“When you are courting a nice girl, an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder, a second seems like an hour. That’s relativity.” Fat lot of good that does me now. A head full of quotes doled out to the unwashed and uninterested seems like a pretty wasted life. Doesn’t matter, does it? Everyone’s life is wasted in the end, isn’t it? We all come to this. Time has slowed down now. The preparations are taking place. Ah, so that’s why that quote just popped into my head. Freud wasn’t so far wrong, the old unconscious works overtime.
The bitch had it coming anyway. Sitting there crossing her legs all basic-instinct style with those tight short skirts and that smirk. She knew just what she was doing. Those little gropes in the hallway and then the big number on that old couch in my office; dust leaping from it as we rutted away.
The blackmail. My reputation. My marriage. My tenure. Bitch. She had it coming. I could’ve done a better job of it if I’d planned it. How could the jury think it was first degree, couldn’t they see a man like me would’ve planned it a lot better? My peers, yeah that’s rich. How frigging long does it take to put on three straps for god’s sakes? Seems like forever. I guess it is, isn’t it? Hah! A joker till the end. Put the damn needle in will ya?