hates himself.”
To a kid this makes no sense.
“Well, if he hates himself,” I’d say,
“why doesn’t he kick himself?”
Abel was one of those drinkers
where once he was gone you’d look
into his eyes and you didn’t even
see the same person. I remember
one night he came home fuckdrunk,
stumbling through the house. He
stumbled into my room, muttering
to himself, and I woke up to see
him whip out his dick and start
pissing on the floor. He thought he
was in the bathroom. That’s how
drunk he would get—he wouldn’t
know which room in the house he