Hiroshima yeah!

issue 13 / march 2006

�Impotent hatred is the most horrible of all emotions; one should hate nobody whom one cannot destroy� � Goethe

this issue written by mark ritchie, gary simmons and tom quinn

STYLE FASCISTS � A RANT
Reading through the Sunday supplements the other week it really struck me that these media types are trying to force certain lifestyles upon us, the unsuspecting reader, sleepy and hungover in bed with our Cornflakes. You�re supposed to be really, really skinny if you�re a woman and, if you�re a man, you�re meant to have all the latest mega-expensive gadgets. I don�t just find this offensive, I find it absolutely DISGUSTING. Sometimes I almost feel inadequate reading all this crap, until I remember that�s exactly how they WANT you to feel! It�s OBSCENE! There was this tosser in one particular mag going on about how we should all �dress our age� and he actually out-lined EXACTLY how people are SUPPOSED to dress� According to him, guys in their 20s should wear Converse baseball shoes, skin-tight jeans and T-shirts �bought from obscure boutiques in LA� (!?!), guys in their 30s should be kitted out in designer shirts and ties while, for 40-somethings, it�s bespoke pin-stripe suits all the way! I could hardly BELIEVE what I was reading! The cunt wasn�t even JOKING! He�s the editor of some �style� mag, so obviously thinks he knows it all. Never mind INDIVIDUALITY, this idiot thinks we�re all clones. In his fascistic style world, everyone must OBEY THE RULES. What an utter CUNT. Also, the same mag is full of all these ridiculously priced gadgets and all their interview questions are things like �So, what do you record on your Sky Plus box?� and �What�s on your iPod?� It makes me fucking SICK, like the 1980s never even happened! We must all CONSUME, so that we have to go BACK TO WORK on Monday morning and earn MORE so we can BUY more when the weekend finally comes around again. Flip on the shopping channels, click on your favourite website and DRAIN that credit card! That�s what it�s THERE for! BUY into the media fear that our streets aren�t safe to walk, hide under the duvet and SPEND, SPEND, SPEND! That�s the message these mags are sending out. This is what we are all meant to aspire to. To be a shallow, money-obsessed, brain-dead TWAT! And that�s just the �guy� oriented mags� The ones aimed at women are ALL about how thin people are. Paparazzi shots of celebs on the beach with arrows pointing to their cellulite and their love handles, diet tips, �How I lost 5 stone in 2 months� articles, etc. Then they have the NERVE to slag off pro-anorexia websites and condemn them as �evil� when, in fact, THEY are doing EVEN MORE harm themselves because they are MAINSTREAM and therefore seen by EVERYBODY. It�s no wonder so many girls turn out to have eating disorders if that�s all they ever see in magazines. It really makes my blood boil.

DECEMBER 31 by Tom Quinn
Last day of this year at 8pm with paper and pen
I write a lament to my memories.
Background noise of music mixed with tv laughter show
on a go slow
Tv magician conjures up images of the best and the dead.
I wish the false nostalgia was switched off
sent to another channel
silence enveloping ones dead and the frightened fearful souls hoping for safe sleep in bed.
Coffee punches my insides to remind me that I am sober
Coffee and canned laughter punishing over and over.
Praying for the clock to strike the time when all will be well
A summons to all of us
A promise of sanctuary
Or our personal hell.

CRANES
They�re demolishing a whole street today,
these huge metal monsters sending clouds of dust up into the blue February sky.
Rubble scatters, lies in piles, like a scene from a war zone.
A new skyline is being created.
People stop and stare as they go past.
Not a lot happens around here except the odd stabbing.
Soon there will be nothing left of yet another street from my past,
where I would visit on Saturday afternoons.
I don�t remember much about him except that his mother went mad and he burnt himself to death in a house that�s no longer there.
Maybe that�s what happens when you live in a dead-end street like that, in a dead-end place like this.
Maybe the whole fucking place should be demolished, once and for all.

TO LIVE IS TO FLY by Gary Simmons
Today is the 20th anniversary of the Challenger accident. As I�ve said, it was instrumental in sending me down an already uncertain road toward the situation I now, two decades latus, find myself in. It made me decide to pack in the stupid pretend job I had, working for my friend, Fig Tayalor, as an �illustrators agents assistant� of which she paid my wages out of her inheritance coz the business didn�t make much money. Toward the end, she was NEVER fuckin� there, suffering from glandular fever (or so she reckoned) and there�s me having to be in the open-plan office unit right next to a girl I�d had a fling with and with whom I�d fallen out with, not speaking for a fuckin� YEAR!! Only an �office screen� separated us. So� one day I came back from an appointment with a client, put my Sony �Watchman� b/w �pocket� TV on (�250 from Harrods!!) and waited for JOHN CRAVEN�S �Newsround�, only to be greeted by him announcing �An explosion onboard the Space Shuttle Challenger�. That was it. My since-childhood-space-dream was shattered and I went straight home, after phoning my mum, and bawled my eyes out. I was inconsolable. I was 26. I left the job at the end of April. I re-built my parent�s house, in preparation for the shuttle�s return-to-flight 2 � years later! I then got depressed. I then got the job at Tower, starting on October 31st 1989. I hadn�t really worked for 3 � years, except a few weeks at Steve�s place in �88. What a funny bloke I am� Hardcore �60�s moon landing generation, blay-bee!! And here I am, January 28th 2006, evicted, in hovel, freezing in bed, an illegal stowaway, still waiting for shuttle to return-to-flight AGAIN, after a 2nd accident and an only partially successful 2nd return-to-flight 2005 mission and the shuttle is being �phased out� and I�m well divorced and I�ve seen Japan and Madrid and I�ve worked at Tower and the rubbery and all my friends are dead (they may as WELL be� the ones from 20 years ago) and I�m skint and in debt and a long-term unemployed fairy fella, tryin� to avoid Adidas and Reebok clad cunts who weren�t even BORN that fateful day� Still, at least Chantelle won �Big Brother�.

BOOK
JAMES FREY � A MILLION LITTLE PIECES (MURRAY)
The powers of the internet, eh? After being pointed in the direction of this book a few months ago, I finally found a second-hand copy (I�m a cheap FUCK) in Oxfam for �2.99. Read about 20 pages, suitably impressed, went online to find out a bit more about the author of this non-fiction memoir of recovery from serious drug and alcohol addiction, and discovered to my HORROR that a) parts of the book are, in fact, fictitious and (this next part is MUCH worse�) b) that it became a best seller in the States after being an Oprah Winfrey book club recommendation! FUCKING HELL! OPRAH WINFREY�S MOTHERFUCKING BOOK CLUB!! Even stranger still, all this had just happened days before I picked up my copy of the book! Weird shit. Anyway, after some investigation, it turned out that Frey used �artistic license� with some of the characters and certain events. Not TOO big a crime, really. I mean, surely it�s an artist�s RIGHT to do that kind of thing. Even in so-called non-fiction memoirs, names and situations are often changed to protect people�s identities. I don�t see what the big deal is, except that once again, Oprah Winfrey had proved herself to be a TOTALLY ONE-DIMENSIONAL IDIOT. I�m amazed that the viewers of her crappy show even had the patience to read a 511 page book with odd punctuation and a bizarre use of Capital Letters where there Shouldn�t be Any. Mind you, these people would probably jump into a pit of poisonous snakes if the Queen of Self-Help told them to. Anyway, the actual BOOK is a horror story of alcoholic blackouts, glue-sniffing, coke-snorting, crack-smoking, jail terms, hospitals, serious dental treatments performed without anaesthetic, fucked-up women wearing �Super Girl� watches.. Not always an EASY read but a compelling and great read nevertheless.

DVD
LEATHERFACE � BOAT IN THE SMOKE (PUNKERVISION) www.punkervision.net
What is punk rock? Discuss. While you�re wasting your time doing THAT, I�ll be joyously jumping about to this great DVD of live performances from Sunderland�s best-kept secret, Leatherface, a band who sound akin to a three-way collision between Tom Waits, Husker Du and Motorhead. It�s mainly filmed (professionally, I might add, not on a single hand-held camera or any of THAT shit) at London�s Camden Underworld but there are also several songs from an unnamed venue in Sunderland (which looks like, and probably is, a community centre filled with pissed pogoing punkers). Frankie Stubbs does that thing with his guitar that everyone who�s ever heard a record by Bob Mould will be familiar with, making it sound like a jet-engine taking off or someone sawing through sheet metal. But this isn�t just a case of buying the right guitar pedal, for I have never heard ANYONE make that kind of beautiful, chaotic noise with a guitar before EXCEPT Mr Mould and Mr Stubbs. ANYONE. So, that accounts for roughly half of Leatherface�s awesome power and emotion, then. The other half comes from the wounded yet defiant lyrics that Frankie spits out, eyes closed, in a voice which makes him sound like he uses gravel as mouthwash. Part ridiculous (�Now there�s C-Beebies and CBBC/And the Bear in the Big Blue House consumes me�), part inspirational (the lines �Don�t underestimate underdogs/They can beat the world and come back for more/They can dance and romance/And drink the night into coma�, from the incredible �Do the Right Thing�, have been like a mantra to me for years now), it�s these lyrics - delivered in THAT voice - coupled with THAT ferocious guitar attack, which truly set Leatherface apart from the zillion other �punk� bands on the circuit. �Dead Industrial Atmosphere� (from 1991�s seminal �Mush� album) reads like a poem by Larkin or Betjamin. Everytime I�ve seen the �Face (and Frankie�s short-lived band Jessie) live, I�ve been pretty well-oiled, so it�s nice to have this DVD to watch while SEMI-sober at least, and there�s a great 30 minute interview with the man himself at the end, sitting in his backyard, overlooking what I assume is the River Tyne. He seems like a genuinely nice, normal bloke, who might even be embarrassed to receive the kind of praise I�ve piled upon his here. But he fucking deserves it.

ZINES
NOVA FEEDBACK www.gallerymjb.com
Just got a few copies of these cute little art zines from New York�s Michael J Bowman. They�ve got nice colour covers and some MENTAL drawings which have to be seen to be believed. Full of the same humour and strangeness that�s also to be found in MJB�s fine home-recorded music, these are great to flick through when you need cheering up (and, in my case, that�s pretty much CONSTANTLY!)

ABOUT AVERAGE issue 27
It�s been a while since I mentioned this great monthly zine (surely the ONLY small scale monthly zine in the UK except �Hiroshima Yeah!�??) Splashes of colour have been thrown into the mix recently and this month�s has an especially charming Valentine�s Day themed cover. Inside, the handwritten writings swing from negative to positive and back again. The bit I found most inspiring this month (and there�s usually SOMETHING to inspire me in the pages of �About Average�) reads �Fight the sense of Loserdom, that you are nothing. THEY made you into this, but not all of it� and you can construct a fresh you, that will rise above this negativity that they manufactured within you.� Right on!

DOLE BABIES issue �2 (Maggie Ponce, 14 Avenue Road, London, N12 8PY)
Cleopatra, Boudica, Wonder Woman.. history is full of strong women who kick ass and tell it like it is. Now you can add Maggie Ponce to that list. The second issue of �Dole Babies� contains a great bit about the Teletubbies that at first made me laugh and then made me THINK (really!), a bit about Maggie getting a job in Virgin (which promises to continue into the next issue) and a jaw-dropping piece on Hitler that had me laughing and gasping in shock both at once. You just CAN�T guess where Maggie�s going with her writing � it�s always intelligent and skewed in a way no mere mortal can imagine. There really IS only one Maggie Ponce! Send her a quid for a copy of this great zine.

FILM
THE DEVIL & DANIEL JOHNSTON
Prior to seeing this, I�d not been to the cinema in five years so, after a few lagers and some whiskey in the Horseshoe Bar, me and Grant braved possible terrorist attack by climbing to the top floor of the TALL Cineworld complex in Glasgow city centre. This was a one-off showing as part of the film festival and it was packed full of the kind of people you�d EXPECT to see at a screening of a film about one of the most far-out characters in alternative music. I�ve been into Daniel Johnston since the early 1990s and it was a treat to see a proper documentary about his bizarre life (among other things, he really DID run away and join the circus!) It comprised of interviews with his parents, his brother and sisters and friends like Kathy McCarty (who once did an entire album of Daniel covers) and Gibby Haines from the Butthole Surfers (who was interviewed while having dental treatment!) There was also a LOT of seriously juicy footage of Daniel�s early years (he was into making home movies as a kid), his infamous appearance on MTV when it was still in it�s infancy, etc. The crazy-but-true stories surrounding his various mental breakdowns, such as when he broke into an old woman�s flat because he was convinced she was possessed by the devil, are made extra poignant as you see people talking about them first hand (Daniel�s father is in tears when he re-lives the moment his unstable son crashed the plane they were travelling in because he�d not taken his medication and thought he was Casper the Friendly Ghost). It�s also amazing and heartbreaking to see video footage of a live in-store performance Daniel did in New York, when he starts sobbing during his rendition of a religious hymn. You can only wonder what the ultra-hip NY crowd made of THAT. Near the end of the documentary, we get to see Daniel as he is today (or a couple of years ago, at least), very overweight and living with his elderly parents in a small town in Texas. We see him practicing with his band, the Spooks (the guitarist of whom is sporting a nifty home-made �Fuck Satan� T-shirt!) and doing his drawings which now sell for big bucks around the world. Above all, though, this reminded me what a GREAT songwriter Daniel Johnston is.

CDS
JOHN MARTYN � BLESS THE WEATHER (ISLAND)
It was sunny and I lay in bed until after 10am then walked to the doctors for my 10.40 appointment. I�d been up till after 3am drinking cider and watching DVDs and, when I walked into his office, the doc asked how my drinking was and, when I said I�d cut down, he said �I can smell drink on your breath�. He asked me if I had ever considered suicide.  Don�t know if that was a SUGGESTION or not. Anyway, he gave me another four-week sick note and said he wanted to do tests on my blood and liver. He also gave me another prescription for anti-depressants. I didn�t bother giving the thing about the blood and liver tests to the receptionist on my way out. I walked up to the Social Security office to hand in my sick note. Had to stand and wait for a while. Then I went to Tesco and bought some curry, some rice, a bottle of water and a bottle of cider. When I was going back to the flat, some guy in the street said �You�ve got the right idea! A bag full of booze!� I replied �It�s never too early.� Went out at 1.30pm and had a Magners (with ice) in Oran Mor, served by Hugh, who said the usual �Long time, no see� stuff. Sat in there a while, as all the pretentious, arty West End cunts swanned around congratulating some tosser on his new play. Yawn. Walked down the street to Curlers and had a CHEAP Magners in there, �cos the guy charged me the wrong amount. Watched some of the dull rock music TV then went to Jinty McGinty�s for a third Magners, drank under the watchful eye of a photo of Oscar Wilde. Was bored/tired after that, so I went into Lost in Music and bought the John Martyn CD (for �3.99) I had planned on buying LAST week. Went home and took a mystery blue pill (which I later discovered was a sleeping pill) and talked to Tom a couple of times on the phone. Played the CD. The familiar tracks were gorgeous, as were the unfamiliar ones. This is the CD with �Just Now� on it, one of THE most beautiful tracks EVER. The fact that it�s followed directly by �Head and Heart�, ANOTHER one of the most beautiful tracks EVER, is just ASTOUNDING! Ate my curry and rice and went to bed at 8pm, possibly earlier, and slept for 14 hours.

KRIS KRISTOFFERSON � THE VERY BEST OF KRIS KRISTOFFERSON (MONUMENT)
He wrote the best song about a hangover EVER in �Sunday Morning Coming Down� (you�d think a song that starts �Well, I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn�t hurt/And the beer I had for breakfast wasn�t bad, so I had one more for dessert� couldn�t GET any better but, astonishingly, it DOES!) and this CD contains many other such gems. For every well-known classic (�Sunday Morning..� is here, of course, along with �Help Me Make it Through the Night� and �Me and Bobby McGee�) Kris has an obscure treasure up his sleeve. �For the Good Times�, �Jody and the Kid�, �From the Bottle to the Bottom� and �The Pilgrim � Chapter 33� are all like master classes in heartbreaking songwriting. There are also some fine duets here (with Rita Coolidge, Joan Baez and Dolly Parton) as well as the odd plodder, but this was well worth �5 and the funny look I got from the guy behind the till in the ultra-hip record emporium where I bought this, between mid-afternoon pints.

COCO ROSIE � NOAH�S ARK (TOUCH & GO)
This is all little girl vocals (think Joanna Newsom/Shirley Temple), Bjorkian oddness, wacked-out opera samples, French mutterings, Antony minus his Johnsons (on stand-out track �Beautiful Boyz�), phones ringing, gentle beats, love on loveless days, the terror of an aimless future, early morning sips, forlorn horns leading you on a merry dance. It�s rather good!

M.I.A - ARULAR (XL)
Knew NOTHING about this until I Googled it. This album was on the other side of the Coco Rosie tape that Andrew sent me (yes, TAPE! We�re not ALL slaves to the great and dull god iPod, you know). Turns out M.I.A is a London-based chick called Maya Arulpragasam who�s �got the bombs to make you blow� and �the beats to make you bang�, according to the first track here. I don�t know if this is �garage� or �urban� or WHAT but I was expecting a sort of hip-hop thing with lyrics I could get my teeth into, but this is just kind of shit.

CAT POWER � THE GREATEST (MATADOR)
ANOTHER tape, this time courtesy of Grant, who always tapes me the new Cat Power CDs (although I actually bought the rather poor �Myra Lee� myself). I�ve always REALLY wanted to LOVE Chan Marshall/Cat Power�s stuff (her, er, �eccentric� live performances � downing whole bottles of whiskey, running off-stage crying, etc � are the stuff of legend), I just find it difficult to connect with, especially when she�s playing the guitar. When she�s doing the solo piano and voice thing, however, she is pretty amazing. On this new album, recorded in Memphis with the help of some SERIOUS backing-band talent, Chan does what she USUALLY does, frustrates and delights in equal measure. The opening title track is great without quite being �The Greatest� (groan), as are �Lived in Bars�, �The Moon� and the GORGEOUS �Where is My Love� (possibly the best thing she�s ever done). This is a more well-rounded release than any of Chan�s previous records and could maybe even see her becoming a Properly Famous loopy nutcase like Tori Amos, Heaven forbid.

CERAMIC HOBS � SUMMER HOB DAYS (SMITH RESEARCH)
A VERY limited edition (my copy is 1/15) of �the very first recordings made by The Ceramic Hobs in the summer of 1985�. There�s no track list and minimal packaging and it doesn�t take long to work out WHY this is such a limited edition because it�s the kind of stuff you do when you�re 14 and messing about with your mates. It�s lo-fi clankings, clinkings and fartings with some Mark E Smith style rants and stupid spoken-word snippets. Final track is a live recording which is SO jaw-droppingly terrible and dischordant, it�s either a prank or a mission statement. Or both. All rather annoying and juvenile, then, but it�s nice to know that the Hobs blossomed from THIS into the great band they are today. Maybe there�s hope for us all!

MARK EITZEL
What can I say about Mark Eitzel? His music�s been an almost daily fixture in my life since my friend Andrew took me to see American Music Club in the spring of 1993 at Sheffield Leadmill. I was blown away by Eitzel�s impassioned performance and almost shockingly personal songwriting. But still, it was a month or so later until I fell in love with the recorded work of AMC, via a few tapes made for me, again, by my friend Andrew. From the aching pedal steel of �Firefly� and �Blue and Grey Shirt� to the fiery rock guitar of �Bad Liquor� and �Somewhere�, the �California� album was an unquestionable classic, while �United Kingdom� was a record that sounded crushed by it�s own weight, so fragile and desolate did it sound. Major label debut �Mercury� was more commercial sounding, but not much. It sounded like a MOR band on the verge of a nervous collapse. Running throughout all of these albums, however, was the common thread of Mark Eitzel�s yearning vocals and oblique, heartfelt and jaw-droppingly great lyrics. Oh, and fucking beautiful tunes, to boot. After I�d nearly worn out those tapes, I went and bought every AMC record I could find and, when I�d got all of them, I started obsessively collecting bootlegs. Yes, you could say I�m a bit of a fan of this band! Mark�s jazz-inflected solo debut �60 Watt Silver Lining� appeared in 1995, after the break-up of AMC, and it offered solace in the form of some absolutely amazing songs soaked in the late-night drinking culture of the songwriter�s native San Francisco. This was followed by several more very worthwhile, if occasionally frustrating, solo records (in the early part of this decade, the �greatest songwriter in America� � as voted for by Rolling Stone magazine in 1991- chose to release an album full of covers, followed by an album of old AMC songs done with a Greek backing band!), always throwing up several absolute gems. Current album �Candy Ass� is no exception. For all it�s electronic stylings, which left a lot of people scratching their heads, it contains the live favourites �My Pet Rat St Michael� and the GORGEOUS �Sleeping Beauty�. Oh yeah, and AMC reformed in 2003, putting out another stunning album the following year, so now we have the best of BOTH worlds! I sent Mark a few questions via email and these are his answers�

On 'Candy Ass', where did you get the sample of the little kid's voice on 'A Loving Tribute to my City'? It kind of freaks me out!

I got it from the radio - this show at 2 in the morning where people were discussing their near death experiences... I threw a mic up to the radio right away...

Who has the best beard in the 'Lord of the Rings' films?

Well I'm going to say Gandalf. Because I'm sure it is saturated with 'weed from the shire'..

Who is your dream celebrity date?

Well yes I have those dreams - but the dream always ends with the celebrity date disappearing into the VIP area of the club/restaurant/bar for the rest of the night - leaving me hanging out alone and pathetic at the bar...

Two things have always intrigued me about the 'Engine' album.. who is that on the cover? And what's 'Mom's TV' about?

1) Mallons little brother, 2) I have no fucking idea, actually...

Read any good (or bad) books lately?

Uhm - Popism by Andy Warhol...Time of the Assasins by Henry Miller

How's the new AMC album coming along?

Uhm OK except I cannot write this one song...

And do you plan on taking advantage of the lucrative DVD market anytime soon?

Nope!

What's with all the 'Bullit' stuff on your website?

It is a GREAT fucking movie and Steve McQueen is really cool... I mean I watched it three times in a row and was excited to see that a few people actually took the time to actually document where the chase scene actually happens...

Have you ever been drunk and in charge of a bicycle?

Oh yes - quite often... I should write a book... The first rule is: Watch out for the cars - especially if they are parked!

THE TRAVELLING SALESMAN

�Want your cock sucked?�

This was usually the time he got punched. The man standing next to him at the bar was in his fifties, balding with thick grey hair spilling out from the top of his black rugby shirt.

�How much?�

�Twenty quid.�

�Okay. Let�s go.�

Terry�s heart was racing as the man led him outside to his car.  It was a combination of fear and the several cans of Red Bull he�d drank that day. He didn�t consider himself to be a rent boy or anything. He was just a skint college student who liked to suck cock sometimes. It was a way of making easy money. He didn�t even mind getting beaten up once in a while as he�d always had a self-destructive streak. The threat of imminent violence only added to the excitement.

He would usually be more discreet, picking up men in public toilets or gay clubs, but now and then he�d go into the most average looking pub he could find and just ask someone straight out. He normally did this when he was feeling really low and full of self-hatred. He was too scared to physically hurt himself so this was a way of getting someone else to do it for him.

Inside a blue Mazda parked next to the pub, the man peeled a �20 note from his wallet and handed it to Terry.

�Thanks. Are we going to drive somewhere a bit more private?�

�Yeah, I�m staying in a hotel round the corner,� the man said, starting up the engine.

�Are you here on business?�

�Something like that.�

Less than five minutes later, the man pulled up in front of a shabby looking hotel called the Belford. He told Terry to wait in the lobby while he made a quick phone call.

The place was cheaply decorated with tacky paintings of country scenes and a few saggy couches. After a few minutes had passed, Terry thought about doing a runner, but then the man returned and said to follow him upstairs.

When he walked into the small hotel room, Terry was amazed to see piles and piles of bibles. They were everywhere. Stacked up on the bedside table, on the floor. There were even some on top of the wardrobe.

�You a vicar or something?�

�No,� the man replied. �I�m a travelling bible salesman.�

Terry tried to stop himself from laughing.

�Okay, you want to get started?� Terry asked.

�Fine by me.�

The man reached underneath the bed and pulled out a laptop computer. He switched it on and started pressing buttons.

�What are you doing?� Terry asked.

�Well, I don�t want you to suck my cock. I have a little fetish, you see��

He turned the screen around so Terry could see. It was a Mickey Mouse cartoon.

�Now you go over there and start reading from Revelations. The bit called �Visions of the end�. But don�t look at me. Understand?�

Terry went over to the bedside table, picked up a bible and began to flick through it.

�Where�s Revelations?� he asked.

�It�s near the end,� the man said, pulling out his half-erect cock. �Read it slowly.�

Terry found the page and began to read.

�Then I looked, and on Mount Zion stood the Lamb, and with him were a hundred and forty-four thousand who had his name and the name of his Father written on their foreheads.�

The man began to moan.

�I heard a sound from heaven like the noise of rushing water and the deep roar of thunder; it was the sound of harpers playing on their harps.�

Terry looked up from the book and the man was masturbating, watching the cartoon.

�I TOLD YOU NOT TO LOOK AT ME!� he screamed, getting up from the bed.

The laptop fell to the floor with a crash as the man made a lunge for Terry, who ran towards the door.

�You�re a sick FUCK,� Terry yelled, as he started to run down the hall. He knew the man wouldn�t follow him.

When he was back out in the street, Terry began to laugh. What a weirdo, he thought. This was something he�d be able to dine out on for years. He decided to call it a day and go down to the Union to meet some of his college mates for a few beers. He felt better. At peace, somehow.

Back in the hotel room, the travelling salesman pulled his trousers up, lay down on the unmade bed and started to cry.
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