Jesus' Son: Stories (Picador Modern Classics Book 3)

But I was happy about this chance to be of use. I wanted to be the one who saw it through and got Mclnnes to the doctor without a wreck. People would talk about it, and I hoped I would be liked.

But nothing I could think up, no matter how dramatic or completely horrible, ever made her repent or love me the way she had at first, before she really knew me.

The three of us had formed a group based on something erroneous, some basic misunderstanding that hadn’t yet come to light, and so we kept on in one another’s company, going to bars and having conversations.

And with each step my heart broke for the person I would never find, the person who’d love me.

I didn’t want to go home. My wife was different than she used to be, and we had a six-month-old baby I was afraid of,

I dreamed I was looking right through my eyelids, and my pulse marked off the seconds of time.

How could I do it, how could a person go that low? And I understand your question, to which I reply, Are you kidding? That’s nothing. I’d been much lower than that. And I expected to see myself do worse.