The Gonzo Wolf

I’m a shut-in; rarely do I ever go off our property unless food or school are involved. I have everything I need within reach. There’s no need to venture off and disturb anyone else’s energy field, dig? I even have memberships to Six Flags and Alamo Drafthouse. I hope they enjoy my monthly donations. Kind of like the church collection plate with a lap bar.

Disclaimer: open mic and book conventions don’t count. That’s the artist persona. I mean as Bruce Wayne’s white-trash cousin. The humanoid everyone sees; not the energy-being.

When I want to get opinionated and personal with an individual, I do it online. It keeps them safe from me kicking them in the nuts for their ignorance. I’m too old to meet new people in the physical sense now anyway. What are we gonna do, sneak out the window and smoke cigarettes on the park swings at midnight? That’s how real friendships are born, hypothetically, and I don’t have time left for such nonsense. I’d hurt myself climbing out of a window, and cigarettes stink now. It’s a good thing middle-age has left me mostly nose-blind!

I left home today for grocery pick-up; both for the humans and the reptiles. As of this moment, there’s a mouse reading these passages from my writing desk who has no business getting involved. He or she won’t know the ending during this lifetime. Best laid plans and such.

The girl who brought the groceries out to my truck looked no older than nineteen or twenty years of age. She exhibited more of a rural build; extra-baggy clothes with a no-fuss haircut, hinting to me that she probably drove into the city from the rural suburbs so she doesn’t have to spend all her time farming, pretending to like Alt-Right Influencers, and after-church meals where circles of people pray in public. I always found that to be uncomfortable. Was it for the attention? Were we supposed to be better than the families around us who didn’t pray before digging into their Mazzio’s Pizza? I digress…

“Oh my gawd, I’m so in love with your beard,” she confessed. Bullshit; I haven’t been to the barber in two weeks and, if you think I touch this thing up between visits, then you haven’t the slightest idea of how to be a successfully lazy twat-muffin such as myself.

I turned my head to meet eyes-aflame on a desperate quest for rescue. She looked at me the way my snakes will look just before striking these mice. Blatantly, spiritually, this chick reached out through my half-opened window with the force. Like Luke trying to figure out WTF was going on at Cloud City. It made me uncomfortable. Hungry-eyed contact continued with every trip to and from the cart. I counted the seconds until she finished, but it appeared as though she may had finished already. (ting)

It was the same kind of look someone gives you when you know that they know something about you that no one else is supposed to know. In previous lives, I craved that look; exploited it to my whimsy. My last experiences dealing with such ocular nonsense translated into, “Please, daddy, take me away from this Satan’s Butthole of a town. I’ll do anything.”

What can I say? Trailer-park-pimpin’ wasn’t easy.

It was clear flirtation, and the first time anyone’s done so in ages. Like, I’m so in love with my wife and life, I get angry with anyone who even tries to put themselves onto that level of copasetic. This chick, though. This one creeped me out. Kind of like a reverse mind-rape; a demon from my past in disguise or possibly reborn.

Maybe a witch. Not that I have problems with those, I just think this one in particular may have wanted to turn me into a newt. I’d get better, or so I’ve heard, but it sounds rather involving.