12,983. I HATE THE REAL WORLD

I HATE THE REAL WORLD

I've got to find a place for going

where the going's good. Time is

of the essence, like they used to

say, though now it's just another

key up on the wall with some 

password I've forgotten, and no

time for stopping at all. Your

cloak is pretty classy, but what

good does it do me now? 

-

One time, in Elmira, just a few

months back, the beginning of

January, I'd stopped at a corner

store, half liquor on the other

half : discount liquors, which in

Elmira means any at all. I stayed

in the van and watched, and then

I got out with my dog.

-

Some guy came over, wouldn't 

you know it, half-assed bedraggled 

and wanting drink. Said he'd had a 

dog once, just last Summer, but his

friends killed it. I stopped him right

there, or tried to, saying, 'Hey listen,

I don't want to hear your troubles.'

-

I even gave him two dollars, figuring

maybe he could buy a tooth. In Elmira

now, everything's pretty cheap, and he

needed at least 10. But he went right

on, the dumb fool, about how they'd

strung a rope around its neck, no shit,

and threw it off that cliff. Right there!

-

And he points, like I really cared. I

was more ready than ever to kill him at

this point, but it was about 12 degrees.

He said he lived there, up, at that house

atop the ridge. There was a well-worn

path, I could see, to the liquor store.

-

Being an outsider again, I'm not sure

I ever wanted to kill a guy more than

him and right there. I said, "Even Hell

has its limits, pal, and you've already

got two feet over the line. Get lost."