Attempted Suicide by Spatula
Here's one of H+I's Greatest Hits from RB. I have waited for him to post this to SI himself and claim his due glory, but several days have passed and I can wait no longer. A classic!
Bud
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I was strolling through a back alley in one of the seedier parts of town the other night. On either side of me, winos and derelicts hunched over cheap bottles of hooch, poorly disguised with all too familiar brown paper wrappers.
The air was heavy with the odor of urine and despair. It hung like a
thundercloud over the wretched knot of humanity.
As I passed through that alley, the stifled coughs of faceless men
echoed off the dirty bricks. My shoes thudded the garbage strewn
pavement, drawing momentary attention from a crowd otherwise lost
in the meditation of failure and ruin.
In the muted light of a loading dock I spotted a pathetic husk of a
man. His shoulders heaved with quiet sobs as he bent forward. He
seemed to be working at something.
I drew nearer. Far away, the barking of a dog stabbed through the
fetid air.
When I was close enough, I regarded the man. His tattered clothing
was a celebration of dirty stains--a foul mixture of dried vomit and
spilled wine. I spied an object in the man's filthy hands. It was a
plastic spatula, the kind that small, start-up dessert companies use
to display their wares at food shows.
The man was engaged in a violent, albeit futile, attempt to slash his wrists. The rubber spatula would not grant him the release he sought.
"We need news," I heard him mutter as he vainly continued his
attempt at self-mutilation. Suddenly aware that he was no longer
alone, he peered up at me.
Our eyes met. There was a sadness in those eyes; the kind of
sadness born of highest hopes and broken dreams.
I said nothing. What could I tell this man? What had happened to
him, that drove his madness? Then, just as suddenly as he had
noticed me, his attnetion returned to his grim task. I walked on.
"Sounds good, sounds good," I heard him chortle, while the spatula
rose and fell in a stammering rhythm.
Was it Archie? I could not say for sure. It does not really matter.
Perhaps a piece of all CRGI longs died in the dirty alley that night. |
