Couldn’t find anything else. The following being typed on a Scott Towel. You know — The one that’s twenty percent heavier? What the hell is her name anyway? Not the waitress with the spills. The other one. The one in the grocery store. Whipple’s Supermart. That was a joke. Really. Anyway, they all know each other and they’re all out there. Even the old ones. AUNT BLUEB
I had to leave but now I’m back. Who cares what her name is. I saw Karen on T.V. again. Just sitting there — staring out like everybody else. I gave up trying to call the local station. Some woman on the goddamned party line talking about bundt cakes and she won’t get off. Karen’s on all channels anyway. I don’t want to cry again. This morning I did it and I didn’t even know until I felt the water on my chest. I don’t remember when I put my robe on. Karen wasn’t in bed this morning. I woke up pretty hot and rolled over. No Karen. No screw Karen. Karen on T.V. So I get up to close the drapes, cause the windows are built low and Karen or no Karen, this is a case of the Saturday morning hornies that just will not wait and what the hell do I see on the lawn but the goddamned Doublemint Twins look like walking cartoons and they’re holding tennis rackets and they’re posing and dancing and singing about doubling their pleasure on MY LAWN. And that isn’t all. I wish I knew who was going to read this. I wish I could TALK to them. I wish I knew who I’m asking to believe this. Some psychiatrist, probably. Just like the one who told Karen that I
