Forty years ago today, I shot a man. This may not seem entirely relevant, but in a way this little fact tells you everything you need to know about WA_emigre.

I should explain. It was 1971 - the Swingin' Sixties were over, and with them had gone the nation's spirit. Gone was the flowerful optimism that fuelled the hippie movements - instead, the nation was halfheartedly embracing the cynical and nihilistic attitudes best displayed during the Watergate affair. Just a few years ago, I'd been able to leave my door unlocked when I went to the grocery store; now, there were some streets in my neighbourhood I didn't dare show my face. Because of the negroes, you understand.

It was in this atmosphere that I met WA_emigre, though back then he called himself TX_longing. He was a slim man, six foot two, with a complexion that hinted at Choctaw in his past. He lived with his family in Enumclaw, where thirty years later a man would die from bleeding caused by a horse's penis; but at the time, there was little to no suggestion that this could be the case, and his family were friendly with their animals only in the traditional sense. One other thing that stood out was a black shiner over his left eye, an anniversary gift from his deranged wife the day before - though, of course, I didn't know this at the time. All I knew was that this was a man who'd seen some troubles.


After exchanging courtesies, I couldn't help bringing up the subject of his eye. A cloud passed over his face, as he explained that he'd been attacked by his wife of five years - and not for the first time. She'd been kicked in the head by a cow two years past, he said, and since then she'd not been sound of mind. Some days she seemed almost normal, some days she had to be kept away from knives. Yesterday was one of the bad days, or so it would appear.

With a situation like that, it was no surprise that he worked his way through the bar that night - and so did I, matching him shot for shot. Both of us had something to run from, and maybe, just maybe, there'd be somewhere safe at the bottom of this bottle, or the next one...

"I can't go back", he said, five hours later. We'd ended up at my place, after the barman kicked us out. "I loved her but Christ, man, she's not the same person any more. She's not even human. I can't stay with her."

"Then leave the crazy-ass bitch, hit the road, head to Texas. Find someone new. Isn't that what you've dying to do?"

He took a deep breath, then looked at me - I saw tears running from his eyes. "You don't get it. She didn't get kicked by a cow. I did that to her."

I looked at him like I was seeing someone else, or like I was seeing him for the first time. Then, well, the preacher says the devil got into me, but I know the devil and he ain't never done that to me before. I leaned over and I kissed him so hard I thought I'd melt into his face. A few seconds later he broke away and looked at me, shocked, before he dove back in, his hands in my hair, on my back, towards my fly...

The next part you can guess at.

Next morning I woke up and he was gone. I'd have figured it for a dream if it weren't for the note on the nightstand - "It's time to stop longing. -WA_emigre". When I read that I cried for the first time since my pappy passed away (at least when I was sober, drunk crying don't count). Partly because I'm pretty sure the fucker stole my cat.

And I never did see him again.

Oh right, also I shot a dude, like I mentioned. But he was just a Spic trying to steal my goddamn wireless. Nothing to do with WA_emigre, I guess, I just like telling people about it. Except the feds.

9/10, would fuck again. One mark deducted because of the cat theft.