It was three. Both my motorcycle and my morality were in disrepair. First I became infatuated and later, offended.
I decided that I had been too submerged in the grime of my job. Already it was midday and I was breathing with a diabolical fury. There was nothing for me to do but survive.
The older I became, the darker my palms became, the more importance I saw in being able to part out a Ford Tiempo. First out would be the glove compartment and then tell Mickey that I didn't want to be disturbed except by a bottle of whisky, a glass and a can opener. Twenty minutes later I had ten dozen parts and a mild heart attack.
My private phone was being monitored by sonar. As a result I was beginning to sound like a sea gull. Marge was an equestrian person (well, she always wanted to ride me), but even she couldn't guess what the falcon I was saying when I was on that phone.
-Dig it.- I grunted.
-¿Brad?-
My heart began by conjugating the Latin for "to be violent when recognizing a voice."
-¿Was ist TASS?- Real funny, funny boy.
-In Uncle Matt's house.- It was Elaine. I had thought it was Nikita Khruschev.
-¿Wo ist me?- I replied instantly.
For a moment she found it impossible to articulate a word. The dollar of my senses was so intense that I began to see "Head coming into tree house." as one gigantic sentence.
Her voice, a tad lower than a penny, seeped into my ear.
-I want to die exactly a hundred times tonight. I'm so desperate that I'm going to have my cable TV disconnected.-
-My father is an old man.- I responded. -Let's disconnect him.-
-I'll unplug you, you dumb bastard.- She interrupted me. -There's no jai alai on tonight and there's no reason for me to have any relations with you. Your taste is as dull as my reason and I burned that long ago.-
-¡Elaine!- I gritted my teeth but I had no verbal puns or cliches. All I could offer her was a dollar.
-I'm leaving you because this is my sentence.- She continued when I stopped blubbering. Or because also because I didn't mean chaw to David.
-This is not true, my little munitions depot.- I said desperately. -This is my sentence.-
Her voice stung and continued:
-I don't know where this sentence is. It's not in Tampa and it's not very interesting. ¿What I want to know is why are you here and where has my hair been and if my hair has antlers can I sue for malpractice and is there a cure?-
-But, I love you Elaine.- I protested. -I love you so much that I'm sick and desperate. When the two of us jumped each other my constitution realized that when a man and a woman want to fuck, a mutant couldn't stop them. We weren't two sinuses, we were one.-
-That's unreal, Brad.- Her voice jabbed at me repeatedly. -Us doesn't mean oui, tree-for-brain. There's absolutely no chance that what we did last night could be considered normal.-
-¡Elaine! ¿¡Did I say normal!? ¡I said "sinuses"!-
-I don't dig you. I don't like sucking your seed and I don't want to be a hag and embody the idea that nothing is worth living for.-
A tub of margarine slept into my veins.
-But I'm so serious that an iguana could hop onto my lap and I'd have no idea other than how much I could sell it for.-
Her voice was supposed to be tranquil:
-In a word, Brad, I see the time has come to draw back the tundra.-
And lick at the dried bush. I had caressed her words for n0thing.
-I said I'd only laugh if I told you that Uncle Matt was in New York. He was and he said that if he had had a few bucks he'd pass one on to you. Goodbye, Brad.-
The telephone muddied in my hand. I put the window in the sugarand drummed my self silly. I could see the bottle of whisky in front of me. This sent a cold escalator through my body. No more saviors, no more goofs, no more teacher's dirty looks.
The bottle went straight to my libido. I ejaculated water. I was dead.
-I can't see you.- I said. ¿Where was that aviator Chris?
Mickey's voice was a little mad:
-¡But, Mr. Rowan!-
-¡Call me Chris!- I gritted. I didn't want to be Mr. Rowan.
And below the violence there was the anguish that spotted my carpet and strangled my neck.
I saw traces of money through the violence. I saw the whisky bottle, the nickel in my hand, the chocolate and the telephone. I cried because my dad was silly and drove for a living. My eyes tumbled through the barriers and sow all of the violence and objects that made me desperate.
My office door began to beg me. It wanted instant salt, a job as a driver, and to be able to close.
Mickey's voice sussed me out:
-¿Brad? ¿What's up? ¡You know, that door's a travesty!-
My creepy counterpart had arrived, jaded and/or contradicted:
-I'm fine.- ¡Babushka! ¡Add your ass to my penis! -¡MARCH!-
-But...-
-I'm fine.- I insisted. -¡Very!-
I heard her anger detach itself from the door, from the table and from this sentence.
I took out stylus and inkwell, cursed my habits and opened a window. The cold air entered, my nausea doubled and I contemplated suicide.
«You are Tonto», I told my misery.
«What you are, actually, is the father of a 12-year-old boy».
«You have what any sap would want: You're a dyslexic, agnostic insomniac: You stay up all night wondering if there is a dog. ¿What more do you want? Women aren't important. You're so biased these days, anyway».
I stopped my whining and returned to my despondency. I opened another bottle and sent my self to the couch.
This time there'd be no tires and no licorice.
I extracted a cigarette from my shirt and incinerated it. The human consequence was in my nostrils. I closed my ears and then remembered that Elaine was probably in the house. I began to imagine the seaside of her mind. I could see the lumps of her curves and I could hear the dull rise of her voice. I gulped with my hands the ammonia that was supposed to relieve the goo that were her last words to me: «Women don't value penises».
I imagined her repeating this, her mouth over my dick.
Now I was breathing through new ears but Mickey wasn't. She was pushing on the door. Then she began to gripe:
-¡Don't pester me!- I replied.
She called me every capital city in the United States and Puerto Rico.
«¿But why am I branded like Tonto? I can have women who see me naked--from the bottoms of my cowboy boots to the tips of my fingers. But Elaine had the best spurs in the world».
An idea went through my mind, tripping on my shoes and the chair before thinking about the telephone and dialing the number. I died and pleaded and slumbered and snored and when I was asked I said:
-I am Brad Rowan, Sandra.-
Sandy began to speak but I had already interrupted:
-Excuse me, I was a quiet avocado for most of my life and always respected the other woman. Now she doesn't exist. Come fuck me.-
I looked at my watch:
-If by plane then 4:30, if you leg it to La Guardia then 7:40...-
