"That which is overdesigned, too highly specific, anticipates outcome; the anticipation of outcome guarantees, if not failure, the absence of grace."
-- William Gibson, All Tomorrow's Parties
Portentous tortilla.

A little more nutjob noir.

The ex-roommate is still plenty pissed at me. Its not that I can blame him; Im used to the scene and Id probably still be pretty sore at me. How long can you stay mad at a guy, really?See, not so long ago the ex-roommate had a name, like anybody. He grew up with it, his girlfriend used it all the time, sometimes to climatic effect, and Im sure his folks were pretty keen on it. The Vestibule had a use for it, and was willing to trade a long fade for it, so I gave up the ex-roommates name. The Vestibule had been a bad one, in a long line of bad and worse in the tunnel of darkness. The Vestibule bows out, I get a little more wiggle room. Nobody new shows up. No new quirks, no new rituals. Space to breathe.

We all do things we arent proud of when were under a thumb; things later we see maybe werent totally necessary.

So when the ex-roommate said that was the last straw, I couldnt blame him. With all the noise and bad vibes, and my constant counting, Id have made myself scarce too. There had been the thing in the basement around that time as well; I was thinking of moving on pretty strongly though I never mentioned it.

Never found out what the thing was. You could feel it, like a badly tuned bass guitar, broadcasting some unexplainable emotion up through the frame of the house all night long. Sometimes there was this smell, misery and almonds. It would take a long time to notice; when you finally did it stayed with you all day long like a song from the 80s youre embarrassed you know all the words to.

On top of all that, him being real clear when he called us quits, I drug him out of work down to the shitty Mall food court. No pets allowed here. Even the pigeons that hang out on the skylight wont be able to peep us through the irony-laden stained glass. Safe enough, for now. Later I might have to take further steps.

The ex-roommate doesnt look at me and unwraps his Double Decker Burrito like he expects it to explode in his face.

August 12, 2006 3:12 AM