my dead friend is still dead. he called himself E. Gad. no relation to E. Dink. he was also known as Thunderbolt, or just Thunder. a scad and a grumbudgeon, a fellow male survivor, we shared our secrets with...
woke the sleeping with duck called kazoos, bourbon, and marijuana cigarettes
woulda delivered me to the murdering biker if he thought i wanted it, and he almost did, but i didn't, so he didn't. in the morning he unbroke the circle and returned me away from the center back to the edge. right where we are sitting, right now
this is the way, he told me. this is the way, he showed me. this is the way, he slowed me. this is the way, he sold me
one night, inside the shimmering walls, i asked him to christen me, or was it a baptism? he smiled with the left side of his mouth, the right was busy frowning as a shield against...
he was ever what i wanted him to be, i never even had to ask, he said, i just figured you had something to say
kindred
brethren
sole survivor(s)
warrior(s) of the uncut kind
i can't even begin to tell
he appeared when i asked. this was his answer: pumiquat
he never spoke to me again. without explanation, i knew how to say the word. pumiquat. it's not what you think. nor what you expect. it's a secret. i've only told you the part that you're allowed to know
extra spaces. between the words. dobro scrying. he was an unreconstructed soldier. my fear of him was rational, but unnecessary. unless i wanted him to be. that
it was up to me. he never said that, but i knew. he had come to me before. many times. probably never again, i know, but you never know. he was always there. waiting. for me to arrive. so he could leave
pumiquat isn't what i am, he never said that. he said it simply, as if i already knew. as if in recognition of...
