October 1 Alan

THE ASSHOLE AT THE PHARMACY SAYS there's no way he can't sell me my cough syrup any more without a prescription. Prescription! What's that bullshit? I have a bronchial condition and my prescription is this fist. Get this: it's a coon in that damn lab coat! "But if you'd like sir there's another brand I can sell you over the counter which is very effective." Sir is what they start to say when they're treating you like shit and they think they're going to get away with it. Fuck that! I showed you my bleeding greenbacks now I want my goddamn Robitussen and you can put this cherry-vanilla soda pop in your ass, sunvabitch. Claims it's the president Mr. Nixon himself who thought up this dumbass rule. What does he think I'm stupid?

Thinking about how the last time a nigger--a girl--got uppity with me I walked away. She's gotta know something about where I can find that mama I met in August, from the sly way she lied about knowing nothing but saying she'd give her a message "if she came in." What? Does she think I'm an idiot? I hate a nigger as much as any man.

There's this knife I found I-don't-know-where . . . maybe someone in the club stuffed it in my coat, maybe the Prez himself but sheee-it it is sharp! I'm fingering the handle here in my jacket pocket and think about showing Mr. Pharmacist just so he gets my point. He's getting all ornery and although I'll have him by the collar in a second it's his simpering assistant who picks up the telephone when he says he'll have to call the police "to explain it to me." White guy. Race traitor.



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