Thursday, May 5, 2011

Part 9: The Part Where Leeroy Remembers More

   So somebody wrote these letters to me first. And then I wrote my book on the back of these letters. Ugh. I'm getting too young to do this detective thing. Especially with these work clothes on.
   They're so heavy.
   I found a tie now. Everything I see is everything I lose. It's even heavier than the socks and the shirt. All these weights and wires make a young man tired. The note that came with the tie said, "You'll need to cover your manhood. You'll need to make sure we never see it again. Look in the diner." On the back I wrote, "Remember the promise we made as kids?" I did remember, actually. I don't remember much. I remember lots of boring shit. And I remember the promise. I promised myself I would be extraordinary, and Heather (who I keep reminding myself was my wife) promised the same thing.
   There's a massive line outside the diner. It smells like pie, and I don't smell much anymore. Oh God. It smells like apple pie. Heather used to make apple pie. For the first time in forever, I miss somebody. Oh, my medium sized American heart. A very hairy man stands in line. He's one of  the most interesting looking people I've ever seen.
    "Hey," I say.
   "Hey," he says back, "You found clothes."
   "Yep. They're so heavy."
   "Not cool. Liked you better without clothes ... I mean that in the most normal way possible. You weren't 'normal' without clothes. I guess you still don't have any pants. But that's not unusual these days. You should ditch the work clothes."
    "I can't."

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