June 13th, 2010. Having just paced myself awake from a short nap, I slowly began to pick myself up from off the sticky, kitchen floor. There was apple juice pooled at the base of the refrigerator, and there was blood running down my hand. Darger was silhouetted in front of the window, blocking out the late afternoon sun. There was smoke rising from his body, and the smell of him made my head hurt.
"Jesus Christ! You stupid idiot!" I shouted. Dizzy, I immediately layed back down on the floor, shut my eyes, and angrily added, "That was the last of the apple juice, you dumb scumbag!"
I wanted to jump up, and tackle him- sending him crashing through the big, black, granite, kitchen sink.
I wanted to bash his head into a board of broken nails.
I was so angry, I felt like driving a burning, pickup truck down his throat. Yet, all the anger and hatred that I felt paled in comparison to the dark, violent, rage I had witnessed from Darger earlier, when we had learned that Traffic Town had just been swept in the Freeway Series by the I-5 interlopers from down south.
L is for Helter-Skidaddle.
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