You drive to Baltimore late at night. This is the only exciting part: the moment of anticipation/this could be anything. Once it is some thing we’ll all be very disappointed. You drive to Baltimore late at night from Chevy Chase. You are headed somewhere.
He eats his cigarettes on his way to Baltimore. The filter papers get stuck in his teeth. His gums are bleeding. When he devours the last of the pack he bites down hard on the steering wheel, fresh indentations on exposed rubber, and tries to hold on fucking tight. He is getting married in three days.
I am rushing senses seeing yellow lines all blurred and fast-coming-on all of a sudden listening to the air suck new holes in my ear cavities, creating new drums and busting old ones + smelling autumn and its burning. I am driving to Baltimore this very instant at the cusp of a new day heat seeking coke missile fully erect body cocked and ready.
I am staring in a mirror. That is me. I am me. This projection is the self staring back at itself. I have to run fast away from intrusive thoughts obsessive thoughts any and all thoughts I must leave Baltimore.
You, in between Baltimore and a pissbox apartment, faltering on the side of the road. Where is that mirror, the one from before? You lifted something heavy and smashed the glass to quiet the self. Your ear is still bleeding. Do you think he hasn’t noticed? You cannot walk in a straight line. You are unable to count backwards.
He screamed in the back. He put fist to plexiglass. He was surprised to learn it was not regular glass.
But why would it be regular glass? You are the first person to put fist to glass? You imagine things.
He asks himself, “Why should the self be aware of itself?” He asks himself, “Why should the self be allowed to decide to destroy itself?” He asks himself, “Who is in charge here?” He would like to speak to someone in charge.
I cannot be.
I am my only opportunity to be?
You do not feel well, either here or in Baltimore.
He is not himself.