A man walking through a bookshop notices that he is wearing no clothes. He feels as though he should do something about this, since people often wear clothes in the world, and he is not wearing them. He slits his wrists and yells, "Look! Look at me!" Minds screaming, pain reeking from soft, porous flesh. Withered palms. Shriveling. Screaming. Blood gushing. He slits his wrists, and screams. The pain he feels is pain unique to him. He holds up his bleeding wrists. "I'm livin' the life!" he screams. "I'm livin' it up!"
A bartender realized that he had miscounted someone's change, so he ran outside after them, yelling as if his life depended on it. The bartender clasped 82 cents in his hand as he chased the man whose change had been accidentally removed. Bartender running towards the man. The man turns around and shows his vest. He is a stoic man, reveals his vest to be woven with golden threads in purple fabric. He shows stoically that he is bleeding. He lifts his hand away sternly, staring ahead. His chest is bleeding so much. The bartender shoves the money against the man's chest, shows him who's boss. Man says, "Is there a stream nearby, in which I may wash my wounds?" Bartender points: there. Wallets empty out. Slicing off the keys to the car, the bills from yesterday, the apricot remains from Saturday's insanity.
Fish smell wafts through hazy streets. Men in suits walk as if nothing is wrong. Everything is malfunctioning, and men in construction outfits and hardhats repair the world's blemishes. A little girl tries to use a swing set, and it breaks; not just one swing, but the whole set, collapses. Old, tinny horns release squeals of delight from nooks and crannies in the pavement, between trash bins and piles of shit. Benny looks fondly down each alley; out of curiosity, he says. You know he's full of shit. He keeps his pants in one alley, and he sniffs them out every day. He is a worker at a sausage factory. I believe he functions as a compact mobile coffee drinker. Meaty fire hydrants. Big ol' meaty fire hydrants. Times of need we suffice to say that we love money. I love the times when everyone was nice and thoughtful and typed another thing for us to live. I feel like the trash has been taken to the outward rhinoceros. When I am finished, he has to open the old white door and kill a man. I will give a lecture with pride, as if I had managed to prepare it beforehand in the alley. Shift your footing, please. I am happy to be your assistant today. I am happy because she is an artist. It's handy and she's cute. No need to be smart, he's old and white. Noww. I own a chocolate donut shop. Only troubadours live here. Special. I say just let her live, but you know how we roll in New youk, bebb
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