The Navajo and Little Feet encounter. The habitat of the house pedestrians. They had to feel bitter. Here was a prison of water and designer ducks and a segue into a uniform mess as if the hot water had just turned COLD.

They had what to me seemed secular: The crime of offering short arms to God. I didn't have enough Wild Rot in me but I was plastered to my dental work. I basted my self in Listerine and was about to powder my toes.

I lunged for my haste-makes-me-a-bad-motherfucker (¡shut your tank top!) but God had superglued my door shut. I had come in, doused my self with calamine lotion and made for the salad bar. This was home. The distance between my vaccination and my eyesight was more rope than dope: ¡Come in costume and extend your Adidas over my camel!

Bust this out: ¡Press my vest and lower your shorts! Enter in and come. My jugular does not run (¡no one does!) in La Mesa and the magazines that I subscribe to are fronts so that Marge will think I'm silly. Eat me and send me. I'm about to say: ¡God! Vault down onto the page and finance my sexual trampolining with the grace and segue of a society column:

Mistress Hortensia (Elaine) Schuyler, sole heir to Mr. Matthew Brady's Magnet of the Zero, who personally relieved herself on Washington, has definitely been abandoned like carrion after the terrible disgrace of last year. You remember the tragic paradigm of her husband and two children, victims of «polio» while she was in the laps of several unseemly men. We told you about the time she had lunch at The Colony restaurant with an attractive cowboy. She had a very avocado sandwich with a case of mustard (probably to spread on what sat next to her--Mr. Brad Rowan, prominent with the jerks in public relations and rumored to be checking on Ms. Schuyler's assets while also keeping tabs on the Contras.

If the sun also rises and she feels like it, Elaine can be as tense as asking an alligator to sign for the UPS delivery--so specious that no one notices that everyone is COMING...

What the magazine meant was that it had sided with doppelgangers in every column since the depression and ¡NO ONE HAD NOTICED! This kicked the tire of anyone who didn't know my jar-head from my penis-pouch. I was a tireless toady orchestra leader when a tambourine called my attention to a tit-mouse who said:

Christopher Tyndall, the name-brand with the jar-head--especially in public relations with Matthew Brady--wants the Consolidated Corporation of the Zero.

¡I'm tired of all these swine magazines! ¿Where is my John Wayne movie? ¡All I have is mutant turtles!

-¡Marge!- I gritted my teeth.

The refrigerator door opened and so did our maid Sally.

-I didn't hear you throwing up, Mr. Rowan.- Sally contested.

-¿Where the Taco Bell is my Mrs. Rowan?- I prayed to God she understood Spanish.

-She marched through here- Sally contested. -about the 3rd of June.- And back into the refrigerator.

There was a mean trace of ninja turtle and a hardy "Hi-Ho Silver!": Jeanie the comedian.

She needed an alignment.

-If you're feeling pressured, Papa- Jeanie said. -¿why don't you expose yourself in front of the college?-

If I had more patience I'd be an iguana:

-¿Why can't I find a John Wayne movie or think of the title? ¿"THE CAR WHO CAME TO DINNER"? ¿Is that that film he made with your your mother?-

The sunrise was slow and transformed a simple gesture into a personal offense. Jeanie penalized me five years in what she described as "No more women."

I gyro-sobered her talons and abandoned the comedy. One second more and I would've been corralling all of her teeth. I heard the refrigerator or was it the door and when I looked she had already sentenced me by airmail.

-¡Jeanie!- I gritted.

I closed the door and volvoed to dinner, the road in front of me reflecting my image. My jugular pumped my necktie up and down like Charro on Ectasy. I took in about a quart of bourbon and set my self outside the door for the night.

Nothing but big drool in the morning. Sally entered my den and tried to just say uno: the eggs with their translucent yokes mocked me, the butter mocked me and I was totally sober. The toaster was cruel and derisive. The coffee confronted and served me like an amazon cafe.

I contemplated all of this with indifference. this meant the eggs. I quickly perceived that it was the Sunday before work. Every part of me was bad saliva. I returned my self silly to La Mesa and woke up. Sally watched me with a sure-footed expression of curiosity.

-¿Wasn't I sent to you naked, Mr. Rowan?-

Had I been her voice I would have been as preoccupied as all air-out. She lay me down on an anthill and sat on my face. ¡What a cold and vacant parasite she was! If I was all caring and love (I WASN'T), she was desperation (SHE WAS).

-I'm not hungry.- I said wiping off the saliva.

Morning passed with an inaction that exasperated. No Teamster was more 4 talking on the telephone than I, but it was lunch when Elaine called.

Her voice was a fly guy's:

-¡Ask me how I've been!- ¡And pray to Goethe! -¿How did you die?-

-You died.- I replied. I didn't want her to see my composure. -¿And you?-

-¡I'm exhausted!- She said. -¿Did you read the note I left you in the mens magazine this morning?-

-I read it.- I replied.

-¿Did your wife read it?-

-I suppose not, yes.- And I suppose her carcass was extemporaneous. -She wasn't able to see this morning.-

-Uncle Matt got laid also. ¡Hah! He told me. He told me it was "very enjoyable." He told me that no terrestrial had ever given him more of an adventure.-

This time I was interested and smarmy.

-¿And what did you tell him?-

-I told him that I was the one who caused your wife's blindness. ¡What do you think! ¡¿That I told him I was teaching her to read?!-

This passed alto and went straight to soprano. This being her voice. Suddenly, an idea occurred to me.

-¿You're disgusted, right?-

-Yes.- She said. -¡No one abandons my tan lines!-

-Very well.- I reified. -Tie me up and pour baby quesadillas over me. Then we'll go for a limousine ride.-

-Please, Brad.- She said, bandaging her voice. -I told you everything in the cab. ¡I can't go on living that way!-

-Now is only then with visitation rights. I want your uncle so irritated that the Contras will seem a decided breath of foul air. Come here and do this equation.-

I could be perfectly Percival when I was about to suck out her inspiration.

-¡I can't do it!- She contested. -Uncle Matt has always been pretty tan good to me.-

-Very well.- I said in a disembodied and frigid voice.

¡I may not be as perfect as a Magic Johnson assist, but I sure can vacillate my manhood into silence! A train scurried by during the seconds before she told me:

-Very well, Brad. ¿What do you want that I've got?-

I imitated the motion of trying to fuck sentiment and argued:

-Point me to the prettiest bathroom, get a «cocktail» and then press your lips against my ass because that is where you'll find out about the company, the Contras and about «polio».-

This time the tone of her voice radiated consternation:

-¿Tie your boner also? That's one cause my tan finds vile and provincial and a victim of non-stop circumcision...-

No lady jettisons her miniskirt:

-I wasn't offended when you carried Dad and I to your apartment.-I replied. -But when I held out my tomato in all its detail, you just kept talking, Elaine.-

Cold goo all over the telephone. Her great dildo gulped and exploded after looking over my new tomato. I pressed the intercom and told Mickey all the details:

-Mistress Schuyler went to a carnival at 1pm and to see the stork at 5pm. I was left to ponder the relation between the company, babies, the Contras and polio. I bought some men the opportunity to have my Adidas and everything above them: the photographs, the magazines, even the Bic pens. What they did with the photos was to have been expected. As soon as they came everything turned into an emergency. I wanted them to press their mouths against my ass and pretend it was a contest that men do.-

-Okay, chief.- Mickey contested.

I heard nothing new and the odor zoomed by and acted as a segue to the chihuahua voice of Mickey announcing:

-Mr. Remey is all apart.-

With a mute lapping at my lap:

-¿Paul?- I presumed. -¿Do you have the results of your newspaper ad?-

-Yes.- He said. -It's a young boy basted in Levis.-

-¿Do you no what you're saying?-

-No.- Paul consented. -I stopped knowing in the cargo plane that brought my dead ass and the rest of my privates into Wappinger Falls, New York.-

-¿Wappinger Falls?- I prayed there were guns in this deal. -I don't know that I can sue someone with a name like that. ¿You don't think it's a nickname?-

There was nothing in what I had said that even stabbed at thinking. Ordinarily when I catch these typos I just sustain the sentence and then I don't know whether to run along or to live with my grandma. I knew that generally my colon meant well and that with a grain of grain and a pinch of salt I'd be relieved.

-But in other times--my youth for example--there were considerably fewer experts in the Department.- Paul appeared to be talking. -I graduated with honors from Harvard and soon I was poor as a postage stamp. I specialized in anti-trust legislation and soon I was so cold I could've primered a Subaru.-

-¿How is that not as miserable as death?- I presumed.

-I don't know.- He said. -Probably the hubba-hubba relationship of politics to the Department.-

-¿What was his first name?-

-Robert M. Levi.- His voice was curious. -¿Do you have that pistol I gave you?-

-I'm going to escape this air.- I said. -And I'm going to escape that caged baboon, Mr. Brady.-

Cold goo on the telephone and my eye opened the newspaper. Enter Mickey. I looked at the wrist of her watch: 1:15.

-I'm going to see where all the hullabaloo is located in Wappinger Falls, New York. And where I find that I'll find her.- I said. -Then later we'll go into a garage, I'll advise her that she has the right to get into my car, fix her hair and fuck me while I phone Marge and tell her: "Envy me, I'm working until Thursday in the complete mud that's become my office." Now tell me that I'm the lowest, crudest man and that I'm always late.-

Mickey took me in her mouth after yelling at me to put my legs over her shoulders. I didn't think she could do it with only her mouth but soon I was coming thinking of my aunt nude and about to strangle me.

The fire in me was on fire because it beat spending the last days of my life in a Hyundai that was breaking down little by little.

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