she laughed bitterly  almost snorting

   

her head was tilted back
laid in the crook of his elbow
her hair spilled onto the rear dash
he put his arm up across the back seat to hold her close  subtly trying to stabilise her shore up her listing sanity

I think Im going mad  she said

she took a drag off the cigarette she bummed from him  

exhaling
               the smoke boiled up against the darkened glass above her face 

passing under amber coloured streetlamps it was laced and exaggerated with noir shadows cast by the cursive font
of a death decal that celebrated someone he didnt know and didnt bother to try and read their name in reverse

Maybe  Ive got a death wish

Baby  he said  nobodys got a death wish  They might think they do  But anyone whos been close to it dont want it

You say as if you have

I have

How

Thats in a trash heap Ive left behind  Youll have to take me at my word

she reached up to the decal with her free hand as she took another drag

she picked at it with her fingernail

So strange isnt it

It is

Why did he apply it

he said quietly  I wouldnt ask now  Hes been cool offering us a ride to your place  Asking might offend him and I aint keen to walk in this neighborhood with you under my arm in your state

In my state Whats my state

Oh Goin mad Got a death wish  Maybe its two states presenting as one and Im misreading them

Hes letting you smoke in his car

Hes smoking

Its his car Aint his brand Some guys I know better would have say no

at the edge of a shimmering cone of light they passed a busted up tin garbage can on the curb 
 

a big black bird sat on top of it thumbing for a ride

We shouldve stopped

We shouldve stopped for the bird  That could be like answering a knock at a door and opening it  finding nobody there  Except you welcomed death in

Superstitious

Not particularly  But the decaled death year just ran across your face backwards like a fat bug

Jesus

she went to swipe at her face and smeared hot ash on her forehead Jesus

he quickly brushed it away
the red embers croaked went black in midair before landing on her pale yellow blouse or the leather seat

FUCK  the driver said swerving to avoid the wreck of a tubular metal display heaped on the street
The shit people pull  Fuck with a guys ride  Whad Da Fuck Anyways
Animals

then on occasion  off to the side of the street  lurking in the deft shadows between the evenspaced lighted posts were thrown retreads  like lazy coiled straps or ruptured black alligators seals or lizards

                                                                                                                                                 animated by hints
or ones sullen imagination

positively after 0000,  Sunday,  15  11.15

0056,  Twoday,  17  11. 15

“She laughed bitterly, Maybe Ive got a death wish.

Nobodys got a death wish, he said. They might think they do. But anyone whos been close to it dont want it.”  pg168

The Water Knife  Paolo Bacigalupi

“That really was an appalling scene at dinner last night . . .”

it was from an unopened letter to his mother he found in her desk after she had died




that must have been crushing





he ran it through the mill of his mind because he wrote his parents ceaselessly  

there wasnt twenty years between them  very little difference he thought particularly when he came of age in a time when Age was conferred on him at 18   to drink legally and his franchise to vote in the Presidential General Election affirmed
 
he chastised them often for not addressing the numerous questions he asked in his letters
whether separately or mulled together  
 
he reminded them they werent rhetorical  

he didnt write them to hear his breath or prattle



they were the reason he began mimeographing every letter he wrote anyone

he found they misrepresented him
 
they twisted his words or confused what he meant  
                                                                                      later when he talked with them on the telephone
after inadvertently and surprisingly made privy to bitter hearsay(loose-lips) or after having received a letter in which they mischaracterised his remarks  he incisively  coolly  read them exactly what he wrote from his mimeographs


then plaintively asked  Why?


his quotes(they called them accusations) hurled them to the wall like jet black shadows cast by brilliant klieglight

he reminded them he did not have to endure their slights simply because they were his parents

they should know him better than that


but maybe   terribly   they didnt know him at all


which frankly   wouldnt be hard to imagine


he as the eldest of eight kids was exceptionally low-maintenance   

for that he had ample loose chain to do as he wanted as long as he met the familial obligations they placed on him(look at him  Middle management)
 
his younger brothers and sisters were the imminent distractions that required and held their rapt parental attention and efforts


he could have allowed them reprieves
they could have been builtin

 
however  since ethically he held himself to a highbar anyone he associated himself with was also conferred(some said condemned) his highbar

if he was hard(some said unmerciful) on himself   why would he allow others to be less


they could be
 
they could act otherwise

they just couldnt have a relationship with him


he firmly appreciated that that was entirely fair


they were either In

or they were Out


he had been too long on his own and been away too long from where he was born(his father often remarked he was the only one of his children who ever said “When I dont live here anymore” convicted as a boy that he would not spend his life there   and did not)

perhaps it was that separateness which formed his hard edge

                                                                                                                        nevertheless*
        
his Family had no sway to commit violence against him anymore than a perfect stranger

0000,  Friday the Thirteenth  11. 15

* neuer þe lesse 
 
“While cleaning out his mother's desk after her death, (Christopher) Buckley found a number of unopened letters from him. One began: ‘That really was an appalling scene at dinner last night . . . ’

‘That was a crushing moment for me,’ Buckley says, pausing for a sip of iced tea and looking genuinely pained. ‘She had just died, and here I found that she had stopped opening my letters because so many were scolding about her behavior. It was horrible.’”

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/04/23/AR2009042304739.html