Perhaps I Was The One In The Tank, After All
The dog-eared corners of Naked Lunch catch my eye, as my copy looked exactly the same, down to the small rip on page 77. (I noticed the irregularity of the shadows, cast by the sun piercing through the bus window.)
I cough, lightly, to capture the attention of the woman reading the book.
“That’s my favourite book. You don’t see many people reading it in public, I’ve noticed.”
She stops reading, and turns her head slightly to look at me – like a hippo would stare at a donkey, with that inner confidence of being bigger, badder and waiting for an excuse to rip it in half. The national budget is being announced on the bus radio, and we both ignore it, for a war has apparently begun between us.
“I’ve noticed. Have you read his first book?”
Her thick lips expand into a polite, but false, smile – showing the cracks in her red lipstick.
I look at the floor, wounded, defeated. I whisper:
“No. Not yet.”
– Scott Sandwich