Colin let out a loud, dismissive hiss. “Spare me your great balls,
hotshot,” he said, “I’ve got plenty of cushion.”
The fireman snapped back, “Yeah? Is everything a joke to you?
Well, wait until you see death first-hand, son. Real death. Then it all
won’t seem so funny.”
Colin carefully put down his glass and caught the fireman’s eye.
His voice was now menacing: “Oh, yes. I’ve seen death, you
sanctimonious fuck. But not your oh-shit-time’s-up flavor. I’m
talking about living death, which is a hell of a lot worse. That’s what
I’mtrying to avoid.” He climbed up onto the counter and bellowed
down to the startled fireman: “Life’s a mere moment, writ Hesse, just
long enough for a joke.So you’re right. Everything’s a joke to me. But
when I die, it’ll be when I’m dead. Not a bit sooner. And that’ll be the
best punchline of all. Now go fuck off and scare some cats out of some
trees. Your boogaloo heebee jeebee doesn’t work here.”
The fireman slumped. He had never encountered such hostility
before, having been unilaterally regarded as a hero throughout his
entire career. But rather than waste his breath and his adrenaline, he
simply turned and left as he had come.
The flabbergasted journalist protested, “Christ. Don’t you think
you overdid it a bit?”
“What do you mean?” Colin smiled now, “I was just kidding!
Anyway, like I told you, good things come from shit. I just did that
guy a favor. After meeting such a fiend, he probably feels really
fucking righteous now.” He started to climb down, but slipped on a
slick puddle and tumbled with a crash onto the floor. The journalist
laughed despite himself.
Colin, benumbed and so unhurt, proclaimed, “I was not made for
high places.” Then, seeing his new friend was okay, the writer opened
his notebook and penned this poem:
Thy good was born in perdition,
Water wings springing from fire.
The big bang began this tradition:
Brave blue worlds from funeral pyres.
Thereupon he helped Colin to his feet and they stumbled out onto the
beach to join the rest of the merrymakers. The sun was going down.
They strode past Yak who was sitting on the shore looking
mournfully at the sea as if looking for Leviathan. The Anarkids were
ABYSSINIA
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