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party in reverse. It is something we rehearse. It is memento mori on the Lay-Away plan, a receipt for merchandise not yet purchased, a contract, a narrative in episodes ... My birthday is only six months away; I will be twenty-eight in November. Do we remember what it was like, to have died all those times before? There must have been certain interims between the goings and the comings back, coherences of sleeptalk, but we have forgotten them. ***
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Once I have lit a cigarette, I continue to inhale, even after I have ceased to enjoy it. I drag, I drag, I drag again . . . It is a procedure, a sequence, a fifth of hard liquor. It must progress. It must be done with. Two Admissions "Excuse me," the receding hairline mumbled, as it shuffled past me, and so on, up the flight. His sandwiches and he were on some kind of Top Secret Mission, and I was a diminutive boulder which barred their path to True Greatness and promises of  |
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