The Rancid Omelette of Racism

A war. With help, I turn the enemies weapons upon themselves.

I am renting rooms. There are new people in the house. I don’t like it. I don’t know them. My original housemates explain how they have had to take care of me when I’m drunk, calling ambulances and stopping me from hurting myself or others. I cant remember any of this. It’s incredibly embarrassing.

When I leave, I can’t remember the address, Belgium Street? I think I also live somewhere else.

In my room, I’m eating a rank, rancid omelette. I’ve been adding to it and reheating for days.

Out of my window I can see a black guy, dressed in a leopard print shirt. His chest opens and a gun comes out, it has panthers eyes. Makes me think of Ahab and the whale.

“He piled upon the whale’s white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.”

I drink some water. Out of the corner of my eye I see a Thai man in my room by the window. I grab him, demanding to know why he’s there. He doesn’t speak English, I punch him and drag him to the door, he doesn’t resist. I cut his face hitch a Stanley knife, to be sure he remembers not to come back. My housemates are outraged, and point out that when I arrived, I was treated much better.

I’m ashamed, I know I’m not violent, or racist, only in my dreams.

I read a newspaper. The Thai guy is on placement with a nuclear sub. He reported for duty covered in blood.



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