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it’s about Lindsey and I feel the adrenaline of self-hate burn through my veins. Feelings run through me, pouring out over
     my chest like hot piss on cuts. Victimized by my past, by my part, swimming in black, and anger, and frustration… I don’t
     want to feel at all… I want to forget… Forget the lesion that bubbles in the back of my brain… A little tumor swirling inward…
     I go inward and I drown… Ray is dead and I’m left cursed. Should I be sorry? Was he sorry? Is it worth being sorry? I don’t
     want to grow from any of this shit. I don’t want to have to feel all this shit! Let me fall asleep! If you love me, let me
     fall asleep, Jesus, you motherfucker! Staring up at the ceiling, screaming in my head, needing something bigger than me, or
     Ray, or life, or any of this shit. All of this shit!

PUIP 15
    Was I sleeping? Or was I hanging off the edge of a cliff for six hours? Either way, it’s over and the sun is up. I shoulda
     gone jogging for the night. My teeth are stuck to my lips. My throat is raw and cracked like an abandoned concrete shoot.
     I die a thousand petty deaths at the start of every day. I remember part of a dream, something about standing in a McDonalds
     and it’s windy and I keep trying to order a Big Mac but I don’t want the Special Sauce. I just want ketchup, and the girl
     behind the counter keeps saying, “You, Jerk! We don’t serve Big Macs with ketchup. It’s Special Sauce or forget the whole
     thing!” She’s laughing in my face but I won’t take “NO” for an answer. It’s a stalemate. Everybody’s always laughing at me
     in my dreams and nobody ever tells me why. I hear a phone ringing in the back of the restaurant. My eyelids roll open and
     I see that the phone clearly IS ringing. I wait two more rings and then get up to try and answer it. I’m a good three steps
     away from the phone when I hear the final choke of its bell. I walk back upstairs. Doobe is stretched out on a piece of grey
     foam next to my nice box spring.He opens a tired eye, spots me, and slams it shut in a sarcastic wink.
    “Thanks for waking me up last night, James. Nice guy… That chair was real cozy at about 4:30 in the morning.”
    It’s the old full name thing—a sure sign of some hurt feelings.
    “Pal, it was so late… I barely even knew what I was doing and besides… To wake you up would’ve all but condemned me to a night
     on the floor… I just couldn’t do it to myself.”
    “You gotta a big heart, Jimi… I’ll give ya that, but I’m still waitin’ for the day when you use it on somebody other than
     YOU.”
    “Doobe baby, when the day comes! When my ship comes in, I’m taking you to Rio for Carnivale… I know I owe you. Don’t think
     I’m not keepin’ track of all you’ve done for me.”
    “Um gonna pray that day never comes. Who knows what else will’ve happened by then,” he says and jumps up off the floor. I
     catch a short right to the ribs and he’s off towards the bathroom. “I’m leaving for breakfast in a half hour. With or without
     you!”
    I close my eyes, open them back up again, and Helms is standing over me, showered, shaved, and dressed for the day.
    “Now ya got ten minutes.”
    I get up and take a quick glance into a frightened dresser mirror. I can barely see my island tan through the green. Shower
     time. I’ve seen better fleshtones on week-old produce. It’s cold in the hallwayand, I might add, it’s cold in London. I mean frigid, the hallway’s like a goddam morgue. I can’t believe that people live
     like this all the time. It’s cold. It’s dank. It’s drafty. No wonder everyone around here always looks like they just got
     dunked in a sweat bath. I run down the hall in a threadbare towel until I come to the bathroom, which I expect to be steamy
     and toasty, but of course I’m brutally mistaken. The bathroom has a goddam breeze blowing through it. I could fly a kite in
     the place if the ceiling was a foot