Delirium Tremens
At least when they drop you in a cot for the night you know the rats eatin you feet ain’t real. You don’t know, you too fucked up to know anything, but, you know, you know? There gotta be some part of somethin that know rats don’t go with white sheets, and white sheets are real, so rats ain’t. Depends where the cot at maybe. If you in a hospital the smell don’t go with the rats neither, so the rats definitely ain’t real. But if you just in pokey for a night, them white sheets might smell like they burned clean. Not clean like flowers like the ole lady use to like ‘em, but clean like you scare the dirt away but the rest of that place smell like piss, so the rats gonna be more real. You gotta just keep smellin them burn clean sheets.
But when you on the subway there ain’t nothin to say the rats ain’t real. There only so many times a man can survive train rats, real or no. But if they ain’t gonna drop you in a cot, train got seats and heat and the shakin kinda helps. You shakin so much youself it feel good if the train shake for you.
There gotta be a thousand nasty things a wino can think up when he got the shakes. Cockroaches. Dead folk> Or live folk that look dead, or rottin folk ain’t knowing if they dead or not. People sleepin in their own shit and puke; people sleeping in another man’s shit and puke. Any man lived on the trains long enough seen plenty worse than rats. But we all think it’s rats eatin us when we get the shakes and I tell you why. Because rats are us. We are rats. We more like rats than we like the walkin dead. We might be walkin dead soon, but now we just rats. And we eatin ourselves, so we dream up the rats eatin us. Rat like the ole lady says I was when she catch me tryin malt liquor or like when I got my ass fired from CVS for stealin from the register which I ain’t done no such thing, but try tellin her that. We live in the train like a rat, we eat garbage like a rat, even the word R-A-T-S— but that ain’t what I mean. I ain’t just talkin bout rats.
Because the rats ain’t all of it. I seen grown men shit themselves, I seen things come out of so many holes at once you can’t know what way up is. I seen a man die if they don’t make it to a cot. Or I heard some make it to a cot and bit it anyway. But all that is nothin when you got the rats eatin you. You hope the shakes take you. If they don’t, it’s gonna be the rats. And the rats gonna keep you.
When you on the train ain’t nothin tellin you the rats ain’t real. ‘Cept this one night the rats were up to my ankles— they takin their time like I’m some fine-ass Peter Luger steak. But then an angel come and the the rats are scared of her. So they stop eatin me and they run away. The rats gone and then my shakin stop because this angel make everything better.
And now I’m feelin real good like when you go to sleep in a soft bed and then the sun comes up but you keep sleepin until you good and ready to be up and then you at half-mast just waitin for you to rub one out. So thats how I was. This angel come take away the rats and now I just gotta take care of myself. Ain’t gonna hurt no one, no one get on the car with the man with the shakes at 4am.
And my angel is beautiful. She got an ass and mouth like a black honey but her hair burnin red like some mulatto leprechaun. I know she an angel because she got a shining dress and big white feather wings like you ain’t never seen. Like a mulatto leprechaun dove. Like if heaven had Playboy.
I know she here to make me feel good. Angels don’t never come to no cots. But on the train it’s just me and my angel, and she ain’t gonna mind me rubbin one out if thats what gonna make me feel good. So I’m rubbin myself, nice, slow then gettin a little harder, faster.
My angel ain’t lookin at me, but she look over her shoulder for a sec. And then her sweet face look real mad. Then she look over again and stomp her way over to the door. The sound of her heals stompin hurt so bad it feel like she stompin right on my face. And thats how I know she ain’t no angel. She just some hot bitch in a angel costume and now I try rubbin one out in front of her. She think I’m some crazy rapist. Shit.
“Sorry. I thought you was a real angel. You made the rats go away.”
‘cept it from where I am it sound like “Sooey, izzo rangel. You marash gway.” Can’t sound good to her neither. Shit.
“I ain’t doin so good. Sorry.”
Still ain’t soundin right. She look like she real scared now. Shit.
Do I get up and show her I ain’t gonna do no harm?
I start tryin to move. I ain’t feelin so good now. Least the rats ain’t coming back. Least not yet. I try standin but the floor get too close. Imma bout half under the seat and my angel keeps stampin my head, ‘cept she ain’t near my head, she bout far from me she can be. Then the shakin start again. And now the rats gonna come back.
Cept it ain’t shakin, the train stoppin. I don’t know what my angel gonna do, but I grab hold of the side of the train. I just wanna get off. I ain’t never felt so damn foolish in all my life. I try standin up again, but it ain’t happenin. Wouldn’t mind droppin myself in a cot now.
My angel ain’t on the train no more. She musta stompped on over to the next car. Its just me an the train floor. Guess it ain’t gonna hurt no one if I finish what I got started. The ole lady always said I wasn’t no good at finishin what I got started.
