One Big Joke
It's a quiet night. It's a quiet night and I'm having trouble sleeping. Things keep flickering through my mind like a movie reel on the fritz. There's so many things going on, I can't stop to think about any one thing. I need a drink.
I walk into the kitchen and stretch my arms above my head. The clock on the microwave says it's…ah, hell, it's too damn early is what it is. Booze isn't going to help me sleep, so I fill a tea kettle with water and I set it on the stove to boil. While I wait for the water, I pull a small brown box out of a secret compartment in the counter. It's full of big, thick Cuban cigars; they were a gift from some senator a year or two ago. I'm not sure I thanked him for it. 'Course, I'm not sure I'll even have the chance to finish this cup of tea I'm making.
When did things get to bein' so complicated? The question's been bothering me for a couple of weeks. I can still remember breaking into Jacobi's apartment, still see the scared-shitless look on his face. I remember crying like a little baby. That was the first time I cried in years. Decades, even. Lord, I'm so tired. When the hell is that tea going to be ready?
I look out through the windows of my apartment and I can see so much. When did this city change so much? It feels like just yesterday when I was running around in a clown costume, beating criminals within an inch of their god-forsaken lives. What the hell was I thinking, wearing that gay costume? Metropolis or the Hood would've liked it, I bet. The docks where I used to work, they're still the same as usual, and most every alley in the city is still crime-infested. 'Course, when was the last time I actually worked in New York? Probably the riots back in '77. Maybe Dreiberg was right. We've gone too far. We're too far gone now from where we started. The teapot starts to whistle, so I go and pour the boiling water into a mug, then move to my couch.
As I sit there, flipping through the channels, I touch the pin on my graying robe. That damn smiley face. I remember I got it from one of the boys in the Navy, they thought it was funny. I punched him right in the face and took the pin from him. I've been wearing the thing ever since. Every photo I've got where I'm in costume (except for my 'gay clown' costume), I'm wearing that smiley face. Guess it helps me remember the joke. It's gotten to be so I keep forgetting the punch line, but the pin helps me remember. 'Nam, JFK, Watergate…it helps me remember a lot.
There're footsteps outside the door. I can see a shadow outside, standing right in front of the door. He breaks the door down with a savage kick, sending parts of the cheap wood flying everywhere. I leap up from the couch and stare at him for a moment. Of course it's him. He probably wanted to get the job done personally.
I mumble, "Just a matter of time, I suppose," and I throw the mug of tea at him. He dodges away from it and then charges at me. We begin fighting, but it becomes pretty obvious I can't win. He's a lot better than me, and he knows it. I get thrown into the kitchen. There's a block full of knives on the counter, and I make use of them by throwing them at the bastard. He doges one, it goes into Sally's picture. He dodges the next one, it smashes my TV. Oh well. He catches me, grabs me and smashes my head into the counter. The taste of blood, oh so familiar, fills my mouth.
I laugh at the son of a bitch. When he stares at me, he can't figure it out. I know the punch-line again. I'm going to die, but I know the punch-line to the joke. As he throws me out the window, as I fall to the streets, I can't do much but scream in terror. The last thing I remember is thinking to myself. On the inside, I am laughing.
It's all one, big joke.