Casablanca

Man seeks to corrupt the ground beneath your toes. Little Saint James could have been great! He could have been a contender! They’d pillage heaven if only they could find it, but, of course, it’s far too late for that. They always share first. The same, easy problems: infidelity, alcoholism, suicidal ideation. Joanna wakes us when the five meets the six. I get to the toilet seat before the piss can. Then we eat and nobody thinks to ask for more, please. Joanna smiles and sticks her fingers down our throats ’til we spill our nasty guts. If I were happy like Joanna seems to be, I’d be happier than she is, I can tell you that much. Self-harm, at the very least, gave my life meaning. Where shall I get my fix for meaning now? Self-improvement? Alas! Poor Yorick! Forget it, Jake! It’s Casablanca! Oh, well, if Cassandra was so smart, why couldn’t she foresee that no one would believe her? That bitch! This, this right here, this is called living outside of the moment, and it works spectacularly as a distraction from Joanna’s words. She says that just because something is mandatory doesn’t mean it has to feel mandatory, but I wish she would sing it instead. The fat man to my left raped his wife. The bald man to my right never pursued his dreams of acrobacy. Men treat their bodies as vessels for what is and women treat their bodies as vessels for what could be or for what could never be. Men seek out the blood of a foe and women make ourselves foes so we can more plentifully attain that blood. Joanna asks me to share and I tell her I would prefer not to. A long man sits on his chair backwards and farts. Everybody nods in agreement. One million things have to go right just for you to be this unhappy. I don’t want a cookie, but can I have a taste of your ice cream? Is there a love for me or has it all been misplaced? Is a little pianist boy in Spain basking in all my hard-earned affection? Kerouac, Capote, and Parker walk into a bar and no one can really seem to remember the end of that joke. Joanna reminds us of air. Ask a woman to take a deep breath in, and her belly button will hit her spine. Ask a man, and his belly button will knock into your own. This goes over everyone’s heads before it circles back to their mouths. The long man farts again and this time, everyone vehemently disagrees. We’ll always have pesticides—I’m looking at you, Joanna. Good morning, Casablanca! By a count on the fingers, how much do you love me? There are at least seven seas, but don’t tell Cassie. She’ll claim there’s only one and I don’t care much for spoilers. The new girl tries speaking about her mean dad, like the slut she is. Doesn’t she know it’s not our turn yet? I’d probably hate her if she were old enough to have breasts. Joanna frowns and asks me what’s on my mind. I asked Junior out to lunch, and he told me he had a flight to drop. I asked Anne what his codpiece could be compensating and she laughed so hard she lost her fucking mind. The most common specter takes the shape of a winged horse, but it’s best to analyze this no further. Just be grateful that God stripped naked in the first place. Joanna smacks the shit out of me and the fat man gets hard. You know what? I’d like to go to Morocco, I tell her. Yeah, I really would.