Tag: Paul’s Mardi Gras

I have the week off. I don’t know why I said that. I have no idea. A day? A week? I don’t know. But it sounds like something regular people say. Like that. But, really, Myron’s mad cause I’m making money for someone else, and I think I’m going high-class but somehow I’ve fucked this up before I even get a chance to fuck it up.

“It’s two blocks, you could walk faster than…”
“I could. But I don’t hafta. I have cash, see? So, I don’t hafta walk. I’m paying, so just drive….”
“Sonofabitch,” I mumble under my breath. I’m a loud mumbler.

I’ve been gone. I’m sorry. I’d tell you where I’ve been, if I knew. I’d like nothing more than to know where I’ve been and what I’ve done. I’d like to pull my brain out through my ear, pop it in the VCR, sit on the couch with you, a vodka and a bowl of popcorn and see what happened; see the things my brain is busy blocking out. Or maybe it’s the vodka that blocks it all out. There is no way of knowing.