part four: oncoming traffic

Exquisite.
I like that word. Harold likes it too.
I've used it on 5 different people today. Harold has used it on 4. Sometimes it's like having a dirty gun barrel in your mouth. Sometimes it's a little different.

The tv has been banned from speaking to me. It whispers about hate, things going wrong and stupidity. I've had to silence it. I don't think it will be returning anytime soon, as I seem to have mortally wounded it. It told me to do it though. They all told me. Another copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy. I seem to have lost the original. Maybe it was a copy too.

My clothing does not define me as a person. I proved this one winter and have the notes to back this claim up. As you can see, the chart clearly illustrates this fact. Additional studies can be done, but I'd require funding. I hid these notes in various bankbooks, as like everyone else, I can't resist the empty page.

Another flash of insight. It stands before me, mocking me.
I pretend I don't see the looks. I ignore the whispers. They follow me around.
No matter how I arrange the furniture, things just aren't right. They never feel right. I'm just spending time waiting, arranging the furniture. A tourist but I'm not having any fun at all. It is not going as well as I had hoped. Then again, maybe it is. So now I make barcodes.
You're kidding.
I don't know, am I?

Well excuse me. So I didn't see the oncoming traffic. I was a bit distracted.
People don't always notice when they're making assumptions. They just assume and carry on with their lives. So anyways, I've found James. I see his NEW girlfriend. She's dumpy and I'm glad. I never liked James anyways, didn't have a good sense of humor.

The illusion of sanity. Have I even woken up at all? Harold remembers a time when he wasn't himself, but Harold lies. It's time to find someone new, this has grown old. I'll have to draft up the paperwork, and close a few accounts. Those books are ugly anyway. I never really liked Harold anyway, we didn't have much to talk about. At least I pretended to be interested.

Coffee. My day always includes coffee. Can't just be any coffee. Has to be from a certain place. I'm convinced that the coffee place has put an addictive substance in the wax of the cups. When the coffee goes in, it melts out a bit of this stuff into the coffee. This is why I am addicted. The bastards couldn't get me addicted to tobacco or alcohol, so this was their way of hooking me into their trap. They know I know.

I can hear you breathing you sick fuck.
What?
Nothing.
Oh.
I can hear the chomping sounds over the phone.
Chomping?
You're eating.
What?
I can see you're busy. Goodbye.

So I've checked and the rage is still there. I've made note of this in the blue bankbook, never in the black bankbook. The black is the one I save for special information. Only Jane and I know about that one. We opened it months ago. It had rained that day, but the book was beautiful. Embossed fonts shone brightly with silver.
Exquisite.

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