Rontel Read Free Page A

what Chicago restaurants.
    It told people what movies to see and what shows to watch and what books to read and what to do for fun.
    It had “where to drink” suggestions that referenced “cool bars/city spots” for the white people in the city who all moved here together after college.
    The daily paper also had “debate” articles between staff writers who were trying to be funny/cute.
    The debates would be like, “Is it ok to date someone who hates your best friend.”
    Or: “What’s the code for roommate bathroom sharing.”
    Or: “Are moustaches cool.”
    Or: “Hash browns or fruit for breakfast.”
    Today I read the crime blotter.
    I liked the crime blotter.
    The only place in the newspaper where they just stated facts about something that happened without trying to make it fun.
    My favorite crime blotter ever was: “Man in Uptown beats upstairs neighbor then drags her to the basement and sets her on fire.”
    Today there were four news items in the crime blotter.
    One was about a man forcing children into his car and then molesting them in an alley.
    The next was about a man raping a child who attended the daycare his wife ran at home.
    Next one about a man stabbing his doctor then trying to rape her.
    Next one about a man who died in an alley after being stabbed in the throat "repeatedly."
    I looked up from the paper and out the window.
    Felt like my face was the ugliest melt ever at that point.
    Like, the worst.
    I felt so stupid-looking.
    Always felt ugly and stupid on the train.
    Like almost, sagged.
    Sagged out.
    Sagged out and sorry.
    Horrific.
    Sorry I’m so saggy, but I’m sagged out and sorry.
    Suck my dick—I thought, addressing myself.
    The train was underground.
    I stared at the tunnel wall, and its lighting.
    Thought about stabbing someone in the throat repeatedly.
    Is there any way to do it except repeatedly.
    Could it really stop after one stab.
    I thought about stabbing someone once then just standing there.
    Seemed like that would be worse.
    What would I do just standing there after the first stab.
    Would I talk to the victim.
    If they said something to me, I feel like I’d definitely respond.
    So I’d either have to stand there to make sure the person died or stab them repeatedly to ensure it.
    Also, seemed like if I stabbed once then paused, it would be hard to get back into it.
    It’d be like sweating in a shirt, then taking the shirt off and putting it back on like, fifteen minutes later.
    So yeah.
    Repeatedly.
    Once seemed cruel.
    That would be the worst thing to read: “Man stabbed in throat once, dies in alley over an extended period of time.”
    Just get it done—I thought, looking back into the train car.
    Finish everything you start.
    Finish yourself.
    I’ma finish you, Chicago—I thought, feeling pleasure in my testicles from the shaking of the train.
    *
    At the other end of the train car there was a kid in a mechanized wheelchair device.
    He had his thumb in his mouth.
    He had a really serious look on his face.
    An older woman stood behind him with her hands on the wheelchair.
    On the left armrest of the wheelchair device there was a keyboard attached to something.
    We made eye contact.
    Felt like I was looking at myself.
    The misery.
    With the hand of the thumb in his mouth, he waved by bending all four fingers down and up and down and up.
    The way he did it seemed like it was happening real slow.
    Felt so friendly too.
    Like we knew each other.
    The misery.
    I looked at him and tried to silently communicate, “This. Sucks.”
    But I couldn’t tell if it worked.
    Couldn’t tell if I’d thought, “This. Sucks,” or if the kid in the wheelchair put the thought inside my head.
    That would be terrible.
    I stared at him and thought—No, you will NOT control me.
    He continued sucking his thumb, the thumb that should’ve been over the keyboard controls of his wheelchair.
    His dashboard.
    Are you my space captain.
    When does it end.
    And where.
    Am I brave enough.
    I