BEING AND
NOTHINGESS
I read Being and Nothingness when I was
fourteen - a lot of help that was. I crapped
in my coffee and found a means to flee,
running off to Paris to find the girl who
wore a cape. The midnight launch of the
Sacre Strey, I witnessed it while drunk
on punch and lime, writing in my scribbled
notebook the very next morning: I look at it
now, I can't read a bloody thing. Everything is
tiny, and like a scrawl. Those fourteen-year-olds,
they can't think at all. It was my Uncle
Hedgemon who brought me home.
I took a job in the penny arcade.
Being and Nothingness was
all I had saved.
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