The Next Few Months

A dignified man with oil slick black/gray hair in sunglasses and a business suit is going to abduct me in a gas station parking lot when my car is on empty, pump in slot.

He will throw me in the trunk of his black german luxury sedan after bounding my ankles and wrists with bungee cords, then the blindfold will go on and it will all go black.

The only objects I will be able to discern in the dark are those weird flashes and spots of light I see every time I close my eyes.

I will hear potholes, and feel the pain; a golf bag my only friend.

Except on left turns.

Every left turn, the golf bag will beat the shit out of me with a pitching wedge to the chin, and a driver to the eyebrow.

Fucker.

But it will feel deserved.

It will feel good: teeth cracking in half on grass stained tungsten, blood forming a puddle on the dark gray fabric lining the trunk.

It's turning black, at least that's what I imagine.

How it will feel like against the tips of my arm hairs, the blood.

Black.

The dignified man with oil slick black/gray hair in sunglasses and a business suit will open the trunk, pick me up, and cradle my body with his soft hands, closing in on our destination.

He will drop me.

I will hear a elevator door shut.

I will hear it defy gravity with weights and pulleys.

I will hear a bell ring and a door open.

He will pick me up, walk, put me down, unlock a door, open it, pick me up again, put me down again, slide a glass door open, and drag me outside onto concrete, which feels like sandpaper.

The wind will blow my hair from left to right and it will feel nice.

My face will stop bleeding.

The dignified man with oil slick black/gray hair in sunglasses and a business suit will tie a heavy metal chain around my neck, and then around an aluminum railing before removing the bungee cords and blindfold.

I will be on a high rise balcony overlooking the city, and the only thought that is running through my mind is how small and insignificant the people look navigating the maze of alleys, parking lots, and sidewalks.


The dignified man with oil slick black/gray hair in sunglasses and a business suit will say, "It's your choice...what you want to do with your life." before he tosses me a chocolate bar and walks out the hotel door.

The chocolate bar will melt in my hand as I eat it, and all I will think about is how big of a magnifying glass it would take to fry the people walking below me, and the identity of the person who defines words for dictionaries, and how much that person gets paid.