and
confident.
“Maybe
I
don’t
want
what
you
have!
Did
you
ever
consider
that?”
He
shouted.
My
chest
hurt
from
holding
my
breath.
I
exhaled,
finally,
and
breathed
in
Norman’s
rant:
“You
fuckers
just
don’t
get
it,
do
you?
You
idiots
assume
that
just
because
you
got
sober,
everyone
else
will
suck
your
cock
just
to
get
a
taste
of
the
Holy
Spirit,
am
I
right?
You
think
that
since
I
don’t
give
a
shit
about
this
place
or
the
people
in
it
I
must
be
a
lost
little
lamb
in
need
of
saving.
Don’t
you?
That’s
the
problem
with
this
fucking
place—everybody
thinks
their
shit
don’t
stink.
And
whenever
they
see
a
guy
like
me
it
makes
them
noodle
around.
It
makes
them
remember
the
bullshit.
Their
bullshit
job;
their
bullshit
family;
their
bullshit
car;
their
bullshit
kids;
their
bullshit
board-‐meetings;
their
bullshit
dog;
all
of
it!
You
look
at
me
and
remember
you’re
human,
that’s
the
problem!
You
see
me
and
see
your
own
grave!
Then
you
wonder
why
you
play
along.
Why
the
fuck
do
you
play
along
if
you’re
just
going
to
die?
That’s
what
you
see
when
you
see
me—the
bullshit.
That’s
why
nobody
looks
at
me.
That’s
why
fucking
lemmings
like
you
try
to
get
me
sober,
or
clean
me
up,
or
get
me
housing,
or
get
me
food
stamps,
or
whatever
else
you
try
to
do
to
deny
your
own
bullshit.
You’re
sober?
Well
tickle
my
balls!
Who
gives
a
fuck?
You
want
to
keep
kissing
ass,
then
go
right
for
it.
Not
me.
I
don’t
want
it.”
Silence.
Norman
wiped
a
rope
of
yellow
drool
from
his
lip,
stood
up,
and
walked
away.
I
sat,
still,
erect,
and
tense,
and
studied
him
as
he
shuffled
away.
I
was
stuck.
I
looked
at
the
end
of
my
loafers.
Norman
had
a
point.
Every
word
he
had
spit
down
40