quiet you down. But a pig can’t kill a wolf. The w o lfs the
monster prick, then the pigs come and turn the w o lf into a girl,
then it’s payback time and the w o lf rises again. In the day
when the w o lf sleeps there are still fires; anything can suddenly
go up in flames and you can’t tell the difference at first between
a fire and a summer day, the sun on the garbage, the hot air
making the ghetto buildings swell, the brick bulging,
deformed and in places melting, all the solid brick w avy in the
heat. At night the crowd rises, the w o lf rises, the great
predator starts a long, slow walk toward the bullets waiting
for it. The violence is in the air; not symbol; not metaphor; it’s
thick and tasty; the air’s charged with it; it crackles around
your head; then you stay in or go out, depending on— can you
stand being trapped inside or do you like the open street? I
sleep days. It’s safer. I sleep in daylight. I stay awake nights. I
keep an eye out. I don’t like to be unconscious. I don’t like the
w ay you get limp. I don’ t like how you can’t hear what goes
on around you. I don’t like that you can’t see. I don’t like to be
waiting. I don’t like that you get no warning. I don’t like not to
know where I am. I don’t like not to know m y name. I sleep in
the day because it’s safer; at night, I face the streets, the crowd,
the predator, any predator, head on. I’d rather be there. I want
to see it coming at me, the crowd or anything else or anyone. I
want it to look at me and I want a chance. There’s gangs
everywhere. There’s arson or fires or w o lf packs or packs o f
men; men and gangs. The men outside m y door are banging;
they want to come in; big group fuck; they tear me apart; b oys’
night out. It’s about eight or nine at night and I’m going out
soon, it’s a little too early yet, I hear them banging on the door
with knives and fists, I can’t get out past them, there’s only one
w ay out; I can’t get past them. Once night comes it’s easy to
seal you in. Night comes and you have the rules o f the grave,
different rules from daylight, they can do things at night,
everyone can, they can’t do in the day; they will break the door
down, no one here calls the police, I don’t have a gun, I have
one knife, a pathetic thing, I sleep with it under m y pillow. I
figure if someone’s right on top o f me I can split him apart
with it. I figure if he’s already on top o f me because I didn’t
hear him and didn’t see him because I was unconscious and I
wake up and he’s there I can stick it in him or I can cut his
throat. I figure it gives me time to come to, then I try for his
throat, but if I’m too late, if I can’t get it, i f he’s som ehow so I
can’t get his throat, then I can get his back. O r I can finish
m yself o ff i f there’s no other w ay; I think about it each time I
lie down to sleep, if I can do it, draw the knife across m y
throat, fast, I try to prepare m yself to do it, in m y mind I make
a vo w and I practice the stroke before I sleep. I think it’s better
