There’s not a lot of traffic on Saturday, which makes the commute to work easy. The accountant isn’t in, which makes the work day easier. I am able to use my phone. Atticus is in hot water. He’s got no impulse control. Lil’ Belle of the Ball, if we want to call her that, shared a message that Jon Bon Cankles had shared with her informing her that Atticus is transphobic and that she really shouldn’t be involved with him. She sent him the message, and he responded to Cankles calling him a fucking cop, etc, a baby, wannabe, whatever. All in all an ugly tyrant. Needless to say that Bellesandra was furious. Pulled her piece from his magazine, our magazine for all that I’m included in it, just a sort of hapless bystander, thrown in the midst of it all, attracted to drama, and slow to judgments, the kind of guy who hangs around all and any so long as they’re not a personal pain in my neck.
Manwell needs word from Atticus that he’s not a transphobe. I can’t be parading a transphobe before a room of gays, he says, not even knowing if he’s going to go anymore, the way that Bellesanra is so upset with him. He’s telling me that he could try a little human decency for once, and I’m just hoping that he goes so that he can talk about me to people like Mallory and maybe even read one of my pieces vicariously for me.
He wants to know why we can’t all be adults. Everybody is a freaking handful out here. I’m eating hot dogs on the fourth while Atticus is in his room flying a black flag. His mother and brother exist as roommates. The midwife keeps using the word retarded which keeps freaking Musette out, and you know how I am, if that’s the price for a small baby, then pump her up please, God!