I'm sitting now, in one of the hundreds of seats in that old theater. Sitting all around me, are the people covered in plaster. They're all sitting there, their huge smiles making me envious. I wish I could stay happy as long as they do. They must not have a care in the world. I look to my left, the seats go on for forever, like I'm looking through a mirror reflecting a mirror reflecting a mirror. A million imitations repeating themselves in an endless ring. I look to my right, and see the same thing; a million petrified faces, all as happy as can be. Some have their eyes closed, I guess they really are having a wonderful time. It's like I'm stuck in some sick, distorted picture. I'm stuck in a single frame, where I'm the only one in motion.
I look forward and see the stage. The statue of women has changed, they're in the shape of a tree. One giant, contorted lower case 'T'. It's disgusting, really, how they bend the way they do.
Then another stage light comes on, some from stage left. A man I've never seen before is standing there, he's smiling like all the others. Only his faced is cracking. And like a concussion blast, all the other plater skins fly off. The pieces break off like dry leaves in an angry wind. Just as the blast hits me I wake up.
I jump up in my seat. Ruth, the Mexican girl, jumps too -- her mouth still around my hardened penis. She takes her mouth off.
"Are you okay, Gus?" She asks.
"Yeah, yeah." I say out of breath. "I'm fine."
"Okay." She says as she puts my junk back in my pants. "I have to get back to work."
She walked off, out of the kitchen -- the sound of running water can be heard somewhere behind me. Her callipygian body memorizes me. I watch as they cheeks sway side to side, I can see the imprint of her panties through her thin black pants. I started to apodyopsis her [undress her with my mind] and let me tell you; those dark brown panties made me hard. Really hard. Sometimes I actually prefer that to full nudity, because it leaves so much to the imagination.
I'm instantly reminded of my dream, and it makes me uneasy. I get to my feet and head outside. As soon as the outdoor air hits me I have a cigarette lit. I take it in one drag. I hold it inside my throat for a few seconds, my eyes are closed. I crouch down and exhale. I open my eyes, it's raining. I watch the smoke get battered by the falling rain. It turns into the shape of a flowing six fingered hand, moving slowly upwards, into the darkness of the night -- spinning around as it went. I get to my feet, put my fedora on and head across the street. I'm heading to a six story parking garage where my piece of shit car is waiting for me. I cross the street, the whirling of the cars as they pass me by is almost comforting, the way you love to fall asleep on someone's chest -- just listening to them breathe. I hop onto the sidewalk and walk through the glow of florescent lights radiating from shop windows. As I walk past them I see the mist, the water bouncing off of everything. It's nice too.
I take a corner and head through an empty street, a short-cut to my destination. I light another cigarette. There's a single street light in the center of the street, halfway to the next block. I head towards it, and see someone lying a few feet away from it. I walk faster. When I'm just beneath the light I stop. I look down at the man, only a few feet in front of me. He's lying on his back, his clothes soaked, and his eyes wide open. They're staring off somewhere I'll never see. His mouth hangs open and a trail of vomit, sprinkled with pills, leads from his mouth to all around his head. Like some kind of rancid halo. The cigarette drops from my mouth and thuds to the ground, the cherry going out before it even made contact. My eyes open wide open.
Thomas Anderson is lying on his back, dead. Drowned in a sea of vomit and sleeping pills.
I have a very bad feeling about this case.
-Sir Jestro
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