Thu, 19 May 2005

Keep Crawling, Motherfucker
This was 1998. Loyola knew good and well I was working on the book and didn’t have time to get out and see the humans, but after knocking on the basement window for a few minutes I let her in, and while she looted my bookshelf for novels I had swiped from the house on the hill she shared with Jez back years gone she told me

“I’m getting out of fucking Iowa. You’ll never see me again.”

“You’re going? Where are you going?”

“West. Like everybody else does.”

“Huh. You want a copy of the book? It’s nearly finished.”

“Yeah, sure, why not.”

“You want some mushrooms?”

“Nah.”

“You wanna fuck?”

“Nah.”

“You’re going where again?”

“Portland. But you’ll never see me again.”

“Like tonight?”

“Like right now. I’m getting my shit back from you, and then I need to stop and see Lewis, and then I’m like Casper.”

“Huh.”

“Okay, so, have a good life, boy.”

“Yeah. Happy Portlanding.”

And that was the last time any of us saw Loyola, and when I said I threw out the book, that basically means I gave it to a friend, but basically it ends up being the same thing.
(12:06.05.19.2005) [/alpha] #