The Illustrious

So this is the life of the great author, I thought, sitting at a fucking table, bored out of my mind, trying to sell a few cheap books? I want alcohol at these damn things, instead I sit hear with a glass of water, yeah, yeah hi, I think, hi, thanks for your interest. Will you buy something please? Buy something will you? I’m looking at the stacks of books on the table in front of me, the idiotic covers. Jesus, what’s inside those things? I thought. For Christ’s sake, I wouldn’t buy one, what the fuck am I doing here!? "Oh hi hey yeah, how ya doin'? Ever heard of Weirdoville? Well that’s me, I mean, it’s not me, but I made it up, you see, it’s all right here in this…oh, ok, bye then." Damn it. What the hell am I doing here? Look at that cover, what is that supposed to be? A millipede? I don’t know why I ever thought this would be a good idea. I think it had something to do with a drumstick, maybe a band that played with actual drumsticks, god I’m an idiot, I hate myself. If I could only sell a few of these stupid things I would be ok.

I ran over all the sorry events of my life that I was supposedly supposed to have written down. What’s going on here, I thought, where am I? The other authors smiled cheerfully, signed books, gave handshakes, gave warnings about some clever good natured ridiculous thing everyone was supposed to be afraid of but not really. People laughed. I looked at my water wishing it was gin. I ran my hands down my legs, hard. I was sweating, pressure behind my eyes. I adjusted my hat. “Look,” I said, apropos of nothing, “look, nobody give up their seats 'cause I’ll be right back and I don’t want to hear anything more about it,” and I got up to leave. No one noticed or everyone noticed but weren’t saying anything, I couldn’t tell. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, I thought. Why do I always think of him in times like this? Well, not him really, but his name, I like the sound of it. Get out of my way get out of my way, I thought, Jesus where are they all coming from? I glanced back at my empty spot at the authors table, no one noticed I was gone, hell I barely did except that I felt ultimately more comfortable now. My books were sitting on the table, my name on them and everything, that stupid millipede dancing or whatever it was. Christ, I thought, I wouldn’t buy one of those things, they look idiotic.

“No time for interviews,” I said. A few people turned their heads, I burst out laughing. I pushed my way through the crowded convention hall. A woman in a padded cat suit approached me, pawing and smiling, offering me something, a piece of paper, words, more words. “Get away from me goddamnit, I’ve had about enough of you.” She looked offended. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered, “there’s no fucking end to it!” Angry, disgusted looks as I moved through the crowd, the door was up ahead, my determination increased, I lowered my head and pushed towards the door. Air raid sirens as I hit the outside, or maybe only a fire alarm, or the police, it was the same thing. I watched the smiling kids with their parents, balloons bobbing in the light rain, sky vaguely gray, no trace of pink, for some reason I had wanted to see pink when I looked up there. Parents were smiling, cars were moving, my hands were moving into my pockets, I found a cigarette, I took it out, lit it and smoked. Ahhhhhh, disapproving looks from some woman, Jesus I thought, Jesus I wish I was above this shit. My car was there so I got in, I didn’t bother to turn on the radio though usually I would have. There was a fine mist on the outside windshield from the rain. I sat there in my brown overcoat breathing heavily, I didn’t know what time it was. They could steal my books, steal them all for all I cared. I imagined them still smiling in there, shaking hands, and that stupid millipede or whatever it was still sitting there twisting on the cover with my name directly beneath it. What an idiot…