”Football Season Is Over” by Hunter S. Thompson
“No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won’t hurt.”
There’s a law. This law states I have to be sad or unlucky if someone else is happy or lucky. I don’t question it. It makes me a bit happy, though. Paradox.
I got lonely and the tantrum (aka tv) wasn’t being good company. So, I got redressed and decided to shave again. I might have shaved off my sideburns if I hadn’t already. It was one of those moods that calls for shaving off sideburns.
Stepping outside I wondered if a light was left on somewhere. This kind of light was unusual at around midnight. It was the moon. The core of the light was little craters and mountains. Stretching from these little dots were streams of light making an exquisite white ring lined with purple mist. Goddamn was I lonely.
I pulled my jacket in closer and tightened my scarf. I walked around the street trying to make smoke rings with my breath. No such luck. Only fog came out as if my mouth was an exhaust pipe.
So that’s how I got here. 12.45 am in my office.
I hug the thought of you, where ever you are, with whomever you are with, because I miss you, missing sock.
Kurt "Paparazzo Martin" Doonesbury
