I can’t escape the Rolling Stones, and I’m so tired of them. The song “Young Mums up for Sex” is the one Country Teasers that I didn’t want to hear. The fact that it came on was a slap in the face.

The harder that I go after something that is wrong, the more I am trained towards doing what is right.

She gotta wait. I gotta wait. There ain’t nothing wrong with the way that the construction crew filled the hole in the intersection that my work is on. Musette said that she could see pipes under the asphalt. How can people drive over a hole in the road without falling through, she asks, having rescheduled our doctor’s appointment for ten o’clock on Monday morning. We can wake up that early, I say. We’ve got jobs now. Granted Musette starts hers before I start mine, but I wake up to take her to hers, and I don’t go back to sleep when I get back home.

There are metheads walking by. The woman says that she’s going to make wallpaper out of a faggot like me. I ignore it because she keeps walking. It’s not every day you get such a direct stab of negative energy shot your way, and sure, there’s a part of me that wants to pursue and kill this woman. Her aggression almost justifies it. You can’t say that she’s innocent in all this. But I follow the better voice within me, the one that most of us follow, which doesn’t mean that it’s the only voice or that the other voice doesn’t exist if we just don’t acknowledge it, but it takes me home to my couch where I can freely set a bag of pretzels on my dick.

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