I fantasize about walking down to Hillsborough’s main street, Churton Street, and easing my way down the cement and rock, edging myself carefully along the precarious descent until I reach the train tracks below. I imagine that there’s a train that’s stopped for repair. I get inside one of the many open cars (natch) and hide my dainty self as the train begins moving. I take the container of amyl nitrite out of my backpack and breathe it in deeply. My last act of consciousness is making sure the door stays ajar, lest I get trapped inside.
I sleep until I wake. I know not, care not where. I take my roll of $100 bills and emerge from the sarcophagus, into the moonlight. And I make myself a new life as, yes, “Fingers” McCracken.
You know I just want us to be friends. Good friends. We don’t have to move too quickly. We can start slowly.
Ever so slowly. Gently. With some sweet, soft, probing questions about our lives. The incremental revelations we linger upon in regards to each other can feed the mutual fire. Of friendship. As the sweet relax comes to our eyes, we nod to each other, each knowing glance can be an invitation to probe deeper, just a little deeper. Look into my eyes as we reveal intimacies. Are you afraid? I am too, but the ever-blossoming possibilities…of our friendship…tell us both that it’s ok to move a little faster. Ever so gently, but now more assertive. Now we will share secrets deeper still.
God I’m bored.