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A Fool for the Four-Letter Word

Norman Butler had been having a lot of problems in his life after his girlfriend of eight months, who he loved dearly, called him at his job one day and said,

"Hey, so we're just friends now, right? Let's just be friends?"

"Friends! I don't need any fucking friends!" Norman yelled, very hurt and quite frankly stunned .He hung up the phone, fighting back tears, and almost having a breakdown at the bookstore he worked at. Kayla already was his best friend, he didn't understand. Every time he tried to call her or talk to her, or win her love back, after he was dumped, it just became worse. She was busy she would say. She was hanging out with a new man a few days after dumping Norman. She felt nothing for Norman anymore she would say. Days went by, Weeks went by, and everyday and night he thought of Kayla coming back to him. He thought of her showing up on his apartment doorstep and telling him it was all just a cruel joke. And that the joke was over now. The frustration overwhelmed him. She haunted his dreams. If he saw a red car driving around town, which there were a lot of, he would think it was Kayla, if the phone rang at work, and it was line three, (the line she would use to call on) he thought it might be her, when he saw happy couples holding hands, he thought of Kayla, when he rented movies by himself now, he thought of her. If he heard a sad love song, he would either cry, or turn it off. He knew he had to stop, to stop all these thoughts, if he could just move on some how, just turn cold again. Just get on with his life. People tried to tell him that time would heal. Norman thought it was the real deal between him and Kayla, true love.

He was sadly mistaken. Sure, they had been fighting as of late, sure, the drinking was out of hand on both sides, sure, the sex had stopped, (not Norman's choice) sure, Norman could be a real asshole at times, but Norman thought true love would conquer all. He thought if she would just give him a second chance, that he'd make her the happiest woman in the world. He was a fool. He was living in his own perpetual fantasy world, which seemed to just keep spinning more and more out of control everyday.. She was gone and he couldn't seem to get use to it.

Time itself became a nightmare. The clock was his enemy.

The doctors had him on antipsychotics and antidepressants. He would mix those with his regular illegal street drugs, and drink heavily at nighttime, trying to numb the pain. Norman had plenty of so-called problems before Kayla dumped him. But now that she was gone, all his problems seemed much worse. It felt like a part of him was missing, like someone had chopped away a part of his heart. Kayla had problems too, but Norman, being the silly fool he was, thought they could work at their problems together. He was old enough to understand that no one is perfect.

Norman couldn't seem to paint anymore, he couldn't seem to write anymore, and he didn't seem to know what to do with himself anymore when he wasn't shelving books. He was alone again, and didn't like it. He thought about going out to try and meet new women at all the lame bars, he thought about hanging out with some people from his workplace, he thought about a lot of things, but just didn't feel up to doing any of them without Kayla. He had become attached to Kayla, he had opened up too much, and he had let his guard down. He made the mistake of trusting. He had thought one day maybe, he would go back to school, get a better job, and that they could have a house, or a farm somewhere in Texas, and become happy stoner yuppies with pets and kids and bank accounts. Because Kayla had told him once that money was the most important thing in the world, and Norman didn't have much money. Norman thought of suicide a lot more now as well. He had joined a gun club, and began collecting numerous weapons, and learning how to use them. It was his new hobby. Sometimes he'd just go out far into the woods by himself and set up targets to shoot at. Norman had also joined a gym, hoping that would give his mind something to do, and get his body back into shape.

Some of the books at work began talking to him. Not to loudly at first, but just small whispers. The books would say things like, "hey buddy, over here, read me, pick me, got something to show you Norman." He wasn't sure if it was all the drugs the doctors had him on, or if he was truly losing his mind. He became convinced that certain whispering books held messages to stop the pain. Every time a book would talk to him, he would go and pick it off the shelf, and open it to a random page, and whatever sentence he first read, he thought, had to be some sort of message to him from somewhere not of this world. Whatever books talked to him through out the day, he would take home to read all night, since he was an insomniac anyway. He even read some self-help books on letting go, and things about when relationships go sour. Those books were stupid he thought, and after reading about three of them, and realizing they weren't helping, he stopped reading those.

Norman's thing was fiction books; he couldn't get enough of them. They even seemed to help with the depression and boredom of being alone again at times.

One day a book called 'The Bell Jar' started yelling at him.

"Christ, would you keep it down! Cant you see I'm working!" Norman yelled back at the book. His boss walked by right as this happened, and customers looked over at Norman somewhat perplexed.

"Anything wrong today Norman, besides being hung over again?" his boss asked.

"No man, I'm sorry about that, I was just talking to myself."

"Well let's try and keep our thoughts to ourselves for the customers' sake." The boss said, giving Norman a strange look and walking away.

Norman's face was red. He went over and picked up the bell jar book, and opened it to a random page to see why Silvia had been yelling at him instead of whispering like the other books had done. He opened it and the first sentence he read said, "Of course his mother killed him."

Hmm, he thought to himself, what does this mean? How can this help?

Another book was now whispering to him, the book was an anthology of fiction stories called 'Love is Strange'.

"Ha!" Norman spurted, how appropriate.

He opened it to a random page to read his new message.

It was a story from Charles Bukowski called 'The Copulating Mermaid of Venice,'

The sentence said, "There she was, double fucked, dead-laid on the sheets."

Hmm, Norman thought to himself, hmmm. "Must decode these messages back at the apartment later," he said, aloud to himself, as a customer walked by him, giving him a dirty look. The books were really going nuts on him now. They all started whispering and yelling and whistling at the same time. It was too much for his mind to keep up with, all these voices from the books trying to show him something through their hidden messages. All the damn books! it was like they were breathing, it made him dizzy, and putting both hands over his ears, he mumbled "shut the fuck up."

Norman went out back of the bookstore to have a smoke, hoping that when he came back in, the books would have quieted down so he could get his work done. A girl he worked with joined him in the hot sun for a cig. She tried to chat to him about silly things humans ask each other, like "So how are you? What have you been up to?" Norman answered these questions the way humans are suppose to, saying, "Oh, I'm just fine, oh, haven't been up to much, just working and stuff." He looked at her and imagined Kayla. The entire female species had turned into Kayla now.

But what his mind really wanted to tell her was….

"Oh, I'm fucking losing my mind, the books are talking to me, and I have been collecting guns for the end of the world, and I can't stop thinking about a girl who dumped me months ago! I dream of flying rabbits with goat horns and vampire baby fangs who work for the Christian Coalition of CIA Taliban secret societies and try, and try, and try, and attack me during my REM sleep, I think animals could really be dead babies' souls resurrected from alien bodies, and given furry skin to trick us all, they communicate with me sometimes through the radio waves in the energy fields of space travel. I can't stop thinking of heroin…. I've been up to about 170 pounds, but now only weigh 150, up to, up to" he thought to himself, but he knew better then to answer like that, even if that was really what was going on in his medicated trepanation head. He would be fired on the spot. He had to keep most things to himself. That's how society wants it. Those are the standards if you don't want to be locked up.

He went back to his work section of fiction books, and they seem to have quieted down now. He began putting books away again when he heard a faint whisper… "get your foolish ass over this way, come on man, hurry up Norman, got something u need" the book whispered. Norman tried to ignore it but the book kept whispering, it began saying things in what sounded like a woman's voice trying to be sexy… "come on, you know you want it, just come get some big boy.."

"Dammit!" Norman screamed, with a yuppie father in the kid's section giving him a very concerned look. Fuck, Norman thought, that guy better not go tell on me.

The book that was talking to him came flying off the shelf, and started flapping around on the carpet like a wounded bat. No one else had saw it happen but Norman.

He went over and picked up the damn book and the sentence said….

"They paused without the cantina and pooled their coins and Toadvine pushed aside the dried cowhide that hung for a door and they entered a place where all was darkness and without definition." It was a book by Cormac McCarthy called 'Blood Meridian.'

Norman thought about what the message might mean, and put the book with his others to read later that evening. So many of the books began to talk to him, that he was being overwhelmed with all of them. He taught himself how to speed read, so he could find out what they were telling him about Kayla, and how he could stop the pain inside.

Eventually Norman's vacation he had planned came around the calendar. He was going to go visit old friends in Michigan, in hopes of feeling happy again, and to take his mind off Kayla. He had been strong, and not called her much, but Norman had a sneaking suspicion she was with another man already. Norman did receive an email from her a few nights before leaving, saying something about "Ssorry I didn't call you back the other day, don't freeze in Michigan, I still think of you all the time despite what you may think of me, you are the coolest guy I know, have fun!"

More mind games was what she was playing, a big phony! was what Norman thought, and was correct as always.. fuck with the man's head till the very last second of his life or his sanity, give him false hope, string him along on a sick amusement ride.

He wrote her back drunk, telling her that he thought maybe they could work things out when he got back, that he was going to cut his hair, and go back to school, and stop drinking so much, he also told her how she hurt him more then any one had ever hurt him in his life, and that he would always love her, and that he would love to have an email waiting for him, from her, when he came back from his trip.

The trip went by quickly. Norman enjoyed seeing his old friends, and hanging out, and they all had their own dumb advice on how to just let it go. Drugs were consumed, money was lost, drinks were guzzled, and communication was tended to. Pictures taken. Vacation over.

Norman practically ran to his computer when he got home after a week and a half of drug abuse and cold weather looking through all sorts of junk porn mail, searching, scanning, deleting, and hoping for an email from her. There was nothing. Nothing. Not even a hello from her. His heart sank deeper, and he drank himself to sleep that night after a long flight and drive back from airport. The next day he barfed bile in the early morning hours. He went to work. He thought of Kayla and what she may have been up to while he was gone. But he didn't want to call her. He was upset that she hadn't even bothered to send him the email he had counted on. He felt more and more betrayed. After a few days home, and still no email or phone call from her- he asked this guy at work if he had seen his ex-girlfriend,

"You sure you want to know?" the guy snickered, in his sci fi section of work.

Norman felt twitchy, wondering what this guy had seen.

"Yeah, tell me dude, you saw her?" Where?" When?"

"She came in here with a midget, dude, and they were looking at the art books." The guy snickered.

"What? Shut the fuck up! Seriously dude, have you seen her?" Norman demanded.

"I told you, she came in here with this little bald midget," the guy snickered.

Norman remembered the time he and Kayla had gone over to some pot dealer's house after eating xtacy to score some kind bud, there was a midget there that Kayla worked with, a 25-year-old bald midget, named Mike. Norman had met the guy that night, didn't like him right off the bat, not because he was a midget, but Norman didn't like the lustful looks the midget was giving his girlfriend. Not to mention the midget was playing guitar, and trying to show Norman how to tune a guitar. Norman didn't care about how to tune a guitar, he had a tuner for that, and was a much more original musician then the midget anyway. Norman just didn't like that mother fucking midget for some reason. But Kayla seemed to, that was obvious.

It all seemed to make sense now. Norman remembered the time after a big fight between him and Kayla, he remembered when she had received a phone call on her cell phone when Norman was in the next room at his cheap apartment, he had turned the volume down on the TV, to listen in to who Kayla was talking to. Kayla had on this big phony 'I'm the sweetest girl on the planet' voice, Norman knew automatically she must have been talking to another man. Kayla was drunk as usual, and didn't think Norman could here what she was saying. But then he heard her say --- in a small whisper.. " no, let's not go to the bridge tonight, it's late, I'm with my boyfriend, let's go on another day alone, together, and we will take pictures."

That's what Norman heard her say. And that is what she said. He just about blew his fucking lid after she hung up, she promised Norman that her and the midget were just friends- "oh honey, I love you, me and him, Mike, we just work together, just close friends, and after our fight, he was going to go with me to take pictures of the old bridge off the highway." She squealed in a drunken slur, Norman sat frown faced, not believing a word anymore, as she tried to cuddle up against him. Norman wasn't an idiot, Norman knew all about women and their lying ways.

Dumped for a bald retarded lame song playing midget, Norman thought to himself, many a night, almost wanting to call her or kill himself. Instead- he wrote nasty emails to Kayla.. saying things like…

"How does it feel to jump from man to man? From bed to bed so quickly? Does it make you fucking happy! Be sure to tell him all the same lies you told me! Then leave him in the gutter like a piece of trash, and move right on to the next one! Does he make you cum? Do you tell him you love him? Fuck you! Fuck you!"

This of course just made the situation worse for Norman. She didn't respond for the first couple of days.. then Kayla sent an email saying: "Leave me alone! Leave me alone!"

"Ha!" Norman screamed to himself. "I must be right! She's fucking a midget! She left me for a gawd dam guitar playing bald midget!"

Norman went on with his daily routines, the books talked to him, he read them, he got less sleep, he became more hung over, sickly looking, eating less, drinking more, barfing more.. thinking of Kayla.. He became petrified of all people in general, thought they were all in on the Kayla plot against him, to destroy him and his creativity, he thought of her and the midget together, the midget lips kissing her lips, her moaning, them laughing at Norman together, naked, embraced. Norman began to go more insane with these thoughts, he thought of all the great times he had with Kayla, he really loved her, he really missed her, although now, the love was mixed with hatred for what she had done to him. He tried to go on and on, everyday, trying to block her out, but never being able to.

One day at work, a book started yelling at him!

"Come here you fool!" the book demanded.

He picked the book up, and the title said "The Catcher in the Rye" it was a book he had read many times. He read a sentence from it that said: "I didn't even bother to get up. I just lay there on the floor for a while, and kept calling him a moron sonuvabitch. I was so mad, I was practically bawling." Norman knew right away that this message needed no decoding.

"Kill the fucking bitch! Kill her!" the book yelled at him.

Norman dropped the book, very upset with this.

Norman pointed down at the book, waving his finger at it.

"Screw you! I aint going to kill her! I know all about you and all the crazies that think your book is the answer! Well it ain't!" Norman yelled at the book, stomping up and down on it with his feet. Customers started looking. Other employees started looking for the boss.

"Kill the bitch Norman! Kill her! Holden wants you to! It's the only way!"

"Fuck you! I won't kill her! I love her! You can't make me! you'll see! She will come back to me! I am not a fool! Do you hear me! I love her! I won't kill her!" Norman screamed, now down on all fours, ripping the book to pieces.

Norman's boss came running up to him.

"Jesus Christ Norman, stop this!" the boss yelled, yanking Norman up off the ground, and pulling him into his office.

"What dah hell's a matta with you lately Norman?"

"Oh I dunno, girl dumped me, ummm, books talking, voices, midgets, confusion, sad.." Norman mumbled.

"Look Norman, you are very lucky I don't fire you, but I am going to have to write you up, and suspend you from working for a few days until you can get some professional help."

"OK boss," Norman uttered.

All the employees stared at Norman whispering things to each other as he walked out the door that day.

One day Norman decided to ask a girl out at the bookstore. He was real shy and nervous if he was sober. It didn't go to well, the girl looked at him like he was Ted Bundy as he tried to mumble off words from the top of his stoned head. The girl refused to give Norman her number. And Norman sank into even a deeper depression for weeks. Thinking he must truly be a freak of nature, that no woman would ever want. All he wanted to do was call Kayla, to hear her voice. She understood him. To just smell her one last time. Eventually Norman decided to start acting, act all phony like people do- like society and Kayla did. He figured he could get some new girls phone numbers this way. And it worked. He would walk up to girls with the confidence of a zillion strong lions. He would mumble stupid things about what a nice outfit they were wearing, or talk to them about the books they were selecting. He would say what pretty eyes they had, and ask them what they were majoring in. He was smooth as silky waterbed sheets, but inside, he was about to pull a book off the shelf and start bashing their heads apart. Norman was a contradiction of many different faces. When he walked up to the ladies, he could change his face from sick old dirty hung over depressed man, to innocent little baby boy lost in the big silly woods of life. The numbers started piling up after weeks of this act.

He would go home and talk to his cat, showing his cat the new numbers he had scored, "silly bitches" he would tell the cat -decoding more messages from the talking fiction books, late into the wee hours of the morning.. Norman began to put all the girls' phone numbers in an old smelly black cowboy hat a bum had left in his car years ago, after picking the dude up hitch hiking. Norman had thought this hat was part of the fiction voices talking to him, it was the first sign he got about things, many years ago, and the hat had special powers. It was all starting to connect now in Norman's mind. Norman was convinced of it.

After a few weeks, Norman had about 50 to 60 girls' phone numbers, sometimes pulling in 10 a day, digits, it was all about getting the digits now, he would sit alone at night, pulling all the phone numbers out of the hat, talking to his cat, laughing, crying, staring at pictures of him and Kayla together, sippin whiskey and smoking dirt weed. After he got about 75 numbers of horny willing young college girls, one night, he decided it was time to pick the lucky contestant. His cat sat next to him, watching, wondering. Norman dug his grimy drunken hands through all the names, there were Leslies, Jennies, Maggies, Janets, Lisas, tons of names and bodies, personalities, and smells of flesh waiting for him-

Norman pulled the lucky name out, but couldn't bring himself to unfold the little piece of paper. He looked at the cat that Kayla had bought him for his birthday. Norman considered it their child. Mr. Leo Zane they had named the crazy cat. He wanted to unfold the number, to call, to meet a new girl, but he couldn't, he just couldn't. He grabbed the old moldy hat, and dumped all the numbers in the sink, got some lighter fluid, and poured it all over the potential dates. 'Kayla, Kayla,' he thought to himself, none of these dumb bitches would ever understand him like Kayla did. He threw a match on all the numbers in the sink. He sat laughing at the smoke and flames, his cat watched as well.

Norman picked up the phone, hit star 69, and dialed Kayla's cell phone number. She answered.

"Please don't hang up on me Kayla, I just want to talk about things."

"Norman, I've told you, there is nothing to talk about."

"But, but, I've really cleaned up, I got my haircut, and I joined a gym, and I'm going to sign up for school again and I don't drink as much anymore."

"Good for you," she said.

Tears started forming in Norman's eyes, and his throat got gulpy. He fidgeted around in a nervous posture, pacing around his cramped apartment.

"So I heard you came into my workplace while I was on vacation with your new man."

"He's not my new man, he's a good friend asshole!" she screamed.

"Kayla, he's a fucking bald midget, do you guys kiss? Do you laugh at all his jokes? Why my workplace! Why! You knew I would hear about it, you just wanted to hurt me more!" Norman screamed, tears pouring down his face.

"GO TO HELL! MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSNIESS! MIKE NEEDED A FUCKING BOOK!" she yelled.

"OK, I'm sorry, I know you dumped me, and it's none of my business, please don't hang up on me, I just want to talk, you know I really was let down that you didn't send me an email when I got back from Michigan, was that too much to ask? One simple email?"

"You need to stop this Norman, you need to get on with your life, like I am doing."

"I've been trying, but it's just hard, I'm so fucking in love with you that it hurts, I'm sorry I cant just cut all my feelings off like you did to me, I mean we hung out everyday for almost eight months, and I miss you, doesn't that mean anything to you? The fact that I love you?"

"I can't force myself to feel anything for you Norman!"

There was a minute of silence, as Norman sobbed like a little girl into the phone.

"So you and the midget are having sex now?" he sobbed.

"SAVE IT because I DON'T want to hear your shit or answer to you. It's MY life and I make decisions for a reason! and he's not a midget, he's a dwarf! And yes! He is my new boyfriend!" she screamed at Norman.

"But I love you, why do you hate me so? What did I ever do to make you be so cold towards me? are you even human? How could you do this, don't you ever think of all the good times we had together?" he cried..

"Good times! there were no good times Norman! .... I'm not sorry that I broke up with you because now I AM HAPPY....... I am living my life for me because I come first........................................ its my fucking life and I'll do what I want!"

These words cut deep into Norman's already sad heart. He couldn't believe what was happening.

"What about all the times I was there for you when you were losing your job for being a drunk? And you were all suicidal and everything? What about that? I was always there for you to comfort you!"

She said nothing.

"You are like a fucking leech, you use men, try and suck all the blood from them, and once you are done with them, you leech on to your next victim, 'cause you are too insecure to ever be alone! A leech I tell you!"

"I'm going to hang up now Norman."

"Please don't hang up, truth hurts? I'm sitting here pouring my soul out to you, telling you I love you with all my heart, doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"...... GO TO HELL... you're just a drunk!." She yelled.

"Why? I just want to know why? You used to be such a beautiful person, just tell me why?" Norman begged.

"We are just not a good match!" she screamed.

"A good match? What is this? The dating game?" Norman half chuckled, crying.

"You're just a loser with no money Norman."

"You work in a fucking tuxedo shop now!" Norman screamed back at her.

"I AM THE MANAGER OF THE TUXEDO SHOP! AND I MAKE MORE MONEY THEN YOU!" Kayla screamed.

"But who cares about fucking money, what does money have to do with love? You told me we were soul mates….."

"I don't want you to ever call me again. Don't fucking call me anymore! I don't love you anymore!" she yelled at him.

Norman cried more, and hung up the phone, tears pouring down his face, sobbing uncontrollably.

He looked at the cat Kayla had bought him for his birthday, their child together, and cried more.

"So this is love?" he asked the cat.

Leo Zane meowed, and started biting Norman's ankles.

The next day Norman woke up to a book yelling at him in the next room of his apartment. Sure enough, it was 'The Catcher in the Rye' book….

"Kill the evil bitch Norman! Kill her! Do it for Holden!"

"Oh shut up," Norman told the book, stumbling away to piss and vomit.

Norman called in sick to work that day and started duct taping about 50 sticks of dynamite to his naked body staring in the mirror. He had scored the dynamite off this dirty trucker he knew, who stayed in a motel and sold crystal meth to people. He then wrapped himself up in all black clothing, big baggy pants, and a long sleeve shirt. He pulled out an old rusty trunk from the back of his closet and started pulling out an arsenal of different weapons. He loaded up a USC CARBINE caliber . 45 ACP along with his SL8-1 rifle caliber .223- He loaded up a full size high capacity tactical response pistol trp- Then he loaded up a kahr p9 9mm with silencer and scope module attachment- Illegal in the united states- He loaded up a few 22s and duct taped some hunting knives next to his dynamiteaped body- He put on a long black leather jacket looking in the mirror- Lhen loaded a glock 36 model 27- Then loaded another old 45 he paid a lot for- Loaded a Smith and Wesson model 342 pd for good measure- Then he grabbed his sawed-off pump round shot gun somewhat homemade machine gun model 333- Norman put on a mask he had scored around the Halloween season at a dollar store, the mask had buck teeth and was made of cheap rubber, but Norman liked the expression on the mask's face- Norman grabbed his duffle bag full of guns and after shooting up some preeemo heroin to relax his nerves for what he was about to do- He headed towards highway 6, driving to Kayla's tuxedo shop job-

He parked about a mile away in a secluded lot and got out some binoculars.

He peered through the binoculars into the tuxedo shops windows, with 'The Catcher in the Rye' book sitting shotgun next to his duffle bag of deadly weapons.

He saw Kayla bending down, measuring some dude's pant leg. He saw her beautiful smile as she stood back up, her long reddish brown blonde hair, she looked better then ever, she was an angel. It's just now, she was another man's angel, not Norman's. Norman began to cry. He watched her walk across the room of the tuxedo shop. For a strange minute she glanced out the window. Her eyes looked right into Norman's soul. He almost thought she could see him. But she couldn't, and even if she did, she would feel nothing. But Norman thought she might have felt something as their eyes stared at each, as he sipped some whiskey, grabbing one of his guns. Then he realized that Kayla was just a young mixed-up kid who wanted something more out of life then Norman's crazy soul. Money for instance. Norman had a moment of clarity. He just wanted her to be happy, he didn't want to hurt her, Norman realized that if Kayla was happy with the midget, then in a strange way, he was happy as well, even though he was alone now, just knowing that she was happy without Norman made Norman realize that he was the problem, not her, not the midget. It was he himself that had the problem. They were all right about him, he was a problem child that nobody would ever understand. He was alone. He was Norman Butler, artist, painter, writer, poet, loser, winner, soul mate, drunk philosopher, crazy, dope fiend.

He drove away crying more. He called her cell phone from a pay phone he stopped at.…Kayla answered. He loved her voice, he loved everything about her…

"Goodbye Kayla" he cried, hanging up, and driving towards the first national bank on Texas Avenue.

While he was driving towards the bank, he thought about stopping at Taco Bell, not to eat food, but to kick the shit out of mike the midget, who was the manager of the fast food chain. Norman thought about how good it would feel to bash that lil prick's head in, smash it over and over again against hard concrete, then shoot his knee caps out, so he couldn't even walk, let alone stick his mini dick in Kayla's love box.

"Fuck it, they deserve each other, was her choice." Norman mumbled.

"You big pussy!" the book yelled at him.

He pulled up to the bank, grabbed two guns for each hand, threw the duffle bag over his shoulder, kissed a picture of him and Kayla together, lit a cig, burning the picture, put his buck tooth mask on, buttoned his long black leather jacket, as an unforgiving Texas sun shined down on Norman's half-grinning sweat-ridden sad face, he grabbed the book riding shotgun, shoving it in his back pocket, next to his map of Mexico City. Norman walked into that fucking bank, hearing all the fiction voices commanding him, all the pain, the loss, the love- the doctors- life and death all intermingled- in his now twisted skull-

"This is called a fucking robbery! Anyone pulls any alarms, anyone tries to be a hero, anyone who doesn't do exactly what I fucking say! We will all die! I have enough dynamite taped to my naked body to blow up this entire block! Everyone stay calm, and you might be able to go home to your loving fucking wives, your loving fucking children, your loving fucking husbands tonight! Do I make myself clear!"

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