Helen lays beneath her cat, talking to a broken wrist. Her eyes are numb. She moves so slowly that people pass before she can say hello. Some say too good. In bed she wears a green bathrobe over purple pedal pushers. Black patent leather shoes. Frilly hop socks. Leaning against the lamp beside her bed perches a picture of Helen when she was young and beautiful. All she ever wants is a smoke. She can't enter doors alone or first, and God only knows how long she's been waiting. Helen doesn't know the difference. The maid can't help. She's on the second floor. You know the rules: Helen can't go up; she stays down. Rack the balls, Fast Eddy. What's wrong with the rock?

Blowing long johns caught on a fishhook. Security catches Dudley up at the Chevron, walking fast and far. Dudley says he's going to kick Chester Godfrey's ass, and Security stands aghast. His eyes are a member of the monkey family. He walks as far as the corner, then gets whimpering scared. His King's X fingers are stuck together where he spilled glue assembling a battleship in his bedroom. Hanging from the ceiling dangle an armada of mutant war machines--ships with wings, airplanes with tank treads. Over my shoulder his head shakes like an anxious hen.



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