32. NOT TO BE TORTURED

NOT TO BE TORTURED: JUST SHOW HIM THE

IMPLEMENTS OF THE TORTURE INSTEAD

It was Tuesday in the hallway and we were nearing

nothing so much as more boredom. The cat had

scratched out its own heart and the multi-flora

roses had already died. Nothing seemed as if it

would change. A sparrow was pecking at the window.

Arriving in a rush, the jar of time-future proceeded

apace, and I thought (just then) I heard a whimper

from some far doorway. It was nothing but a feeler

for sense or sound, trying out its muscles in the open air.

I knew then that I didn't know now.

Everything made me want to walk away -

but some gimcrackery buzz-handled safecracking

cook had mentioned to me just previous that

he'd be 'back real soon'. I looked forward to

nothing. He was like a shadow with a hole where

light comes in. And I was very tired.

If this was to be torture, or my end, or his,

then we may as well have gotten started earlier.

As it was, I could have been drunk by now at

the John Street Bar. Across the street from Sidelio's,

by the Rockin' Rover Dinette. Over at the Mission of

St Manuverius the Pushover. Alongside Darla

at Petruvio's Steak House. But I was

RIGHT HERE instead.....

and it really seemed that way for real.