After Joey’s conversation with Na-Na about his war with Contreau, he becomes agitated with all the nonsense in the world

Making my way home from work that night, Na-Na’s words are still tossing around in my head, like sneakers tumbling in the dryer. 

 It’s not only his words, really. It’s something more. A sadness. Actually, a foreboding begins descending upon me now. Something is going to happen. I’ve had this feeling before. This kind of intuition. Thick, murky, and vague, it takes over my whole body.  Whatever it is, or going to be - it gives me the shakes, as I navigate the isolation of the frigid, dimly lit streets.  

Ten after one in the morning. Can’t sleep. In my bed flipping from one position, then gyrating into another, in crazy, restless mode. Kicking away against the impenetrability of the covers my mother has tucked in ridiculously tight again, at the end of the bed.  Damn! Why does she always have to do that?  I can’t move! It’s like she’s in the Army, or something. She probably flips a quarter on the bed after she’s made it, too, to make sure it’s perfect. Bet you. My father would always tell stories about when he was in the Army, how the sergeant would come into the barracks to inspect things, and he’d flip a quarter on your bed. If the quarter didn’t bounce back up, it meant the sheets and covers weren’t tight enough, and he’d make you do it again. And you had to do 50 push-ups, too.  She always listened to my father. I just hope he hasn’t made her do 50 push-ups, also.

God, I would hate the Army. I would never join up, even if they drafted me. I’d definitely go to Canada or Mexico, or wherever. Especially after hearing the stories from a couple of guys around the neighborhood, who had served in Vietnam. Guys who came back all fucked up. Mentally. Physically. Missing limbs, fingers.  For no good reason, either.  

They would tell me how these sergeants would totally humiliate you, right in front of everybody in the platoon. And then, you’d have to, like, pledge you would die for these same assholes on the battlefield!

Fuck that, man. No way. I’d always hated that hierarchical type of shit. I remember, I even quit the Cub Scouts because of that. No, actually – I got kicked out of the Cub Scouts. By my Aunt Tina, no less. Yeah, she was the den mother for our Pack 51. I didn’t want to do those stupid Twelve Achievements in the Cub Scouts Handbook that you had to complete before you could graduate to - ooh - the Webelos.

I did do a few of the achievements anyway, though. I tied those eight different knots. I built a campfire and stuff like that, until I got to the one, the ninth achievement, I think, where you have to build a birdhouse. That was it. No freakin’ way! Now, why would I want to build a fucking birdhouse?  What was the point? I wouldn’t do it.  So, she kicked me out. My Aunt Tina.

I remember Gerald Schoenfeld (from our pack) told everybody in our 6th grade class that I refused to build the birdhouse – and it was, like, the big scandal of the year.

I pretty much hated organizations, in the first place. Especially, like, The Junior Achievement Club, where you had to make hangars, for some reason. Now, my mind just lurches forward in a sea of free association. Each more agitating than the next.

The Church. Sears. Yeah, I really despise Sears. Especially those damn catalogues. I remember a few years ago, Sears had this big parade in town, to celebrate the grand opening of their Super Shopping Center, in what used to be part of Smith’s Woods. Marching bands, cheerleaders, banners – even clowns. Clowns. They were the worst. I never did understand why they were supposed to be funny, anyway.  I mean, what, just because they wore a lot of make-up and big shoes? They were supposed to be, like, hilarious?  

I have aunts who wear too much make-up, and big shoes, too. I seriously don’t remember anybody laughing uproariously, when they walk down the street.

Anyway, the whole town turns out to celebrate this moronic parade. Everybody. There are these pretty girls up on the floats, waving, blowing kisses, and tossing ‘complimentary gifts’ out to the crowd. Cheap shit, like, Hershey’s Kisses, and Lifesavers. And stuff like little soaps.  God, you should see these ninnies diving and scurrying all over the street, like it’s a freakin’ gold rush, or something! What, they can’t just go to the store, and spend a freakin’ nickel for their own Hershey’s Kisses?

The worst part of all this, to me at least, is that apparently nobody cares that Sears had destroyed the remaining bit of the beautiful Smith Woods, the last woods around for many miles. Just so they can open up another one of their junky shopping centers.

I swear, it doesn’t matter if you have a parade for dropping bombs on people, or inventing a new flavor of toothpaste. Just as long as you have marching bands, clowns, and Hershey’s Kisses! People will always come out to cheer.

I’m really on a roll now, my mind bursting in a cynical diatribe. What annoys me even more than the whole parade nonsense is that afterwards, Sears keeps sending their freakin’ catalogues to our house! With those private-school-type Hardy Boy looking motherfuckers they have modelling the clothes. Man, that burns me! These guys standing around pointing to each other’s pants admiringly, and tittering smugly, like they’re at some kind of exclusive Aryan Youth Tea Party.

“Gosh, Chad, those sure are some really nifty Sears khakis you have there.”

I endured years of wearing Sears Tough Skins, and, I can assure you, not once did I have as much fun wearing them as these cornballs did.

I’m all hyped up now. Agitation in overdrive. No way I’m gonna sleep tonight. Turn on the lights. Pacing. Pacing. Pacing. I feel like breaking into somebody’s house right now…a bunch of people’s houses…smashing some fucking windows…