Wherever I Lay My Hat, That's a Hat Stand

I’m watching cartoons with two doctors in the early afternoon. In the present one, two children, a boy and a girl, are accompanying their granddad on a mission to prevent a man with a gold mask from obtaining a 5000-year-old Mayan sword. They’re concerned that he’ll use it to enslave the human race. The boy has a watch that enables him to turn into a variety of powerful animals; right now he’s a frog. The granddad has a “plumbing” suit with rockets in the feet. The girl makes sassy comments.

The doctors know this cartoon well. They remark on its inferiority to a certain alien-themed spin off. During the ads, we see a trailer for yet another spin off: a live-action TV movie. Both of the doctors are excited. They order pizza and fried chicken, but I can’t eat any because last night I mixed every alcoholic drink known to science, plus cocaine.

The three of us are sharing an enormous blanket. Initially, one of the doctors had it to himself, but then the other one commandeered it in the name of the common good. I sit still and upright, so that my innards don’t fall out on to the floor.

It’s strange when you get into a life that you’ve previously seen only from the outside. When you become party to the secret banality of another person’s existence. Strange and sad and reassuring. I walk home in the rain; there’s too much pain in my stomach to think about.