This is my journal, and I can put in what I want and leave out what I want to leave out and I choose to leave out the details of the abuse. But it goes on and on and on until finally I say, “Aw Laddie, please Jesus, I was only trying to help.”
He cut off then. Started to pace. Stopped. Started again. Slowed. Then the blinking. You could sense something. Now he stopped the second time. Little almost imperceptible pulsing in his temple area. He stood there and you could actually see the moment when the pain whipped down, descended like a snowfall.
Do I have to tell you I had tears behind my eyes?
Tactful comment: this is starting to seem just the least bit flitty, Fats old stick.
Honest reply: I know, I know, and we’re not, but I can’t help the way it sounds. “Tears.” “Migraines.” Sometimes I think that if me and Corky only had one of those infinitely complicated, unceasingly sadomasochistic homosexual relationships, boy, how simple life would be…
The Wisdom According to Fats
Entry for: 10 October, 1975
Found at: 7 Gracie Terrace
Penthouse One
20 October, 1975
The Contents of this Entire Journal Will Be Listed As:
POLICE EXHIBIT D
