Commentary and Dedications
There are many books out there, many short stories and essays by brilliant people and some not so brilliant. I consider myself a wanna-be writer at best. I hereby dedicate this short story to my dead Beatnik heroes: Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Neal Cassady, and William S. Burroughs.
UNAVAILABLE
You find yourself day to day in the hamster cage you call your "life" spinning in your wheel, shitting, eating and sleeping. When you live next to a refinery you feel vulnerable. Your hamster cage gets a little smaller each day and it shakes, rumbles, shakes again without stopping in a perpetual motion. Yesterday I was eating breakfast when I noticed something in the corner of my eye. It was a car crash in my peripheral vision. The passenger in the back of the baby blue Sedan died on impact, broken collar bone, broken jaws, dead at age twelve, according to the papers.
I live in a small apartment building, Lee Igoe. It's by a fairly large highway near an oil refinery. I feel truly blessed to live in this Midwestern industrial town. I want to be buried here dead before I get buried here alive.
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