Girlfriend In A Coma

It never fails. We only think of others when it’s too late. We revel in their wakes, cry walking next to the pall bearers, look sad when having ghe coffee in the church basement after the funeral. Yes, we are the unattractive and the unattrcatable. We are mere gnats in the emblem of joyous revelry. And a conspicuous gnat at that. A gnat of the brooding yet eroding quality. A bug. A wannabe tyrant that has no power than to leave a blemish in the form of a stain when it gets quashed.

It never fails. We give the greatest speech in our lives when we speak of things we would never believe in. We are there, waiting. Waiting for some kind of miracle withing the thornbushes of our minds. We condemn the fucker, yet we feel this great burden, this great stress, this embarrassing creature gone. Forever. And we don’t know how to interpret his ferocity. We shall never understand his rough exterior nd sadistic interior. He was, hopefully, the end of a debauched family line.

The three of us, if not more I know not of yet, will wonder why this brute raped us. We’ll wonder why Judith is in a coma and blame ourselves. We’ll know, at least, why she was everybody’s girlfriend. We’ll know why she couldn’t commit. We’ll know why she couldn’t ever get rid of her addictions and, fittingly, why she was found self-damaged in her hotel room on a routinely slow Sunday morning by Mr. Perkins before he was to board his plane back to the leisure of Omaha, Nebraska. Poor Perkins. He was wailing like a little boy. I wish I could assure him he was just an accidental john.

So yes, in this case, the girlfrind being in a coma is really serious.

And there’s the brute, eating more than anyone else, lookingbat us, then eating again.

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