The Fugitive Kind Page #5

on the highway.

Mr. Xavier, would you like to go juking?

Come on. Let's you and me go juke.

What you mean, go juking?

Juking?

That's when you get into a car...

which is preferably open

in any kind of weather...

and then you drink a little bit...

and you drive a little bit...

and then you stop and you dance

a little bit with a juke box.

And then you drink a little bit more...

and you drive a little bit more...

and you stop and you dance

a little more to another juke box.

And then you stop dancing

and you just drink and you drive.

And then...

you stop driving...

and you just drink.

And finally, you stop drinking!

Well, what you do then?

Well, that depends on

who you're juking with.

What's the matter, can't you see he's drunk?

- He can take care of himself.

- He can't take care of anything. Come on.

This country used to be wild,

but now it's just drunk.

Why do you make

such a crazy show of yourself?

'Cause I'm an exhibitionist.

I want people to know I'm alive.

Don't you want people to know you're alive?

I just want to live. I don't care

whether they know I'm alive or not.

Well, I want to be noticed,

and seen, and heard, and felt.

I used to be what they call...

a church-bitten reformer.

You know what that means?

Well, that's a kind of benign exhibitionist.

I used to make stump speeches.

And I wrote letters of protest against...

the gradual massacre

of the colored majority in the county.

And you know, when that

Willie McCoy thing came along...

Poor man got sent to the chair, you know...

for having improper relations

with a white slut.

I made a fuss about that.

I put on a potato sack...

and I set out on foot for the capitol.

And you know how far I got?

Six miles out of town.

I was hooted and jeered at

and even spit on every step of the way.

Then I got arrested.

And you know what for?

Lewd vagrancy.

Oh, me! That was a long time ago.

And I'm not a reformer anymore.

I'm just a lewd vagrant.

And I'm gonna show them.

And show them all

just how lewd, a lewd vagrant can be...

when she puts her whole heart into it,

the way I do mine.

Hey, turn off here.

You live around here?

Nobody lives around here.

This is the local bone orchard.

You hear the dead people talking?

Dead people don't talk.

Sure they do.

They chatter away like birds

here on Wisteria Hill.

But all they can say is one word...

and that word is "live. "

Live. Live. Live. Live. Live.

That's all they know.

That's the only advice they can give.

It's simple.

It's a very simple instruction.

Please. Let me.

Who are you trying to fool,

besides yourself?

What is this?

A human wrist with a bone?

Feels like a twig.

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