Zift Page #2

patent-leather shoes, and freedom.

They said I was reformed,

and let me go before my term was up.

Unfortunately, on my way out,

I bumped into that sh*t-face

of a warden, Mole Cricket.

I couldn't let him pass without

ejaculating in his face a fat curse.

I unbuttoned my mouth

and relieved myself.

""The end starts at the beginning."

""The end starts at the beginning."

That thought I picked up

and memorized

so I can say it when

I step out of the can.

I wanted to give the moment its due.

You can't let such moments

pass like that -

one leg after the other

and you're out.

Crossing the threshold is

a special occasion,

Iike walking under the rainbow

and turning into a different person.

The car reeks, a funky mixture

of motor oil, gunk, and stale sweat.

The private behind the wheel

has a popped pimple on his nape.

Who?

- Private Smyadovsky.

Who?

- Private Smyadovsky.

Private!.

- Aye.

Step on it.

Where are we going?.

Where are we going?.

Who are you?

The public bath.

Seventeen o'clock.

Ladies

What do you want?.

I want you naked.

- How naked?

butt-naked.

During my first year in prison

I befriended this guy - Valentine.

He was soft and gentle on the inside,

femininely hideous on the out.

We always took our meals together.

Rumor had it we were a pair of fags.

One day, during meal-time,

the Mutant, an a**hole and

a slimy freak of nature,

came up with his personal slave,

a rachitic creature,

and they stood behind our backs.

The rickets took out a sheet of paper

and started reciting at the top

of his illiterate voice

Valentine's love letter

to someone named ""O."

To my master,

brother and dear friend,

my man most of all,

my eternal companion,

the first and last one

to know my heart.

I can never be your bride,

but I love you with

unbearable intensity!.

Valentine.

It was then my former cellmate,

Van Wurst-the Eye,

advised me not to write any letters,

love letters especially,

because they were looking

for a chance

to pick up a fight with me

and kill me.

Van Wurst-the Eye had a glass eye,

which would often pop out,

especially during boxing matches.

Van Wurst, Van Wurst, Van Wurst...

Chew him up.

Kill him!

Yes!

After dinner, before the bedtime

bell, we would arm-wrestle.

At first, Van Wurst

regularly beat me,

but with time

he found it more difficult.

You look at the sky, and it looks

back at you with its barred eye.

You're one dangerous man. With all

these tattoos you have no weak spot.

being dangerous keeps you safe.

If you're not dangerous in the can,

you fall victim.

Is that why you poked your eye out?

No. That was an accident.

I lost it

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