Pavement Licker No. 09

NEIGHBOURS (NOT AUSTRALIAN) Late at night, I think about murder. I think about death. I think about killing. I think about my neighbour and his murder, death and killing. I think about MURDERING my neighbour. The DEATH of my neighbour. KILLING my neighbour. I think about using a pillow. Wait. I think about it while I lie on my pillow. I think about vaulting his crumbling back wall while he’s out shout-smoking and unleashing some sort of devastating, Sagat-from-Street-Fighter-2-Turbo-style-tiger uppercut that knocks him back over his idiot house, startling him into a higher state of consciousness. I think about how he’ll be dazzled into such a transcendental fug that he’ll just start walking and walking and walking in a desperate effort to gain some understanding of his solely shout and smoke based existence, and how he won’t stop, he won’t stop until his body vaporizes all vital salts and sugars, and he stumbles, COLLAPSES into… into a puddle of SHIT, dog, umm, cow, no, no…

HUMAN SHIT AND CIGARETTE BUTTS! Ha ha ha ha ha! Haaaaaa! Bah hah hah!

He was really noisy again last night. I shouted out the window. He shouted something back. Not sure what. Couldn’t really hear him clearly…