Read You Shall Know Our Velocity! for Free Online

We bought them while on vacation in Newport.
                -- You must be hidden from view.
                -- The jackets are nice.
                -- They are not nice. You must change to save us all.
                I argued with strangers constantly, though only in my cloudy skull, while always I adopted this hollow admonishing tone -- my grandmother's, I guess -- which even I couldn't stand. The silent though decisive discussions were a hobby of my mind, debating people I knew or passed on the road while driving:
                -- You, driving the Lexus.
                -- Me?
                -- Yes, you. You paid too much.
                -- What?
                -- You paid too much and your soul is soiled.
                -- You are right. I have failed but will repent.
                It helped me work through problems, solving things, reaching conclusions final, edifying and even, occasionally, mutually agreeable.
                -- You, on the motorcycle.
                -- Yes.
                -- It's only a matter of time.
                -- I know.
                It would be fun, I suppose, if it wasn't constant and so loud. It was unavoidable and now, to tell you the truth, after many years of enjoying the debates, I wanted them to end. I wanted the voices silenced and I wanted less of my head generally. I didn't want the arguments, and I didn't want the voice that followed, the one that apologized, also silently, to the people I'd debated and dressed down.
                -- Sorry! this last voice would say, jogging after the first like a handler after a candidate. Won't happen again! Here's a little something for your trouble!
                I wanted agreement now, I wanted synthesis and the plain truth -- without the formalities of debate. There was nothing left to debate, no heated discussion that seemed to progress toward any healing solution. I wanted only truth, as simple as you could serve it, straight down the middle, not the product of dialectic but sui generis: Truth! We all knew the truth but we insisted on distorting things to make it seem like we were all, with each other, in such profound disagreement about everything -- that first and foremost there are two sides to everything, when of course there were not; there was one side only, one side always: Just as this earth is round, the truth is round, not two-sided but round and --
                Hand and I got our own rooms. On the mattress over the covers I closed my eyes and attempted sleep but instead met my head as it floated above my bed with its many nervous eyes, and my head was in a belligerent mood. Kill the fuckers. Kill the fuckers. Kill the fuckers. Here I was again. I shunned argument but felt close to the battle. Every day I had hours when I wanted to direct a machine gun, somewhere, anywhere, feel the falling shells tapping my instep -- hours when every conflict in the world felt familiar to me --
                I sat up and called my mom. I hadn't told her about the trip -- I'd planned to call from Greenland -- and now my reasons for waiting were confirmed.
                "You're using your new money?"
                "Yes."
                "What did Cathy say about that?"
                "She had nothing to say about it."
                I knew she was livid, more at Cathy than me.
                "Will, this just sounds silly."
                "Well. . ."
                "You're just acting out, honey."
                "Well, thank you for that piece of --"
                "You've had a rough year, I know, but --"
                "Listen --"
                "And frankly," she said, "I'm confused."
                I looked across the bed, into a mirror, and saw a