Saturday, August 31, 2013


We land at the murdered person's house and find that she is killed in a ritualistic manner. This person...this 'politician' who stood outside with several chicken industry protestors had had her neck broken, and then, very deli...deliberately, they drew a nice fat 7 across her breasts. That's what these clowns do, because they know I'm back.

"It's the same thing over and over again, Frank! Let's just go back to the office."

Spiderman's fucking boss is obviously mine, at the office, and he is yelling at me. "I can't hire you if you're instigating the murders," he yells. "I mean, are you seeing a fucking pattern here?" he yells again.

"Se7en", I reply. "That's a pattern."

"They're making fun of you kid. You're no detective."

I turn back and look at my email. My mother is sending encouraging messages. "Keep a positive heart, and you'll be right as rain," she writes, and I wish I could tell her how much I miss her (my wife, not my mom).

I write carefully back. "I'm a detective, again now, mom. I can't think about her. Please don't send so many emails."

Petty officer Charles is now assigned to me. I ask him if he knows how I can improve my typing. "You have any typing games, Charles?"

We write a small diary together, imagining the psyche of the people who'd like to taunt me.


Near home, there is an old woman who is usually pretty cool to talk with. She...she *lives* in a box. When we first met, I told her how fucking offensive that is to me, and she just did a finger thing like saying "not important". I speak to this older woman in the box about what happened to my wife, and she just listens to me.

"You really have a hang-up," she said one day.

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