I.
Bobo was wrestling with a devil. Every night he woke in a sweat, still feeling the tight hands on him. The devil had bad breath. He hung out in the entrance to Boo-Boo House, their “organic communal experiment,” and gave out jewels that dissolved or exploded. He gave out poisoned fruit, luscious-looking stuff. Bobo, pushed beyond endurance, would punch the devil in the nose, then start wrestling with him. In alternate scenes they would meet on the bus; the devil would be stopping up the toilet with paper towels, and Bobo would wrestle him. The devil would be painting fake galaxies in demise on the lenses of telescopes, or pissing in the milk. Sometimes Bobo didn’t remember the dream at all, just woke with the sweat of the latest round on him, and the close lingering of the devil’s bad breath. Really bad breath.
