Living in the camps resurrected the feelings when his mom had cancer and died. The camps were for homeless people. Like wizards of poverty, the ghetto miracles of ultimately powerless homeless men and women were recorded by me in journals.

1/3/13
Jimmy tanked a hologram inside the portal for the first time. They’d been working on it all week. Nothing much happened after that, except I applied at Wal-mart again. I like the crystal ship they sell in the front. I’ve been thirsty for some of that mojo for a long time. If Susan would open up her cunted legs and say she wants to move into the apartments, I’d get a job there. But really I’m just harassing the workers when I go and apply. I want to jack off.

No one read my journal entries. Most of them were folded up and smudged by rain, stacked in a trashbin in my tent. The papers felt like money to me, soft and worn, but illegible from the moisture. I kept them because I thought I could sell them to someone. It sounded romantic.

On one Tuesday, I tracked Susan down. It was trash day. That morning we dug through the food stuffed bins left out for garbagemen. I found some liquor and swashed it down without telling her about any of it.

She’s still insane after the concept of the attack of the last real attempt at bringing down the monarchy. That’s exactly what she said. I wanted to bring her to Wal-mart again and apply for real. But it was more badass just being rough and tough, and I had some chance at getting the place I mentioned in the journal if I could get the job.

The other homeless people told me I had to work hard, and usually trailed off after that in drunken slurs. Generally, the story was that I had to start at the bottom and move up--not start in the middle or at the top. I’d sacrifice my body and health, and then when I was frail and worn out, I’d get promoted to something more suited to my new physique. I thought that was bullshit.

They wouldn’t hire me, anyway. It was all online, and the pool of applicants was too great. I think the staff tried to keep me out. I think I was doomed.

After eating a bit of a sliced sandwich I laughed as I spit it out because some kind of moth had stuck to the inside. I felt like the calories absorbed through my cheeks, so I felt better anyway. Susan opened up her cunted legs for me behind the big green garbage bin. I didn’t come. No condom. I came, but not anywhere near her. I turned away and jizzed all over the ground. She laughed at my stupid ass.

I tried to make it to the camps on time for KFC. Susan followed behind and started talking shit about me.

I asked for a cigarette and tried to look as badass as possible, and told them she was mine.

“Like you could do anything, anyway,” she said. “Quit obsessing about the 24-pack of water bottles you think are cool and admit defeat. We’ll never live in an apartment…” She went on, yet I forgot most of what she said.

Richard never sat down. He was always leaning against something; like a truck or a tree. He sucked on a grass twig and commented on my pants. “Dirty,” he said. “Like a knobhead.”

I couldn’t stay in the camps so I went to the display with the crystal ships. A manager of Wal-mart found me, and asked if I was applying again. She was incredibly sweet, for that.