In a perfect world I wouldn’t be here.
I’d wake up at noon...make that one.
I’d shower and my hangover would be manageable.
Me and Carter (my dog) would eat together.
Rus (my driver) would pick us up and run on over to Wendy’s for a couple things off the dollar menu, nothing too crazy…a double stack and a Jr. Bacon never hurt anyone.
Rus would drop me off at Marietta’s and take Carter to the dog park. Carter loves the dog park. I don’t. Dog owners weird me out.
Me and Marietta would eat homemade guacamole and chips and watch the How I met Your Mother from a couple weeks ago. There’s a manatee and a mermaid. Maybe we’d fuck, no biggie.
I’d call Rus from the yellow rotary phone in Marietta’s bathroom.
(who keeps a phone in the bathroom?)
And have him pick me up some mozzarella sticks from that joint on the corner of 56th and swing back to get me.
Around three me and Carter take a nap. I’d dream that I was in a gallery of antique stringed instruments. In the dream I was the last one to ever see it…go figure.
I’d have a second lunch with Dizzy and Darlene(they’re sisters) at Ma Fischers.
We’d share some chicken wings and I’d think about ordering the clam chowder. I wouldn’t once I find out they serve it with crackers and not bread. No butter - no business, I always say.
I would drink two glasses of water and a coke…then a diet coke.
We’d go to the bowling alley and I’d watch them throw because I don’t play games.
Rus would pick me up and take me to the movies. Carter gets a milk bone because they’re good for his teeth.
I’d get too high in the theater parking lot and forget what the movie is about half way through. I’m laughing and crying and I don’t know why.
Carter would lay with me but I wouldn't give him any Cheetos. Cheetos are terrible for dogs, fatal I’ve heard. I’d consider stopping eating Cheetos all together….consider. I love Cheetos.
I’d have Rus fetch me a Mountain Dew from the fridge and wait for Nancy to come over.
She’d come over and maybe we’d fuck but probably not. Most likely I’d fall asleep half way through Caddy Shack and when I woke, she’d be gone.
I’d order a Canadian bacon pizza, eat it, and go back to sleep.
I’d dream. I’d wake.
Nobody would ask me for anything. Everyone would love me. I’d be rich and free. I’d have 4-5 girlfriends that loved fast food.
Of course its not like that. The world isn’t perfect and I’m a joke.
I have debt up to my eyeballs, a bum knee and a drug problem.
My ex, Rita, threw me out. I still owe her 1,300 dollars. I told her I cheated on her because well…I don’t know why. In retrospect that was a poor decision.
I live in my uncle Donald's basement and write stories that most of my friends won’t even read because they don’t really like me. I’ve gotten old to them.
My own father only pretends to be supportive. My mother is dead.
I have Carter the dog, so that’s something.
I resent my friends.
I resent bus drivers, waitresses, city workers, bums, rich women, rich dudes, families, spinsters, cab drivers, landlords, roofers, construction dudes, people that sit at coffee shops, college students, college professors, high school students, high school teachers house painters and dog walkers.
And most anything with a human face.
Lately, I’ve been seeing the ghost of a girl I went to college with for a while. I didn’t know her that well. It could be the depression medication or weird fumes in Donald’s basement. She’s there alright. Plain as day sometimes.
I’m pretty sure she’s trying to tell me something. No matter.
I get up in the morning because I have to. I have no choice.
If I was going to kill myself I should have done it a long time ago. I can’t anymore.
I’m too far along now.