It’s this constant humming, and it’s of course, the best day ever.
A guy asked me,
“Did you get it fixed?”
“You’re the Information Guy, right?”
And this is what he called me, The Information Guy. So be it.
You have any smokes I asked
Yeah man, whole carton of American Spirits
Nice. May I… is… two alright?
Hell yeah it’s alright.
Very cool he said. Complimentary pint of whiskey?
Oh, by all means I said. Seems I’ve run dry.
“Here’s the keys to the cart and yeah, if you find any well, put the lost and found there.”
Cool I said, and then I drove around for about five hours just chain smoking and shaking my head and damn, it’s him again.
“INFORMATION GUY! Have you had the best day ever? It’s incredible man. Aren’t you having the best day EVER?”
“I don’t know. I need a lighter. Mine’s dead.
Damn brother. No worries. Here, take mine Information Guy.
Cool I said.
And driving away the only fucking thing I could hear was that damn guy, one of the few who were supposed to be in charge of these savages, and what the hell do you want man I said, but he didn’t hear me, he just kept yelling…
“! THE BEST DAY EVER! THE BEST DAY EVER!”
Fucking hell man. Cool your jets I said, but it was of no use talking to him, because he was now infected, and so with losing another good man I scooted on out saying, “peace man brother man”-burning plastic rubber wheels shaking my head rolling away from the staff tent on this golf cart that he just gave me.
He didn’t listen at all. He just said,
“HEY INFORMATION GUY, I WIN!
Ok I said and who cares right? Not me, and so before I went back to being, The Press, well I drove around kinda tipsy and was weaving through the pine trees lined up like cones in the forest and this wasn’t the best of ideas I’ve ever come up with, because when I said, “hey, no hands”, to a couple of ladies who were having some kind of spiritual meltdown dancing in tube tops while these fat boys were trying to impress the females with my god, with hula-hoops, well damn, and I probably had it coming, based on the way that I was spending up my hard earned karma, and I say this, because the girls didn’t smile at me, and they saw me alright, but they didn’t seem so into what I was throwing down, because twist flask pull hammer back shit, I ran into a tree.
For the second time in my life I ran a vehicle into a tree. But this isn’t society. This is the forest. We play by my rules here. The only rule is that there are none. Nobody knew who I was, and I wasn’t really the Information Guy, never said I was.
I didn’t even try. I just left the cart in the woods next to this hippy camp of the infected that I think might have been dead. I hit the tree pretty hard and they didn’t even flinch; you could only see the bottom part of their legs hanging out of one of those hipster hammocks.
It just happened, and the cart, it’s gone. Mittens on and I’m getting cold blooded like a reptile taking on these roles people keep handing out to me without asking me if I even care.
Be this? Be that? Ok…sure, and great, and the noises that I hear from the masses of the infected makes absolutely no sense anymore, and it’s nothing more than a moonwalk, and guess what? You win a cake. You win a god damn prize. Life’s a slot machine. You all win. You win the cakewalk. Damn man, and I just keep saying, “You win, you win; everybody fucking wins.”
After leaving the car and having a silent but terribly awkward conversation with this man named Wild Bill, I was getting back to the staff tent, and damn, it’s of course him again.
I don’t say anything
I tilt my head, begging to pull the hammer back.
Where’s the car?
I just pointed.
I pointed that way again.
Oh. Right. I get it. Cool…
So now what now? He said. Should I Break up this giant bag of weed?
I didn’t say anything. I put my sunglasses on. The sun was going down.
In my head I was yawning, saying, yeah man, let’s break everything. Break up the party. Better get ta’ break dancing now, and hush, can you hear that? The highway is coming. The cars are rolling in. The laughter is fleeing, so mother fuck, come on guys, and I don’t follow the leader because we all bleed just as easily, and why, because really….nope, I don’t have anything else to say.
Where you going next Information Guy he said
Don’t know I said
Aint that the truth he said
Lots of garbage everywhere I said
I didn’t say anything else. I walked away from the tent. Grass under feet yellow from sports drinks and beer. Human smells from wild pigs called the young. Sun going down, and a smile with rolled eyes under the glasses that blocked out the truth of what I actually was. I wasn’t the Information Guy. I was the last reporter alive.