Little Big Man

"If you don't agree with them, they turn on you." -- an associate reading my anti-homosexual posture

At my age, attraction to the opposite sex is another ball game, particularly when feminine hygiene is complicated by indigence, symptoms, and the only contours available on your palette range from caustic cynicism to moral outrage: Whenever Black Adder and I are alone before the anarchists show up, I am uncertain as to whether the Libertarian group leader and I are engaged in mortal combat over progressive disillusionment or conservative fealty. But we had a bead on each other Tuesday evening, as I told him about a denigrating incident with a black security guard over the holiday, and heard myself with a small degree of shock using a slur on a public sidewalk, uttered full of hurt, and Adder objecting, "Go after what they do, not who they are!" And I was ready to eat the kid for lunch with the retort that what we are often informs upon what we do. Then we let it pass.

I am not sure how I've become this person, but what contributed to it is the greater crime of Brian Coleman's platitudes in 2007 during Riverside's horrible renovations. I nearly went berserk during the whole affair, and wound up physically injured. The only *help,* I received was my father driving over, looking at me sitting with Erik, the pink mafia transsexual with its failed internship past, and buying me a tasteless sandwich. It isn't that I do not have the acuity to understand that Coleman was a fucking fool who wanted to support me. I worked for Liberty Resources too, but I was surrounded by Trudy Richardson, in her beauty queen phase, Tarmara, Trudy's second  who moved up, Brian, and my so called coordinator, Jenelle. I was weeping bitterly, wishing I could torture my former supervisor, and her invisible abandonment, and I have a black guy raining promises like Skittles, and no one, not I, or any of the other females, shutting him down, in addition to the fact that Presby just keeps treating me like a zoological freak. Erik, the mighty advocate, can't get involved; his dementia is advanced, in any case, and if anyone put the brakes on it for me it was possibly Councilman Denny O'Brien, mere speculation, until the next round. 

Coleman should have been accountable enough for his behavior to get me the help I needed; he wasn't, as is typical of the disability center. This is how Philadelphia, and most American inner cities, kill people with negligence, and I do not even have a criminal record.