"Black hearts among the young are so charming. The energy invested -- such sincerity, such creativity! But evil doesn't really get ugly until it gets older." More nonsense, another damn sermon, delivered this time from the edge of a pier that he rhythmically chipped away with a small knife. Thock. Thock. Thock. Each uncurling of his lazy wrist advanced the damage. As he lifted his arm I could see his shirt cuff. Gawd it was filthy.
"And the older one gets -- you'll find this out for yourself someday, I'll ssssssee to that -- the older one gets, the less like a pose evil becomes. Once I thought that was simply because perfidy is habit forming." Thock, thock. "But I know now that a junkie rush isn't what the Old Things feel." Thock. "They feel -- nothing. Perversion is as humdrum as rain, as decay, as insects crushed underfoot. Life ends without contemplation. The daily ordinariness of it all is what makes our satiations evil... and easy."
Easy? Me: "Really. Well I'll tell you what I think. I think you old shits are just getting lazy."
His reply was a wink in ghastly parody of intimacy against the background of grey-green river water. I turned away to look up instead at the Cascade mountains to the east, illuminated as if from within by the sunset's failing light. Lights-out here in Rain City, lights-out for the flannel brats, and the suicides, and the caffeinated habitues. Good night sleep tight, better pray that only bed bugs bite.
Thock, thock. Him: "Lazy... ah then, let's go somewhere... different. Take me to a street that's fresh. Your choice." Thock. "Surprise me."
Sure, I'll drive. But I won't pimp.