I KILL THE NIGHT LIKE THE NIGHT KILLS THE DAY.

It used to be that when the boredom sank in, I'd pick up a needle. But now I'm doing strange and almost productive things, like deciding to teach myself to sew, or contributing to all of the pollution I can. I cut all of my friends' strings so many years ago, they're broken marionettes on the lawn. My girlfriend goes through my phone and I realize how I barely talk to anyone on a regular basis. My contact lists are notably full of dead people. I'm all profanity and bare knuckle rat a tats. Yesterday I went to the mall for the first time in a long time. All that plastic bag hustle just isn't the same without spiking myself with speed in the bathroom. The mall was the ideal place to get high. The bathrooms were noisy, and everyone already looked strung out on holiday cookie hut treats. It was a freshfaced alternative to Lou Reed's perfect day. And if you needed more? Well, don't you worry! Just lift tips off of the restaurant tables, or sneak into the dimebag movie theater and pry bills loose from purses stashed under seats. They also had a survey station that would pay five dollars for a fifteen minute survey on consumer products. All of those things are gone now. Only my high school had bathrooms better equipped for shooting up in. Those flat steel shelves up high, I think most people were expected to rest books on them. I ended up in a Barnes and Noble later on. Black coffee and books in the cafe. I'd been reading for about an hour when I glanced up and locked eyes with some guy in passing. I think nothing of it, until it happens three more times. Same guy, same ridiculously expectant look on his face. Then he sat down at a table across from me and watched me for about thirty seconds before leaving. Another walk by, another eye-lock. My teeth are in a lockjaw because I never got kicked out of this bookstore for getting caught snorting coke in the bathroom, or for ripping pages out of magazines that I needed.. would today be the day when I get escorted out because I blind some guy with scalding coffee? If you're not otherwordly attractive, don't stalk me. I'd go with a serial killer so long as he compelled me. But this guy is not compelling, he is average, and his chin is pointy, and he's drinking a frappucino, and I think about what his mouth would taste like. Sloshy sugar and frozen milk, and I get up to leave. I like to give the illusion of humanity, so I return the books to the shelves where they belong. Dropping off my last book, I decided to swing by the bathroom. On my way there, I pass the guy. He's also waiting for me when I come out of the bathroom. And this is where I'm met with a separation from my own self. I know I want to walk up to him, I know I want to get my keys in my hand so I can claw his face. I know I want to say, "Hey. You've been following me for the last half hour, what the fuck do you want?" But this new me, the me from the last year and a half, thinks everyone is a psychopath. And if I go antagonize this weirdo, he'll probably shank me in the middle of the romance section because he fashioned a knife out of book binding and coffee stir sticks. So instead I zig zag through some shelves so he can't follow me, and skip out the side door to the parking lot. Published July 21st, 2020 on her Neutral Spaces blog. Read on MLC September 10th 2021