“That was ‘Light My Fire’ night. I remember details. That was the night that defined my life. Actions proceeding from that night set me on a course from which there was no turning back. When I was in the joint I used to play Robby Krieger’s guitar riff from the middle of ‘Light My Fire.’ The cut from the Doors’ Double Live Album. When I was in the joint I played it several hundred thousand times on my Walkman and in it discovered the true meanin’ of life. I know all about the thing in itself which exists in all things—this evil thing, this will to live on a planet where all is so blamin’ nasty. Pain is the positive thing, the essential thing. Dear me, I do get carried away—so much for philosophy. You ever see Carlos, or Way-out Willie anymore? Hey, c’mon, baby. Say somethin’. Hello dere? Hello? Hiya…my name Jose Jimenez. He he heh. My name is…Walter, the performing Walrus. Ork! Ork! I’m gonna love ya, baby…all night long. I hope my mustache isn’t too stiff and that you don’t find my breath offensive at close quarters. Hello dere? Excuse me, missy, do you have a breath mint? A bottle of Scope perhaps? I may be a greasy-ass walrus but even I find a steady diet of mackerel and codfish repulsive to the palate. Ork! Hello dere, ladies ’n’ gentlemen. I’m Wally the performin’ Walrus and, gee, hey, isn’t this a great night? Are dey many here among us who feel that life is but a joke? Oh yeah, y’all a bunch a existentialists, ain’tcha?”

“Oh, Robert, cut it out.”

“You didn’t even know ‘Carl’ and we had our laughs. We had good times. He wasn’t even in the picture. This big hurt is going to pass off, believe me.”

“Carlos is in prison,” she said. “Willie…I don’t know.” She heard the Zippo click again and could picture him with the cigarette perched in the center of his mouth. “Yeah, Carlos is in the slammer and Way-out Willie took a powder.”

Bobby said, “Is that so? I figured them to be dead by now. They have exceeded my most extravagant expectations.”

She took a sip from her bedside wineglass, popped down a couple Dramamine along with four Stelazine tablets. Robin’s-egg-blue pills chased with more wine. She thought of Carl. Carl was a square, there was no denying.

Bobby said, “You’re at that point where you don’t think you can get over it again. You can do it once, twice, three times and then you lose the stomach for it. Does that make any sense?”

“I don’t know—” she said. “I don’t know if I can make it anymore.”