“Before I piss I turn on the hot water tap.”
“That’s a waste of water.”
“You’re annoying when you’re sober.”
James was annoying when he was sober. Nothing was dulled; he had morals, emotions and opinions. He’d all of a sudden care about advertising to minors, his mother’s welfare and the smoking tax. I didn’t particularly give a fuck about any of those things, except maybe the smoking tax, and even then, he was for it.
“Listen, Jeremy, I’m only sober because I have issues, you know. You just sit there and drink yourself stupid.”
He had issues, alright. The last time we went camping he didn’t shit for four days out of fear that a spider might crawl up his cake hole. Or pie hole. Whichever one is the ass. The other means the mouth. Or maybe they both meant the mouth?
“Listen, today I was thinking. I was thinking, you know that saying, I wish I could cross the road so I don’t have to see you?”
“I understand what you’re trying to say, yes.”
“Right, well, I was thinking, if my mind was a person, and I wanted to avoid thinking about Emily, I could say, I wish my mind could cross the road so I didn’t have to think of you.”
It’s one of the more profound things I’ve heard James say. There is something truly beautiful in there. It rouses something in me. I start thinking about all the thoughts that could cross the road. Get hit by cars. Bikes. Trams. Maybe even a train at a railway crossing or something. All these thoughts never reaching salvation. Perhaps a thought would get stuck in tram tracks and I had no arms to pull it out. It just festered in there, being railed over time and time again. Pounded and pounded until it finally died. My mind would have to live all that out.
It was a truly beautiful thought. But there’s no way I could encourage it.
“I hate when you’re sober.”