71. Gramma’s Boyfriend “We R Ctrl” The Human Eye [Self-Released]
“You’re lucky; shut up.”
Naturally, the swing took longer than the punch itself. He wound up his arm like Pete Townshend doing the windmill on his Rickenbacker, except my collar was the fretboard and my face were the six strings (in order: jaw, cheekbone, eyeball, eye socket, temple, and a little bit of the ear). It was nearly cartoonish in preparation - so much so that I may have even stupidly let a giggle escape my lips. In fact, I’m not even sure anymore what his face looked like because I was so focused on his arm. I know it wasn’t bulging, but in my memory it’s changed shape so as to not make me feel as bad as I otherwise would. So let’s say it was a monstrous limb with a mind of its own that nearly tore itself off of its keeper to slug me with such force that I was dizzy before I even hit the ground. It twirled in the air for what seemed like days, but without any of the weakness that he word “twirl” implies, and then it launched. The five knuckles rocketed through the atmosphere of that dimly lit bar bathroom and didn’t slow down as far as I could tell until I was firmly hit and decidedly collapsing like a marionette whose drunken master had swiftly quit his career, allowing gravity to do its magic on the strings and the wooden crossbar that was once its halo. I woke up in the ambulance to the paramedic asking me to recount my story. I chose to keep things succinct: “There should really be a sign on the door that tells you it’s a single-person stall.”
