by Sam Pink
My beard froze right away.
Eyes froze shut a few times.
A hard gust of wind went into my lungs and choked me for a second.
Glakkk.
Haha.
Fuck.
All right.
All right, you win.
*
I kept falling asleep on the train ride home, sitting across from a guy who was sleeping lengthwise on the seats using a bag of old bread for a pillow.
Didn’t get home until the sun was up and people were going to work.
The junkie in front of my building held out his hand giving the thumbs up as I came through.
‘Aw yeah,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ I said, smiling.
My building smelled artificially good in a way that meant something really bad had happened.
In the hallway on my floor someone had scribbled all over the walls in marker.
Not a design of any kind, just scribbles.
It was really funny.
Honestly, I couldn’t think of anything funnier.
A rat ran down the hall and under the door to the utility closet.
Its tail stuck out into the hallway.
I walked up quietly and stepped down on the tail—not hard, but enough to trap it.
The rat panicked and started scratching.
I stood there.
But there was nothing else to do, so I let go.
That was all I wanted anyway.
Just something.
Something for a second.
Anything for any seconds.
Inside my apartment, Rontel was lying on the stove—his eyes half closed, wagging his tail.
He went to meow but didn’t make a sound.
He stretched, knocking a metal burner off the oven.
‘Come here, my little shithead,’ I said.
I picked him up and kissed his head four times real quick.
In a really deep and gravelly voice, I said, ‘Rontel, you a handsome baby!’
He was blinking a lot and licking his snoot, staring up at the ceiling.
Sun lit my room.
I turned Rontel over onto his back and pointed his ass at the sunlight.
I pumped his ass like a shotgun and shot it.
Chik-chik, foooosh.
Jolting back a little.
Chik-chik, foooosh.
Shells dropping.
Clink clink.
Chik-chik, foosh.
Good morning, Chicago, we’ve come for your lives!
We’ve come to take your STUPID FUCKING LIVES!
Here I come, rising up gigantic out of Lake Michigan—my back and shoulders coming into view—standing up, turning around to face the city—my hair matted down, face expressionless, water falling off me in huge swells and landing against Lake Shore Drive traffic.
WOOOOOOSH!
Buildings colliding and breaking.
Everything becoming garbage.
Piling along Lake Shore Drive.
NOOOOO, STOOOPPPP!!!!!
What is he doing?!
Why is he doing this?
Please!
But no.
No mercy.
I just shake my head no and reach into the lake and pull out Rontel, pumping his ass like a shotgun, screaming an earth-shaking scream.
AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Chik-chik, FOOOOSH!
Chik-chik, FOOOOOOOOSH!
Blasting away the city.
Chik-chik, FOOOOOOOOOOOSHHHH!!!!
Heat from the shells so hot it kills all life in the lake.
Heat coming off Rontel’s shotgun ass so hot it cooks anything in a mile radius.
The whole sky an oven.
Birds dropping as ash.
Fuck you all.
Chik-chik, FOOOOOSH!
An onslaught until all is gone.
And Rontel and I return to the depths, to wait for anyone dumb enough to try again.
To wait.
*
My apartment sucked.
A coworker had recommended the building.
I’d just gotten evicted and she was the only person with a real option.
Told me she’d only had one problem in the building, when this woman was convinced my coworker was a Nazi and wrote, ‘Kill the whore on the third floor,’ on the walls in the hallway.
But then my coworker maced her and beat her up one night and everything had been good since.
The building used to be a hotel.
Each unit was a studio.
Each studio had a bathroom and a main room with a mini-fridge, an oven, and a sink.
There was also a purple yoga mat in mine when I moved in—which, as I would later discover, should have never been used to sleep on and of which nothing more will be said.
The bathroom sink and toilet didn’t fully work.
They always backed up.
Same with the bathtub.
I’d go into the bathroom and find myself staring down at a tub full of black water, my reflection featureless and far away but still so accurate.
Hey, sexy!
The toilet didn’t flush all the way.
Like, mmmmmno, not today, sorry.
Hmm, maybe I’ll take away a little of this, a little of that, and, well, yes I think I’ll give you a little back.
That cool?
It took a few flushes to accomplish what was supposed to happen in one.
But yes, I admired the disobedience.
Yes I did.
I appreciated it.
I really did.
Of the three hundred people in the building I only knew my coworker and Lucy.
Lucy lived on the first floor in the unit nearest the front entrance—until she was evicted for overdosing in the hallway.
Anytime I came in through the front, she leaned out her doorway and said something like, ‘Nyurr hanthum, avv a nize dayyyyy!’ then quickly went into her apartment and slammed the door.
Lucy.
She always wore a giant T-shirt with a cartoon character on it and glasses that made her eyes looks huge.
She had hair like a kiwi—scalp visible through the fuzz.
I met her the day I went to pay move-in fees.
She followed me outside, holding the door for me and saluting.
‘Iyam a lady after all,’ she said. ‘Avv to let the good guys pazz … peshally a looker like yoummmmm.’
Smiling with her eyes closed and still saluting.
I introduced myself, holding out my hand.
Lucy held out her arms.
We hugged.
She held me in the hug and asked me to look out for her—to be a guardian angel for the entire building.
She tested my arm with a pinch, then re-secured the hug.
‘Pleez, mmpleez,’ she said, looking up at me with her chin on my chest.
She told me she was raped and beaten in the laundry room.
Told me her eye was hanging out and her jaw was busted when the police found her.
‘I’m ztill alive though!’ she said, smiling and blinking her huge eyes a few times.
She asked me my zodiac sign.
Before I answered she said, ‘I’m Tauruzzz,’ putting finger horns on either side of her head. ‘Hornz … the um, the bull.’
She grabbed my right arm with both hands and held herself close to me.
‘Pleez, mmpleez, be my angel. Be a angel for all of uzz, okmmmm?’
‘Ok.’
‘You promizz?’
I promised.
She smiled and patted my shoulder.
She motioned for me to walk except she kept her arm around mine and we started walking together.
We walked to the end of the block and said goodbye.
When I told my coworker I’d met Lucy, my coworker laughed and said Lucy thought she was an angel because she’d ‘saved Lucy’s life,’ helping Lucy take her hood off when Lucy thought it was somebody attacking her.
*
There wa
s a blizzard on my next day off.
So I decided to shovel snow.
I walked to the hardware store down the block and bought a shovel.
The employee found it behind a pallet of road salt.
‘Yeah, I guess we do have one,’ he said, pressing his finger into the dust on the blade.
So shitty are you, my shovel, I thought, taking it from him.
It was really light.
I acted like I was inspecting it.
‘Hmm.’
Said ‘steelcore’ on the sticker on the shovel blade.
‘Ahh,’ I said. ‘Steelcore. Cool.’
I paid.
Put my hood on and went outside.
Even did a test scoop right out front of the store.
Nice.
I walked down a random block and started shoveling.
The shovel bent after a few scoops.
Haha, fuck you, shovel!
With your steelcore bullshit …
I stomped the blade back into shape with my boot.
The snow was heavy.
There was already over half a foot.
It fell in a way that almost made like, a light tapping sound.
So loud somehow.
My back hurt.
My arms burned.
My hands stung badly, looking purple and cooked, the scars darkened.
Nose numb.
Beard iced.
Forehead numb.
Fuck.
I started cheering myself on with each scoop.
Heeeeeeeere comes another one!
Let’s go, baby, you got this!
Come on, ya dumb bastard!
Come on now, let’s see some more of that stuff that I’m lookin for!
That’s it, that’s the stuff I’m lookin for!
But no, the cheering didn’t work.
So instead I fantasized about killing my landlord.
The hot water had been out for two weeks.
Every morning I kept warm in the freezing minute-long shower by tensing up and fantasizing about killing my landlord.
So, ok, he’s there one day checking on light bulbs in the hallway or whatever.
And you know, I’m watching him through my peephole or whatever, no biggie.
And I’m staring coldly or whatever, you know.
Whispering, ‘Perfect.’
And I slowly open my door and walk down the hallway.
He sees me.
He sees me and he’s scared already but tries not to show it.
And he goes to say, ‘Hey, budd—’
But my hands connect hard against his neck.
And I press him against the wall.
And he goes, ‘Eckkkkkk,’ turning red, his eyes bugged and watering.
But then I let go.
Maybe bang his head against the wall a few times—nothing to really injure him, but to get his heart going.
To increase the fear and panic.
Headbutt his face once or twice so he’s choking on his own blood.
Yeah.
Then start choking him again.
Do you like this?
Yeah, I want you to like this.
Why can’t we both like this?
Letting his dead body fall to the stained and frayed carpet.
Facedown, a buffet for his rats.
The shovel bent again.
I bent it back with my boot.
Fuck it.
The snow immediately covered anything I did anyway.
Looked like the sky was three feet up, falling slowly.
About to press down enough to crush just the top of my head.
Confirming something.
I scraped and chipped at areas people had stepped down, digging the blade under.
Aw hell.
Looks like the dumb bastards stepped it down!
They … they’ve stepped it down …
Dumb bastards!
Just gotta keep at those chippings, I thought.
Chipping and scraping.
You ol chip-scraper, you.
Ol chip-scrapin doozy.
A cabbie pulled up.
He got out and opened the back passenger door.
He coughed and retched before leaning inside.
He came out holding a folded-up section of cardboard.
He stepped up to the curb and let go of one side.
Something spilled out.
When he drove away, I went over and shoveled snow onto it.
Goodbye, strange liquid!
Then back to the snow.
I tried doing someone’s driveway.
Come on, now let’s see that stuff!
You got this!
Yeah!
Only did like five scoops though.
Fuck it.
Couldn’t take the cold anymore.
I was dizzy.
And so I slipped home, saying ‘oh fuck oh fuck’ in my head to keep warm.
Went through my alley.
Someone had built a snowman next to a dumpster.
The damn snowman even had boots!
I grabbed a boot and tossed it up and swung the shovel like a baseball bat and hit the boot a few feet and it landed in the snow like fiff—which is the sound of snow saying, ‘Mmm, thanks for the boot!’
March
And then, yet again, I woke up in time for work!
Haha, wow!
But today when I left my apartment, I started bleeding.
The moment I closed and locked my door, I started bleeding from all these invisible wounds.
I walked down the hall, bleeding out all over the carpet.
Bleeding all over the walls.
Bleeding on people’s doors.
On the stairs.
On the mail for previous tenants.
The sidewalk.
Melting what remained of the snow.
Onto people.
Dogs.
Dripping off the turnstile at the train station.
Forming puddles on the platform.
All over the train.
The seats.
People’s phones, newspapers, books.
All over everything.
And by the time I got off the train, I was very weak.
Thought I was going to die.
But no.
I made it to work.
And right at the door, I’d bled out completely.
Here, have me now, fuckers.
*
By closing, I’d carried a drunk woman out, separated two fights, stood in the doorway to block someone from coming in after she pissed/puked herself out front and said, ‘Ok good now,’ then tried to come in, washed hundreds of dishes, served drinks for an hour after the bartender cut her hand on a shard in the dishwasher, scooped puke out of a urinal with stunning accuracy, and made a hundred dollars betting on a bowling match on TV.
It was slowing down though.
‘Hey, can you go check on the women’s bathroom?’ the bartender said.
‘Why sure!’ I said smiling.
After confirming that the women’s bathroom was still there, I also noticed a toilet covered and filled with shit!
There was shit all over!
All over, everywhere, in my fucking skull, pushing behind my eyes even!
My my …
One thing that always confused me was: how?
One person could never shit that much … and so, would that suggest that people just kept shitting on the shit?
I ask you!
I stared at the shit for a little bit, checking on it.
Yo.
Having a good time?
Good.
Good, I’m glad.
Because—quite simply—I’m gonna fuck you up.
I’m gonna fuck you up badly.
I went to grab the plunger.
But then … no …
Something was different.
I narrowed my eyes at the shit.
Hmm …
I looked clo
ser.
There was something about the shit …
Something I couldn’t figure out …
Hmm …
What are you hiding?
I asked it things of which it would not tell.
I questioned it and heard only my echo.
Hmm …
I knelt down and put my face closer.
Yes.
I see.
Hmm …
I rubbed my fingers in the shit around the seat.
I rubbed some shit on my face and into my beard.
I touched my tongue to the shit.
Hmm …
Started eating shit off the seat, scraping it off with my front teeth.
I ate as much as I could, licking at it too.
I put my head into the bowl and started eating the shit and toilet paper.
I even drank all the water!
And soon enough, everything was clean.
And I was a fucking hero.
And I left the bathroom and promptly exploded all over for the rats to eat.
*
The only people left to get out of the bar were a prostitute and the guy she’d been talking to.
She had her arm around him, drink in the other hand spilling all over, her little breasts almost coming out of her leopard shirt.
She started yelling about insurance.
‘They got all kinda insurance now! They got fire insurance … house insurance … computer insurance. Motherfuckin goldfish insurance! Shit!’
She laughed.
The guy asked her to back off a little, leaning away from her with his hand up.
‘Fuck, you mean, back up? I’m tryna be nice. Fuck you!’
She pointed her finger in his face.
The bartender said, ‘Hey, calm down, you both gotta get the fuck out anyway. We’re closed.’
‘Don’t be telling me how to act, bitch!’ said the prostitute, then tried to reach over the bar.
I got in between everyone, facing the prostitute.
‘Hey, relax,’ I said, smiling, putting my hands up.
She said, ‘Baby, I ain’t mad at you. It’s this motherfucker right here!’ and reached over my shoulder. ‘Fuck that bitch!’
The bartender laughed and said, ‘Get the fuck out of here, you stupid cunt.’
The prostitute threw her glass at the bartender.
The glass broke against some bottles.
‘Fuck you, bitch!’ yelled the prostitute, trying to get past me.
I held her wrists up against her chest and moved her towards the door, telling her to relax.
She screamed over my shoulder at the bartender, then looked at me, touching my face with both hands, her wrists in my grip.
‘I ain’t mad with you, baby,’ she said. ‘BUT FUCK THAT BITCH RIGHT THERE!’
I led her out and shut the door and she screamed some shit at the window, then left.
