My Name Is Jimmy and You Better Not Wear It Out

So I wasn't St. Jimmy anymore. The whole suicidal thoughts thing helped me realize that. But what did they, the congregation, care? To them I would always be St. Jimmy. I would be St. Jimmy until I died, or they thought I died, or I just left for-fucking-ever and never came back.

So I took a shower for the first time in weeks, pulled on the cleanest clothes I had because I was sick of smelling like booze for the time being, and left the apartment.

I stood on the landing, confused as to where I was going for a moment. Was I going upstairs, to Gloria's apartment, to stare at her door for a while and wonder about what could've been and then go back to drinking? Or was I going downstairs to get high and think about Gloria then come back to 215 and start drinking?

Neither of those choices seemed really appealing.

So I went downstairs and out of the building, completely ignoring the of the group of lemmings as they surged towards me --seriously, do they have a place to go when I'm not there or what?-- and started walking. not a well worn path like I usually did, but down back streets and alleyways, getting lost in the City as I sunk deeper and deeper into the downtown area. When I thought I saw someone or someplace familiar, I walked faster, far away from them and whatever memories they held with me. I didn't want to think, I just wanted to walk.

As I walked, I passed by the big political areas. Outside marble buildings I saw protesters, chanting and waving picket signs, screaming at me as I passed, asking if I knew what was going on and what the "pig-faced bastards" were doing while the big issues were being pushed to the side. I watched them all as I walked down the other side of the street, realizing that their groups should be bigger, more angry. I realized that the kids from the congregation should be parts of their ranks, screaming and picking fights with people who didn't agree with them, turning the whole thing into a bloody brawl before the police showed up.

Gloria's letterbomb was starting to make more sense now. I had royally fucked things up way more than I knew. Gloria was in on all of this, she understood how the anger tied into being in love and how that passion could fuel something bigger, something better. I felt like such an idiot.

I passed by a church as a preacher screamed like a mad man from the door way, telling people to repent. The End was coming faster than we realized. You could only get so far without having God in your life and loving Him and being a part of His plan. Instead of digging deep inside myself and finding that part of me that believed in God, I wondered if this was the bishop that Gloria had talked about.

This walk really wasn't going as I hoped it would. I was aiming to forget Gloria, not constantly think about her and what she had said and what she meant by this sentence and that phrase.

And then I found myself staring at a news stand. more specifically at a gossip magazine with Tunny on the cover. The headline said something about how the picture was taken as he walked out of a clinic for something. For what I couldn't fathom. The stand owner refused to let me read the thing without actually buying it, so I dredged up a few coins that were in my pocket and handed them to him and started walking again, leafing through the pages until I found the cover story.

Christian Elliot, the front man of up and coming band Slow Down or Burn Up, was seen early last Tuesday morning exiting an abortion clinic on East 12th Street in New York City. Rumors Have been flying that he paid for the abortion of his newest piece of arm candy, Cindy Harper, but his band mates say that it isn't true.

"Chris may have some illegitimate kids, but Cindy isn't carrying one of them," says guitarist Jasper Fink, "Honestly, even the [other members of the band] don't know who he got the abortion for. He only said that it was for a friend, but we all doubt that. Chris doesn't have friends who are chicks."

Our researchers here at the office have been working day and night to find someone who may know who this "friend" is, but all we know is that he paid for the abortion. Whoever this new girl is, he's definitely keeping her out of the public eye-

I honestly couldn't force myself to read anymore. First off, what was this "Christian" shit? No one was allowed to call him Christian except for his parents, I would know. And secondly, what illegitimate kids? How could I have not heard of this?

I barely skimmed the rest of the article, but my eyes caught on an address on the last line. Th article claimed that that was where all mail to Slow Down or Burn Up could be sent. I fought with myself for a moment or three. Honestly, it was none of my business anymore. Tunny left me here with no way of getting home. Besides, I highly doubted that they actually read any of their fan mail.

But then my curiosity got the best of me. I found my way to the post office and wrote out a quick letter demanding what the hell was going on exactly and why he hadn't bothered to contact me all this time (honestly, I couldn't say that I wasn't curious). It wasn't all I wanted to write, but all I wanted to write would've taken up the amount of paper that was used in the bible or the Torah or some other piece of holy scripture, so I left it at that. And, for some strange-ass reason, I added that I was out of pot and asked if he maybe had anymore. I was out, it couldn't hurt to ask.

Then I signed it, wrote the address of the apartment on the bottom of the page, and sealed it. I scribbled down the address in the article on the envelope then wondered what I should write for the return. Finally I wrote JAMES FUCKING STCLAIRE and WHERE YOU LAST LEFT ME, bought a stamp with the last of the change in my pocket, and sent it off.

I didn't know if I would get a response, but I felt better after sending it.

And then I went back to the apartment. i ignored the congregation again as I went upstairs and holed myself in my room.

I just sat on the mattress for a while, then I started looking at the picture in on the magazine.

Tunny looked stressed. His hand was a blur, obviously going to his left pocket for the box of cigarettes he always kept there. He looked like he didn't want to be there, and was trying to make up his own little fantasy world where whatever was really going on wasn't happening to him.

He looked like he needed a cup of black coffee, one of the sure things that would calm him down.

He looked like he needed a drink.

he looked like he would rather be having sex with a random.

He looked like he would rather have bamboo splinters shoved under his finger nails than being anywhere near that clinic.

I honestly couldn't blame him. Tunny never liked kids, he definitely didn't like pregnancy scares, didn't like talking about them, and he didn't like paying for anything that didn't directly involve him, so obviously this kid couldn't be his.

I wondered who this girl was, this girl who was just his "friend." I was Tunny's "friend" and he would never do anything like this for me, but that's because he's so damn frugal and he never bought anything for me except cheap ass gas station food, and even then I would have to pitch in.

God, he was SUCH a bad friend.

And I am SO SICK of thinking about him.

I just need to get out of this place. I need to get out of this apartment and out of this building and out of this town.

I needed to get home.

Any way possible.

Andnoby a nobody cares
And nobody cares
Does anyone care if nobody cares?
And nobody cares and nobody cares
Does anyone care if nobody cares?
JESUS filling out Paperwork now
At the facility of East 12th ST
He's not listening to a word now
He's in his own world and he's DAYDREAMING
He'd rather be doing something else now
Like cigarettes and coffee with the UNDERBELLY
His life on the line with anxiety now
And SHE had enough
And HE'S had plenty
Sombody get me out of here
Anybody get me out of here
Somebody get me out of here
Get me the fuck right out of here
SO FAR AWAY. I DON'T WANT TO STAY
GET ME OUTTA HERE RIGHT NOW
I JUST WANT TO BE FREE
IS THERE A POSSIBILITY?
GET ME OUT OF HERE RIGH TNOW
THISIS LIFELIKE DREAM AINT FOR ME