Imaginary Man: Archived Pg. #147

Imaginary Man

“Yes, papa I get it. I most definitely understand the deep, misunderstood turmoil that you’re in right now. But you have to understand that Blake and I aren’t in the position or geographic location to pick up a 6-pack of Coors for you. There is one thing you can do for us while you’re on the phone with us though. Get on the computer in the family room and Google this:

How to get blood off of carpet.”

Yes, everything I hated to see hit the fan is flying. I’m, surprisingly, paranoid. I can’t believe that I feel this way. I thank the gods of luck that beer bottle glass shards aren’t making their way to the brain of this idiot. I can’t grab another towel right now. I just need to sit. We’ve done more than enough to this poor motel already.

I just don’t understand what caused objects to fly.

Blake often times chooses just the right words.

“Clive, you are a wretched bastard of a brother to watch me get snuffed for a whole two minutes before stepping in and punching air like you did.”

Blake often times chooses just the wrong times to say those words. Especially when the only person who can apply pressure to his ketchup-leaking head – due to his hands being filled with glass – is the man he is ungratefully insulting. Maybe he has his hearing back so I can knock some sense into his head.

“Everyone at the bar hates you, and you deserve it. Your problem is that you didn’t care about the affairs of the man sitting on your right; you will step on whoever you need to and tear down anyone who is in your way just to get what you want. You’re so enslaved to this future you’ve painted in your head that you don’t even realize the decisions that you make anymore.

Why did you even ask me to be your right hand? Did you really need someone to share words with you so that you could push them behind you? I don’t understand the point of admitting complete error if you have no plans of changing your course of action.”

I wonder what book he’s reading lately. It’s certainly not the book he was reading when he had conversations with me a year ago. I commended him for his passion and chase when we left our city. But tonight could not have been inspired by the same Blake that I’ve known. He must not be reading as much as he did before. He must’ve lost his goal.

There’s but so much I can do to help if that’s the case.

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