Log
from January 22nd:
Red
set me free.
January
17:
Without
cash, it’s gotten extremely and annoyingly difficult to keep the car. ‘Free
parking’ is a concept that doesn’t seem to exist around here. I can guess why,
I suppose, what with the heavy traffic and limited space per parking garage and
god damn, why make a lot that tiny if you’re going to make one at all? Also,
parking meters? Whoever invented that concept ought to be shot through the
head.
Twenty-five
cents for five minutes? Who the fuck needs to park for five minutes? I could
leave Jack in the car and keep it running at a stop light, for anything I
needed to do that only took less than five minutes. Could probably get closer
to whatever store I was looking for too, thus reducing the time to less than
three minutes. I’m being generous with the ‘two minutes of walking’ period.
With how crazy it is here, the closest anyone ever seems to get to their final
destination is a five-to-ten minute walk. Longer, if the cold an wind is bad.
Then add another five minutes to duck into the closest store, awkwardly pretend
you’re in there to shop and not just to escape the Canadian weather, and bolt
without buying anything.
I
should’ve been a city planner. I would have words for those idiots. Words, and
revolutionary vision.
…If
there isn’t a Fear somehow connected to downtown traffic, I’ll be downright
fucking shocked.
So,
long story short – I say with a touch of irony – we’re camped out in the
parking lot of an adult-fun-super-store. I am so corrupting Jack right now
whether I like it or not. For the record, I don’t. Not in my nature to taint
the minds of innocent children.
Neither
of us have had a single thing to eat since we hit the road again, courtesy of
our mystery gas-can fairy. He hasn’t complained, though. He seems happy enough
just eating snow, but I’m starving.
January
19:
Most
of this is interpretation. The writing is so uneven it’s barely legible.
Writing
by light from the streetlamp. Maybe about midnight. I can’t remember the last
24 hours. Just recall being hungry. Now there’s blood and I’m tired. But not
hungry anymore.
Razzie
is following and won’t stop barking and growling. Took a break on a street
corner to get my bearings. He’s gonna attract cops, if he doesn’t shut up.
Now
he’s running off. Weird. Maybe his heightened canine senses could tell I was
talking about him.
The
rest of the page was torn off.
January
22:
The
top part of this page was torn off.
Mistake.
Maybe I was drugged, somehow. I mean, it seems unlikely…there’s a damned good
reason why I don’t drink anything given to me by another person.
The
weirdest part is…I feel like this wasn’t the first time. This feeling up
blacking out and waking up a day later with blood trailing after me – didn’t it
happen before? Like, recently? Like, all my fucking life?
I
take the last part back. I wouldn’t know about ‘all my life’.
No
bitterness here.
Jack
has a new favourite story.
THE
WOODEN GIRL BEDTIME STORY
Harlequin,
come out and play
Wrap
me up in string
Take
all my free will away
Cut
me ‘til I sing
I
will be a willing doll
And
you, my puppeteer
I
like it better under thrall
We
have no power, here
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