When Franz Kafka looked up from his bowl of porridge on one particularly dark and cold Prague morning, he saw, from the corner of his eye, a tiny scurrying creature, and from that suddenly envisioned himself just the same.  And so wrote the story.  But that was different, because it was all fiction – you know what I am saying?  What I am going to tell is the complete truth, so help me god.

 

I won’t lie.  It’s not easy.  I really hate all the sneaking around, having to hide from the light.  And the dog, for chrissake!  Always sniffing every crack in the house.  I have to do all my reading during the night, in the dark.  It’s ridiculous.  And writing this.  Just think about it.  I know what you think: “that’s impossible!”  But it’s not.

 

The other night I was at a meeting – okay it was an AA meeting, there I said it – and some guy was going on about how he used to live in a dumpster outside a Pizza Hut.  Had all the food he ever wanted, and old soda, too. But it was hard to find a drink – you know, a “drink” drink – and how sometimes he would have to survive for days being sober.  Then one time he hit it lucky and found a $20 bill in the trash, mixed in with some soggy cheese pizza with sausage.  Well, you know what he did with that.  And next morning he was out cold, barely able to wake up before he was dumped into the back of the garbage truck.  Fell 10 feet and broke his leg.  I had to laugh.  What a moron!  I’ve lived in all kinds of garbage and never was the worse off for it; and I’ve fallen 10 feet no problem, even 20 feet.  You just land and keep on running.  That’s what you do.

 

But now I’m a thinker, see.  No more garbage for me.  So I’m just going to say it: Frank doesn’t know squat about the life of a cockroach.  What an idiot.  You stick with me and I’ll show you how it goes.

 

Anyway, that’s not the point.

 

Here’s the deal.  I’m starting a non-profit for the sake of all the poor and neglected insects that live all over the place.  So what I have done, see, is to get an online bank account.  It even included a credit card.  My roommate thought it was a mistake so tossed the first one out, but I managed to nab the thing next time it arrived.  Since I can’t really go into a store carrying my credit card (Ha!), I do all my shopping online, just like everyone else.  If I could just get my roomie to stop sending things back all the time.  It’s frustrating.

 

My therapist says I’m a narcissist but what the fuck does he know?  He can barely see me.  Mostly nattering on with some woman.  I think he has the hot’s for her, the way he listens so carefully and nods his head.  Geez!  Who’s got time for that? But I’m NOT a narcissist; I’m just someone who has learned how to take care of himself, learned the hard way.  And it’s not like I wasn’t listening.  I’m even doing this week’s homework and trying to be understanding when my roommate throws out the porn magazine I ordered from this really sleazy website.  And it’s not like he doesn’t think about those things.  When his girlfriend comes over, Jesus Christ, what a fucking mess.  They start sweating and groaning and then thumping like an earthquake, until the whole room stinks.  It’s enough to make you puke.

 

After one of his “sessions”, I met up with some old friends, you know what I saying?  And I told them all I had been through and they all just waved their fucking antennas, like that’s supposed to mean something and then took off running.  So I ran too.  I couldn’t help it.  That’s genetics for you.  What a bunch of idiots.  They can’t even talk, much less read a book.  What good are they?

 

But not me and that’s why I’m writing this.  And not you, either.  And that’s where you fit in.

 

Trust me, this is not a scam.  I know a scam.  One time I was checking out a garbage can in the alley across the street when I saw it with my own two eyes.  A couple guys pretending they had the money for their deal. They just had a couple of pistols, like that was all they needed.  One of them wet his pants he was so scared.  That’s not me.  I tell it like it is.

 

So the website will be fantastic.  I’m designing it myself. I might need a bit of financial support, you follow?  But I’ll get back to you on that.

 

I need to back up.  My roommate.  He’s not a bad guy.  He leaves his dishes out and a lot of food on the counters.  I have to say I appreciate that.  He’ll be watching the TV and I will be gorging myself in the other room.  I hope I don’t get fat.  He’s not here in the daytime, except to walk the dog.  He has some sort of important job, meetings with the senator and all.  I may have seen some money exchange hands.  I’m just saying.  Truth is, I will tag along on occasion, when I’m looking for a little action, kind of listen in, get a little insight into the brother.  The way I see it, anything I can do to help him out, in the end helps me too.  You know what I’m saying?

 

Last week I went to the karaoke bar just down the street.  I can always find some good food there and with nobody noticing a thing.  I’m not much of a singer but believe me, no one else there is either.  And after a drink or two, I have no idea if I’m on key.  This particular night, things got a little rough with people using a lot of swear words until finally this guy got up and smacked the skinny fellow with the baggy pants.  He used the old fashioned technique of  beer bottle to the side of his head.  I thought the bottle was supposed to break, you know, like it always shows on the TV.  Well it didn’t.  But the fellow certainly went down, just like in the movies.  Lots of shouting and commotion.  But the great thing, me and the singer keep on going, didn’t miss a beat.

 

When the police arrived the dude on the floor was still out cold.  Couple of guys from the ambulance came in too.  Asking all kinds of questions.  They had turned the music off by then.  Funny thing is, I noticed immediately I was way off key.  Kind of embarrassing, actually.  So anyway, some girl started screaming that her boyfriend was going to be a vegetable.  What the hell was that supposed to mean?  What kind of vegetable? Like Frankie comparing himself to a bug? I mean, what the fuck!  What is wrong with these people?

 

I was reading tonight.  The brother had gone to bed with his Ho, although he refers to her as his “girlfriend”.  Whatever.  Anyway, I was reading The Stranger by Camus and I started thinking, what if that was me.  I mean it could be, right?  What if I just decided to off the Bro tonight in his sleep, and his girlfriend, too.  Maybe just kind of like it was an accident.  The police would come and look around and have no idea what had happened. They might even see me in the corner without really noticing.  They would call the forensic guy, just like on the TV, who would collect DNA samples from this thing and that.  Okay, so that would make me nervous.  What if they could trace it to me? 

 

I have to admit that kind of got to me.  I don’t know if it was the part about being traced or just the existential part, you know, of facing impermanence: “Что наша жизнь? - роман. Кто автор? - аноним. Читаем по складам, смеемся, плачем... спим.”  Right?  Despair is suffering without meaning.  I suddenly needed a drink.  And I found one. And, yes, it was my roomies unfinished glass of Jack Daniels, enough to get me plastered.  But it didn’t set me right.  It didn’t set anything right. I felt like a fucking alien.  I called my sponsor but he couldn’t hear me. So I went back to the meeting.  “Hi, my name is Gregor, and I’m an alcoholic.”  That’s what I always say.  It’s for a laugh.  But it wasn’t funny tonight.  I looked around, but of course no one noticed.

 

After the meeting I walked home slowly.  Okay, so I ran.  That’s what I do.  But I did it thoughtfully.  I watched as the rain fell, sometimes knocking me over, the smell of water on the asphalt, and the sound of cars speeding by.  And me thinking, what if I stepped out onto the street, would anyone even notice.  I don’t think so.

 

 

So there you have it.  Pretty shitty. Feeling really low.  By the time I got back to the house, it was very quiet and I was feeling totally alone and abandoned.  The brother was still in bed, sound asleep with his arm around his girl.  Okay, so she’s pretty sweet, and that’s the real truth.  I think I’m just a bit jealous.  Not that I want to have sex with him or anything. I actually lost my penis in the war, but that’s another story. 

 

I just wanted to be close, you know, like I was a part of something.

 

I climbed up in the bed and looked at the two of them, joined like they were one, and that’s okay.  I snuggled in around his shoulder, all warm and cozy.  He smelled a little of BO, but who cares.  I’m home and he’s alive, and that’s all that matters.  I scratched around a bit, to get all comfy. 

 

But then there was a rattling in the bed and the sheet flew up.  He heaved two or three times then sputtered. I’m clinging for dear life and suddenly he smacks me, the bastard!  But I was off and running.  Because that’s what I do.

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