What are these spots on my hands?
Spots spots spots...
What are... What are they?
A lot of screaming, bad noise, pretty pissed, an Ice Beast in my hand (That’s what I call Milwaukee’s Best Ice, I call them “Ice Beasts.” I always thought that was funny, thought that was funny thought thought thought) I went over there.
“Why the fuck is she always in my face?” I was screaming at her, everyone else was leaving, making themselves scarce.
How much had I drank tonight?
We bought...
We bought a case when I got out of work. Case of Ice Beasts.
I don’ remember how much of it I drank. My head is spinning.
I can’t think, what the fuck are all these spots ? I can’t rub them away.
I was over at his house, yelling, had just gone over, I always go over there. We aren’t really friends, but that’s just what I do, what everybody does, sit on the front porch and... And there is always lots of beers, more than just the ones I brought, I think I was drinking their’s too, or someone else’s, but at that point, I had an Ice Beast, and they were mine, that’s all I ever buy.
Krista and the baby and I were listening to the Ramones and drinking Ice Beasts (Timmy wasn’t drinking them, of course, that would be bad). We were drinking Ice Beasts and listening to the Ramones, and we were having a good time, and...
...And lots of people were over there.
(Oh man, these spots are all over me, what the fuck...)
...And everyone goes over there to drink and party. It’s kind of like the neighborhood place to drink and smoke weed, and the guy is a wicked redneck, and I really don’t like him that much, but his front porch is the spot to go.
So Krista and I gathered up what was left of the beer (how many cans was it? Fifteen? Sixteen? God, I don’t know, it was still early.) and she gathered up Timmy and we went over there too, and at first, we were all having fun, and me and Krista were sitting on the railing.
“Why the fuck is she always in my face?! Why is she always calling me that?!”
My face is wet too, I think that was from the dew in the woods, branches whipping in my face. Running, running, running. It’s cool on my skin.
The sun was going down, and I had quite a bit to drink. Krista was pretty mad at me, I think, because I was starting to get out of hand, yelling and waving my arms around and shit.
It was still...
Still in my hands in the woods, and I looked at it and couldn’t really understand it, comprehend it, and I threw it
hard
Out, away, get it... Away, because I know what it is, and I know what I did with it, and I can’t fucking believe it.
I think he put on some music, fucking Lynard Skynard, or some shit like that, and I hate that, I mean, sometimes he puts on Black Sabbath, and I can get down with that, but god! Fucking
Lynard Skynard
What the fuck is with that Lynard Skynard shit.
Fag.
Fag
I’m so sick of hearing that.
Hearing that from her.
Why does she always call me that... I mean, obviously I’m into girls, I live with my girlfriend, and we have a kid, but she says that anyone that has pink hair is a fag, and he says that all punk rockers are fags, whether they have pink hair or not, and I’m so sick of that shit, she never says this when Krista is around ever since Krista got all up in her face and threatened to kick her ass. Krista’s smaller than that fat bitch, but Krista is tough, it would have been funny to watch.
“Holy shit, Ryan, what did you do? Why is that all over you?” They are asking me when I get there. I’ve been running, running, running through the woods like a madman.
And I just thought it...
“It’s nothing, I was in the woods, it’s water.”
Spots ... What are these spots?
Fag
I’m so sick of hearing Fag.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!” I was screaming at her.
“Ryan, what did you do?”
“It’s nothing. I didn’t do anything.”
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
He’s all bent out of shape. “You don’t talk to her like that!”
“Then why does she have to be all up in my face all the time?”
“Ryan, what did you do?”
Krista would have taken me home, but she had already left, taken the baby home to put him to bed, she would have taken me home, and none of this shit would have happened...
“Ryan, what did you do?”
“It’s nothing...”
“You don’t talk to her like that!”
“Then why does she have to be all up in my face all the time? I’m sick of her calling me a fag!”
“All you fucking little punks are fags. Look at you, in your fucking leather jacket, what’s the matter tough guy, you upset that a girl is making fun of you?”
“Ryan, what did you do?”
Spots.
I just fucking saw it was still in my hand and threw it.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
“It’s just water, I was in the woods, it’s from the dew on the trees.” I’m looking them in the eyes, but they aren’t buying it, because they know what the spots are, even though I don’t.
“Just water.”
This room is cold, and I’m sitting balled up on a hard wooden chair, and they haven’t let me change my clothes. Nobody is talking to me, but they are watching me. I’m a threat to myself, or something. The one cop said I ruined his weekend.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
I’m falling into their arms and crying, but I don’t know why.
“Whatever man, I’m out of here,” I’m turning away from him. “Fuck you and your fucking cunt.” I wave my arm at them and stumble off the porch.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
“You little shit!” he is yelling, putting down his beer, coming down after me.
Yelling, bad noise.
What art these fucking spots ? They are all over me.
Pushing. Taking a swing. Ducking.
Collapsing in a heap, crying. They know what I did, and I’m not even sure. Sitting on my cot, weeping, alone. Sick to my stomach. I’m getting fucking crucified.
Knocking me down and sitting on me. Yelling, she’s yelling that she is calling the police and I’d better get out of here, but I can’t because he’s fucking sitting on me.
“Fuck you, you fucking...”
“Ryan, what did you do?”
Spots .
Just threw it away from me, threw it in the woods.
Spots.
My hand is across my chest, inside my jacket, barely pinned by his knee, and I can feel it within my inner pocket.
I wonder if I will ever see my baby again. I love my baby, really love my baby, and Krista, and I wonder if she will ever want to see me again. Oh my fucking god...
Spots.
“Ryan, what did you do?”
I practiced, I can flick that thing open with one hand even when I’m drunk.
“We have to call them, Ryan, it’ll be worse if we don’t.”
“No, we can put him on a bus. We can say he came by and asked for money, and we didn’t know what he did until after. Busses leave every hour, you can be hours away from here before they have any idea.”
“No, we can’t do that, it will be better for him if we call, if he turns...”
“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!”
That bitch didn’t see it happen, nobody saw it happen, but she was the first person to see him, and she was
SCREAMING
So loud and piercing that I thought it would wake the fucking dead, and I knew the police were already on their way, and I had to just run, run into the woods.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
Spots.
Just threw it away. I don’t even remember where, so I don’t know they will ever find it.
Fag.
He is telling me to get out of his yard, even though he is sitting on me, how can I ever get out of here with him sitting on me. “You get the fuck out of here, you little punk rock piece of shit! You don’t ever talk to her like that!”
And I always have a butterfly knife in my pocket.
“Ryan, what did you do?”
“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!”
The room is so cold, and I’m on suicide watch. I want my mom, and I want Krista, and I want my baby.
I musta pierced his lung when I first hit him, because he got up fast. He was already coming back at me, even though he already had blood on his mouth. I didn’t know what I’d done, didn’t think about it, like a dream, like a movie. I stuck him twice more and then kicked him in the ribs so he’d know I was serious, and that’s when she came out
SCREAMING
And I just started running.
Running into the woods, not even knowing where I was running, and the knife was still in my hands, and I just threw it away.
Crying in my sister’s arms.
“Ryan, you have to turn yourself in. Tell them it was an accident.” They didn’t know I hit him three times. Three times.
Spots.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
“Fuck you...”
Spots spots spots...
What are... What are they?
A lot of screaming, bad noise, pretty pissed, an Ice Beast in my hand (That’s what I call Milwaukee’s Best Ice, I call them “Ice Beasts.” I always thought that was funny, thought that was funny thought thought thought) I went over there.
“Why the fuck is she always in my face?” I was screaming at her, everyone else was leaving, making themselves scarce.
How much had I drank tonight?
We bought...
We bought a case when I got out of work. Case of Ice Beasts.
I don’ remember how much of it I drank. My head is spinning.
I can’t think, what the fuck are all these spots ? I can’t rub them away.
I was over at his house, yelling, had just gone over, I always go over there. We aren’t really friends, but that’s just what I do, what everybody does, sit on the front porch and... And there is always lots of beers, more than just the ones I brought, I think I was drinking their’s too, or someone else’s, but at that point, I had an Ice Beast, and they were mine, that’s all I ever buy.
Krista and the baby and I were listening to the Ramones and drinking Ice Beasts (Timmy wasn’t drinking them, of course, that would be bad). We were drinking Ice Beasts and listening to the Ramones, and we were having a good time, and...
...And lots of people were over there.
(Oh man, these spots are all over me, what the fuck...)
...And everyone goes over there to drink and party. It’s kind of like the neighborhood place to drink and smoke weed, and the guy is a wicked redneck, and I really don’t like him that much, but his front porch is the spot to go.
So Krista and I gathered up what was left of the beer (how many cans was it? Fifteen? Sixteen? God, I don’t know, it was still early.) and she gathered up Timmy and we went over there too, and at first, we were all having fun, and me and Krista were sitting on the railing.
“Why the fuck is she always in my face?! Why is she always calling me that?!”
My face is wet too, I think that was from the dew in the woods, branches whipping in my face. Running, running, running. It’s cool on my skin.
The sun was going down, and I had quite a bit to drink. Krista was pretty mad at me, I think, because I was starting to get out of hand, yelling and waving my arms around and shit.
It was still...
Still in my hands in the woods, and I looked at it and couldn’t really understand it, comprehend it, and I threw it
hard
Out, away, get it... Away, because I know what it is, and I know what I did with it, and I can’t fucking believe it.
I think he put on some music, fucking Lynard Skynard, or some shit like that, and I hate that, I mean, sometimes he puts on Black Sabbath, and I can get down with that, but god! Fucking
Lynard Skynard
What the fuck is with that Lynard Skynard shit.
Fag.
Fag
I’m so sick of hearing that.
Hearing that from her.
Why does she always call me that... I mean, obviously I’m into girls, I live with my girlfriend, and we have a kid, but she says that anyone that has pink hair is a fag, and he says that all punk rockers are fags, whether they have pink hair or not, and I’m so sick of that shit, she never says this when Krista is around ever since Krista got all up in her face and threatened to kick her ass. Krista’s smaller than that fat bitch, but Krista is tough, it would have been funny to watch.
“Holy shit, Ryan, what did you do? Why is that all over you?” They are asking me when I get there. I’ve been running, running, running through the woods like a madman.
And I just thought it...
“It’s nothing, I was in the woods, it’s water.”
Spots ... What are these spots?
Fag
I’m so sick of hearing Fag.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!” I was screaming at her.
“Ryan, what did you do?”
“It’s nothing. I didn’t do anything.”
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
He’s all bent out of shape. “You don’t talk to her like that!”
“Then why does she have to be all up in my face all the time?”
“Ryan, what did you do?”
Krista would have taken me home, but she had already left, taken the baby home to put him to bed, she would have taken me home, and none of this shit would have happened...
“Ryan, what did you do?”
“It’s nothing...”
“You don’t talk to her like that!”
“Then why does she have to be all up in my face all the time? I’m sick of her calling me a fag!”
“All you fucking little punks are fags. Look at you, in your fucking leather jacket, what’s the matter tough guy, you upset that a girl is making fun of you?”
“Ryan, what did you do?”
Spots.
I just fucking saw it was still in my hand and threw it.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
“It’s just water, I was in the woods, it’s from the dew on the trees.” I’m looking them in the eyes, but they aren’t buying it, because they know what the spots are, even though I don’t.
“Just water.”
This room is cold, and I’m sitting balled up on a hard wooden chair, and they haven’t let me change my clothes. Nobody is talking to me, but they are watching me. I’m a threat to myself, or something. The one cop said I ruined his weekend.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
I’m falling into their arms and crying, but I don’t know why.
“Whatever man, I’m out of here,” I’m turning away from him. “Fuck you and your fucking cunt.” I wave my arm at them and stumble off the porch.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
“You little shit!” he is yelling, putting down his beer, coming down after me.
Yelling, bad noise.
What art these fucking spots ? They are all over me.
Pushing. Taking a swing. Ducking.
Collapsing in a heap, crying. They know what I did, and I’m not even sure. Sitting on my cot, weeping, alone. Sick to my stomach. I’m getting fucking crucified.
Knocking me down and sitting on me. Yelling, she’s yelling that she is calling the police and I’d better get out of here, but I can’t because he’s fucking sitting on me.
“Fuck you, you fucking...”
“Ryan, what did you do?”
Spots .
Just threw it away from me, threw it in the woods.
Spots.
My hand is across my chest, inside my jacket, barely pinned by his knee, and I can feel it within my inner pocket.
I wonder if I will ever see my baby again. I love my baby, really love my baby, and Krista, and I wonder if she will ever want to see me again. Oh my fucking god...
Spots.
“Ryan, what did you do?”
I practiced, I can flick that thing open with one hand even when I’m drunk.
“We have to call them, Ryan, it’ll be worse if we don’t.”
“No, we can put him on a bus. We can say he came by and asked for money, and we didn’t know what he did until after. Busses leave every hour, you can be hours away from here before they have any idea.”
“No, we can’t do that, it will be better for him if we call, if he turns...”
“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!”
That bitch didn’t see it happen, nobody saw it happen, but she was the first person to see him, and she was
SCREAMING
So loud and piercing that I thought it would wake the fucking dead, and I knew the police were already on their way, and I had to just run, run into the woods.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
Spots.
Just threw it away. I don’t even remember where, so I don’t know they will ever find it.
Fag.
He is telling me to get out of his yard, even though he is sitting on me, how can I ever get out of here with him sitting on me. “You get the fuck out of here, you little punk rock piece of shit! You don’t ever talk to her like that!”
And I always have a butterfly knife in my pocket.
“Ryan, what did you do?”
“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!”
The room is so cold, and I’m on suicide watch. I want my mom, and I want Krista, and I want my baby.
I musta pierced his lung when I first hit him, because he got up fast. He was already coming back at me, even though he already had blood on his mouth. I didn’t know what I’d done, didn’t think about it, like a dream, like a movie. I stuck him twice more and then kicked him in the ribs so he’d know I was serious, and that’s when she came out
SCREAMING
And I just started running.
Running into the woods, not even knowing where I was running, and the knife was still in my hands, and I just threw it away.
Crying in my sister’s arms.
“Ryan, you have to turn yourself in. Tell them it was an accident.” They didn’t know I hit him three times. Three times.
Spots.
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
“Fuck you...”
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