Log from January 22nd:
Red set me free.
Without cash, it’s gotten extremely and annoyingly difficult to keep the car. ‘Free parking’ is a concept that doesn’t seem to exist around here. I can guess why, I suppose, what with the heavy traffic and limited space per parking garage and god damn, why make a lot that tiny if you’re going to make one at all? Also, parking meters? Whoever invented that concept ought to be shot through the head.
Twenty-five cents for five minutes? Who the fuck needs to park for five minutes? I could leave Jack in the car and keep it running at a stop light, for anything I needed to do that only took less than five minutes. Could probably get closer to whatever store I was looking for too, thus reducing the time to less than three minutes. I’m being generous with the ‘two minutes of walking’ period. With how crazy it is here, the closest anyone ever seems to get to their final destination is a five-to-ten minute walk. Longer, if the cold an wind is bad. Then add another five minutes to duck into the closest store, awkwardly pretend you’re in there to shop and not just to escape the Canadian weather, and bolt without buying anything.
I should’ve been a city planner. I would have words for those idiots. Words, and revolutionary vision.
…If there isn’t a Fear somehow connected to downtown traffic, I’ll be downright fucking shocked.
So, long story short – I say with a touch of irony – we’re camped out in the parking lot of an adult-fun-super-store. I am so corrupting Jack right now whether I like it or not. For the record, I don’t. Not in my nature to taint the minds of innocent children.
Neither of us have had a single thing to eat since we hit the road again, courtesy of our mystery gas-can fairy. He hasn’t complained, though. He seems happy enough just eating snow, but I’m starving.
Most of this is interpretation. The writing is so uneven it’s barely legible.
Writing by light from the streetlamp. Maybe about midnight. I can’t remember the last 24 hours. Just recall being hungry. Now there’s blood and I’m tired. But not hungry anymore.
Razzie is following and won’t stop barking and growling. Took a break on a street corner to get my bearings. He’s gonna attract cops, if he doesn’t shut up.
Now he’s running off. Weird. Maybe his heightened canine senses could tell I was talking about him.
The rest of the page was torn off.
The top part of this page was torn off.
Mistake. Maybe I was drugged, somehow. I mean, it seems unlikely…there’s a damned good reason why I don’t drink anything given to me by another person.
The weirdest part is…I feel like this wasn’t the first time. This feeling up blacking out and waking up a day later with blood trailing after me – didn’t it happen before? Like, recently? Like, all my fucking life?
I take the last part back. I wouldn’t know about ‘all my life’.
No bitterness here.
Jack has a new favourite story.
THE WOODEN GIRL BEDTIME STORY
Harlequin, come out and play
Wrap me up in string
Take all my free will away
Cut me ‘til I sing
I will be a willing doll
And you, my puppeteer
I like it better under thrall
We have no power, here