Brad — Act Up Hero, Lover, Friend
Portrait of a man, the beginning
Thanks for coming to see me.
Nobody really does anymore. I get it, they’re busy. Plus I smell so bad, I make myself sick. Gross, right? And sometimes when I look in the mirror, I wanna heave.
They call me Brad. It’s really Broderick, but I always hated that name.
So keep it to yourself, huh?
Sometimes I do heave, but usually not, because I don’t eat anymore. Mostly. Sometimes I can if I smoke a doob first. But … the people here are really nice and all, but they won’t let you smoke.
I guess it don’t matter. I’m gonna die anyway. Soon. It’s OK, I want to.
You got that recorder going yet? OK, well, here goes.
I picked myself up off the ground in that stupid alley behind the 7 Eleven. Felt around my mouth and caught a finger on a broken tooth. Spit blood. Fuck!
Castleton, New York, man. Armpit of fucking Albany. No, Castleton-on-Hudson. Ha! Think it’s this charming village with a beautiful view like that bridge in all the paintings?
