Confessions of That Crazy Guy You See in a City

I walk around most days. Just around. I can’t say exactly where. In some places, there are chain-linked fences. In others, there are people. Lots of people. They are either staring at me or they’re not. But I can’t really tell. I can recall cars. Mostly red cars. I remember my first car given to me when my grandmother died. A Buick, I think. It was the smoothest silver you’ve ever seen. I walked up by the building today. I want to say it’s black. Or it could be white with black in it. I’m reminded of a dog and cat when I look at it. It doesn’t belong together. Someone used the wrong materials. I like to peruse the building’s aura. Just its outside. Mean spirits become annoyed if I venture inside. I am educated. It might have been Princeton. Or a community college. But I remember a Vietnamese professor who taught us about accounting. Or was it about how the Viet Cong fights? I don’t know now. Oh, and there he was. There they were. My dead father and my uncles. Trying to hit me for being bad. I gave them a piece of my mind. Told them off in front of that building. Screamed my head off until they went away. It didn’t make much sense during my yelling because they were dead. But they were eyeing me terribly like they used to. That’s when I was more scared of them. But not anymore. Sometimes my mother comes to talk to me. It’s just gibberish most times, so I just talk back to her in the same way. She understands. She’s always understood. Even when I started to date that bitch, Doreen. A no good hussy, she’d call her. I see now that she was right. It’s a shame that most people don’t see. There’s truth in there somewhere. And scraps of food. I haven’t eaten in a while. But I don’t know what I’m in the mood for. I’ve tried to eat a rat, and don’t trust what the rest say; it doesn’t taste like chicken. When was the last time I had chicken? I ask my sister. When she doesn’t answer, I start screaming. She never cared about me. I can’t be bothered. I wonder if I sleep. It’s a strange question since I used to have a bed. Well, I have a bed now but I can’t remember where I put it. It’s somewhere in the city. It might be in my father’s old house, but I’m not going back there. That bitch, Doreen, is there asking me to pay for the baby. It’s not my baby, though. I don’t care about her or anyone else. I don’t care because no one else cares. That’s the way it should be. Or is it just the way it is? I don’t know anymore. Hey, there’s a chain-linked fence again.