I woke up this morning and jammed a corkscrew through my alarm clock. The fucker wouldn't stop ringing so I was left with little choice. I need to escape for a few days. Get the city out of my system, relax and learn to put the fear behind me. Living downtown has that effect. There is no escape from the circus when at the end of the day you sleep in it.
From the window I can see the group of crackheads pawing at the door. One of them, I've named George due to his striking resemblance to George W. Bush. I've gone to Goodwill and got a 5 dollar suit and a red tie for him, I'm just trying to figure out how to get him to wear it. At the end of the day when I'm tired from work, broke or just pissed off at the world, it always cheers me up to see George Bush take a pull from a crack pipe and give me that look of a vain attempt to understand what's going on around him. As I walk past George I comment that his policy for "The Next American Century" is based on the false pretense of American domination in terms of military might. George Looks at me and tries to bum some change from me and I laugh at the idea. The other day I saw his crack dealer put a cigarette out on his face.
The idea has passed my mind to take this crackhead put him in the suit, drive to Washington and try to make a switch with the real guy. With a crackhead in the whitehouse, I would put money on the fact that very little would change. And then I remembered that Georgey used to have a coke addiction when he was in university.
George was picking up cigarettes while a gang of thugs chased down some guy with baseball bats in the middle of Spadina Ave. He was apparently trying to steal back his own bicycle while George watched in confusion. In the Zombie Apocalypse, reality is always relative.
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