Later on, Edward Julian Watson was sitting in a jail cell and the local police force were ignoring his pleas to use the telephone again. He had tried to use it several times, but when he had picked up the reciever, there was no way in hell he could bring himself to dial his mother's phone number. "Everybody sucks!" Edward Julian Watson screamed through the bars and the officers in the lunch room laughed. They had been laughing at him for the past three hours. Jimmy popped his head out the door and yelled, "Shut-up, tough guy, or I am going to go arrest some bikers to throw in there with you!" Edward Julian Watson sat down, cross-legged on the floor. It was almost lunchtime. Maybe he would go on a hunger strike. Maybe he was gonna sue the badge right off that stupid nigger cop too... Nobody offered Edward Julian Watson lunch. But they finally did let him the chance to make another phone call. An hour and half after he had shut his mouth. Edward Julian Watson called for Becki. "You did this to me. Now you need to get over here and get them to let me outta here, Becki." And Becki said, "I do not know what to tell you, Edward. I don;t want to." And Edward Julian Watson hissed into the phone. "Quit acting like a mother-fucking princess and get your ass down here, Becki. This is not funny anymore." And Becki knew it was not. But her senses were offended by his hash words. Becki said nothing. "Becki...are you still there? Becki...Becki....oh, do not have hung-up!" She could not help but laugh at his anxiety. "Come on, Becki," he said, "I have to go home and feed Orange." He knew it work. Becki walked six blocks over and Jimmy let Edward Julian Watson out of jail. But she did not stay at the police station and when Edward Julian Watson figured this out, he drove the sideroads that took her home.
Countless times, on the weekends when you are here, you leave for me a stream of yellow in the bathtub. Something angled wrong in this 160 year old building. Sometimes you hit the tiles, as you whip your dick to the left to spray. Do you hold a finger over your pisshole? Do you laugh inside your head? I don't want to know. She bathes in there too. I have been kind even letting you here. It is only because I love your father. It is May or June, I don't remember. As sickness washes over me and the rest of the planet too, it can be easy to lose track of time. We tend to the plants, stroke their leaves and name them all. We watch the cat grow fatter, as she lolls in the sun on the stolen chair cushion she's dragged to the hard cement balcony floor. I feel like I know Gamer Chad better than myself and she complains about Jordan Peterson. She can't stand his voice. But I am more tired and angry on weekends. I tell my her so. I tell her my solution. She tells me she...
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No one has his back.
Q