(a stream-of-consciousness exploration of love crimes in the demon world)
Eager to get home and shower the blood off, Rasta chugged a beer and tried to remove his underwear up over his shoulders. His hair was tangled up in that girl’s face he met at the Subway, and his sandwich was somewhere in her bra.
Suddenly a cell phone rang and Uncle Marvin jumped out the window and Mom is hanging in the garage and somebody else blew his brains out on the patio where the weather was beautiful and warm but not too warm.
Rasta was far from the bus stop but not so far that he couldn’t remember what it was like to be a kid and to love the smell of gasoline and the feeling that he wasn’t going to die any second.
After urinating into a mass grave of singer/songwriters Rasta chugged a sandwich and bonged a sandwich and prayed to death and punched a stranger in the face.
Everyone was bleeding from their eyes except for Rasta who also cried blood but never his own blood and never from his eyes and never in front of people.
Rasta leapt in front of a motorcycle and bashed his brains and took the motorcycle and peeled out on his own brains and on the sidewalk was his biography written in blood and brains and on the sidewalk was an impression that this man is famous and that he is going to ride shit-faced to pussy hell and take everyone with him when he goes to the corner-store and chugs every burrito in the world and squeezes you so hard you don’t know who you are anymore and you don’t want to.
He is Rasta Fedora. He looks you in the eye and you know suddenly that you will never want to go home again. You’re going to call your parents and tell them you’re dying. You’re going to rip up all your t-shirts and break all the windows you can find. Your heart is broken.
No one can tell what he looks like, even though they’ve all lived with him for years. He lives in their crawl spaces; he lives in your shower. He eats your frozen yogurt.
He cries under your bed. He plays with your teeth.
He punches the shit out of your dinner and makes you feel ashamed for every single thought you’ve ever had.
He’s slept with every girl you’ve ever loved but they all had bigger tits when they were with him.
On the highway cars are at a standstill and men are pouring themselves onto the burning asphalt and tearing their hair out and cashing in their IRAs and they are all calling home for the last time.