I’m stretched out on my bed, half my legs hanging over the end, as usual. Outside in the hall I can hear voices raised in protest against Miki’s assertion that the party is definitely fucking over.
He jumps back into the room, shoulders the door shut, locks and dead-bolts it, kills the lights and slumps down onto his bed. We lie in oppressive darkness waiting for sleep to come. Out in the hallway voices continue to rumble about what they ought to do to those ungrateful Limey faggots.
“This is good, then.” I say.
“Good night dear.” Miki says, and starts to snore.
Why am I lying alone in the dark, sweating, a nasty buzz strafing my head, violence out in the hallway itching to kick the shit out of me? What happened to the endless stream of booze, drugs, and nymphet blow jobs I’d expected? America, where is thy glamour?
Lost in a sea of paranoia and wobbling obesity, choked on the end of a billion tailpipes, locked away behind the blue flickering of countless TV sets, showing everything, telling nothing, poised hanging between an endless chain of steer burgers, coke ‘n’ fries, and an ocean of human shit and piss, singing I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy and the rest of you can fuck right off … where’s Champion the Wonder Horse when you sodding need him. I drift away into nightmarish waters.
Causes Luke James Supports
Doctors Without Borders