| Beverly- You're cute Mark. But next to me, you are the most selfish son of a bitch I've ever met. Let me tell you something, as one whore to another- what you do with your ass is your business. You can drag it through every gutter from here to Morocco. You can trade it, sell it, or give it away. You can run it up a flagpole, paint it blue or cut it off if you feel like it. I don't care. I'll even show you the best way to do it. That's the kind of person I am. But Brian is different. Because Brian is stupid. Because Brain is Blind. Because Brian doesn't know where you come from or who you come from or why or how or even what you are coming to. Because Brian happens to need you. And if that is not enough for you, then you get yourself out of his life- fast. You take your delicate sensibilities and your fears and your disgust, if that's all you feel, and you pack it up and you get out. A postcard at Christmas, a telegram for his birthday, and maybe a phone call every few years . . . if he lives. But only when it gets really bad. When the money and the time and the people are running out faster then you care to count, and the reason don't sound as good as they use to and you don't remember anymore why . . . why you walked out on the one person who said yes, you do what you want to because I love you. And you can't remeber anymore what it was that you thought you had to do or whi the hell you thought you were that was so goddamn important that yu couldn't hang around long enough to say goodbye or find out what it was you were saying goodby to . . . Then you phone, because you need to know that somewhere, for no good reason, there is one stupid deluded human being who smells and rots and dies and still believes in you. One human being who still cares. My God, why isn't that ever enough? |