair with a blanket pulled up to its naked mid-section. At first I thought it must be panted, but my eyes fell to the floor where a freshly removed set of pants lay. The neighbor, as if not noticing, extended its arms in a friendly-like gesture. Taking a step up, I embraced its hand unsteadily... and some wet substance fell on me! I jerked back in horror with a polite, "Nice meeting you, catch you again sometime!", and closed the door myself on the way out."
Jimmy’s face relaxed, but he was still zoning out.
"Grandpa knows well. Grandpa always knows well..."
Jimmy was just staring off into the wall in front of him. Novocaine had a worried, wide-eyed look fixed between me and Jimmy, and I think I felt the same way. It didn’t end there though, Jimmy started talking in a voice I recognized. It was Sir Jane’s.
"I’ve seen them again for the first time, again. Cause they get clearer each time, so you could get a grasp of the encounters............. Walking home from a gas station at 5 a.m. a van pulled up next to me. From inside, a few female-like voices called out, "Come along." I say female-like because the voices suffered from a lack of humanness . Only something a weary ear would pick up.... Well, my weary ear told me they seemed too suspicious and almost dangerous, so I relayed it’s message to them. Of course they turned into a group of gentle nuns beckoning me from the van... To the van. Their voices.................. Something within their voices immediately uncovered a new light of what I really was. I was the enemy of these entities and they were not at full strength. I could tell because they were only mostly there- Almost Formed Apparition. Of course I knew this and unconsciously willed myself through and within the imitation van. Some strangely familiar energy exchange was occurred between me and the apparitions. Something like violent thought. All of a sudden, I found myself writhing around in the middle-of-the-road, gasping for air... I hadn’t been breathing................ Now I knew about the Hellusions, 20 seconds after meeting them for the first time again............. How do I know and forget and know a little, just to find out that I know a lot more? It’s what ignorants call madness. The ignorants are what the Hellusions are after. They probably thought I was one... I’m not, now anyway, this somehow I knew. The Hellusions are the emergence of death. They replace life eventually. They might be ghosts of the truly careless, or the anti-nature of life as I know it. I almost think the ignorants are similar in a lot of ways. Maybe and yes, that’s why they’re the victims. I know, even though I don’t think it has happened yet, that I’ll be able to tell if the Hellusions I encounter can overtake me. I’m sure it’s an undiscovered moment somewhere, waiting...I’ll pick up."
Jimmy eased out of his trance pretty quickly... I could tell because I heard silence trail off and giggles replace it. He looked over at us with this bright look in his eyes and cracked his neck. Novocaine asked him if he knew what had just happened, so Jimmy started telling him. I was in a different mood, so I got up and told them I was stepping out for awhile. They said they’d stick around, so I started walking.
It was just before dusk in the city. Smoke was rising up through vents, and lights from passing traffic got caught up in it. I saw shadows of people passing by me... not people ...shadows of people. For the moment, I knew that most people weren’t fully alive. I knew that many of their lives were processed like the food that they ate. You are what you eat, and I’ve been eating something different lately... but what’s going on?
My mind is aghast in this thinner field of knowing what’s going on inside of, or outside of what’s going on. What’s going on? I don’t know. You can’t know because of something. Meeting other occupants in the cellblock and talking about the mildew on the bars. The price of the wardens head. The similarities between your head and his. Movement in time creates a vision that is so cloudy it must be real. The ones you came from feeding on the oil slick. How it rubs off on to you and how you worship it from them and in you. Euphemisms changing through backwater. The narrow backdrops of rain dust and humor. The sad simple sorrow of knowing someone... too well. The pain of knowing people tickling your ankles as you try to grasp a hold on the raft. "Is anybody there?", he says.
Rusting ideas that could be misleading, or that could lead to the big feed. Or they are the big feed. Number five is alive. What to do? What to do?
Deer hop through meadows, fish swim through streams. Ordinary people ordinarily did likewise things. Yet now, my brain’s turned onto the playground from overdoses of vitamin B12 and books in the key of F minor. Relating to what’s supposed to blanket my soul with hellfire ‘cause the speakers speak clearer than the extinguisher. Life being primed by all my intentions which are everyone else’s versions of the big mistakes. I’m purposely losing their game to enjoy my own life, maybe. I can’t use love or dependency to describe my relationship with this thinner field. We are doing something together, and as is.
We talk to the intellectual gas station attendant and we learn. We talk and learn from the Czechoslovakian gas station attendant. We walk home brewing and restless to write it out of us.
Illusions, muskellunge, and Grandpa mix in and around this thinner field like the voices that call out to you that you don’t recognize. I know what’s going on through them, and I hear what’s going on out here in the sad real zone.
The powerful place I live in is playing war games. The people I barely notice everyday are speeding up. Energy drinks and chemical nutrition nursing the beings of tomorrow. Headsets on more and more of us keeping us in almost constant communication. If you’re going to get a slice of pizza at a gas station, you call somebody and let them know.
The music isn’t expressing as much as it did when I knew it. Now it expresses the nature of some great machine with steady driving beats and bits of loose information mixed in. Becoming more psychological on a conversational level, yet the balls that are dipped in chocolate are viewed as psychologically fit adaptations of beings who own nice things. Human beings brought up with access to an easier life, who accept it as their nature is to do, are shallowing out. The bottom rung of the ladder seems to be the most nourishing because it slows you down enough to let it soak in. This pessimistic view of life outside of how I know it, was brought on by my refusal to be like popular people. This makes a cynic of me. The need to stand out and above all is too great. A real man would live, let go and die. Right now I’m too much of a boy, still trying to save the world to gain and show off the superpowers I’ll never have. The closest thing I have now to superpowers is intelligence, ‘cause I’ve lost the old flame of physical competition. It’s easy to sound cool fearing the world.
Walking down the street I see the people come close. I try for eye contact, or a nod of the head. Nothing. Usually nothing... I want to say, "No way, not this time you flock... I will not try to greet you and let you ignore me like usual! This time you’re dead to me, you spoiled human." This phrase never occurs. I simply shorten my time span of attempted eye contact, looking away sooner and sooner. If people are afraid to be bothered, then they are afraid to be bothered. Even from a glance of recognition. I’m suffocating in this part of my life.
The road in front of me is concrete, where once there was a living, breathing forest. Somehow the forest got the idea to put on a suit of armor. It seemed like that could be an explanation... but what could it be protecting itself against? And was there still a forest somewhere in there? Was it transformed, covered up, or cut out?
I looked down at my clothes because I noticed that I looked like a trailer park bum. They smelled a little bit, but I didn’t find it offensive. I wondered how the first person who got offended by someone else’s smell felt. They probably felt guilty and unnatural for noticing. Now if someone displays any degree of their natural scent, they’re singled out as unnatural. You have to smell like teen spirit.
Somehow all of this doesn’t make sense to me. These big buildings crammed full of people that barely meet... and I’m one of them. I guess people do things for reasons that can’t be explained, unless you let them explain it to you. Taking showers in the middle of the night, or tapping their wrists while driving past the graveyard. Some people overturn a number of cigarettes upside down in a freshly opened pack, and some tell you that they need you as your hurting them. I’ve heard of people spending their lives addicted to substances which kill them, and people sitting at fast food restaurants sipping coffee for hours every day. Cutting yourself or lighting yourself on fire doesn’t make sense to most of us, but to some people it does. Spending time with people you hate in an attempt to be like them eventually. These people can be strangely successful.
When I got back to the alleyway, Jimmy was in a trance and Novocaine was just staring on with big grin. Jimmy went on,
"Most of my life I’ve spent wondering what’s going on. I’ve been a Vietnam vet raising a family of strange, hybrid vegetables wishing I could get to Saigon for some of that pure rainwater. Instead, we’ve got cheap 40 ounces of alcohol. Strangely similar, and yet the feeling it gives you is so different. My eyes look like turntables rusted from the spit of young dancers... but they still play."