Suddenly he felt he was on to the whole game of existence, and what a great inward laugh he laughed as he thought of it all. Love. Bathed in a shimmering white light and healed of every ailment and affliction, physical or psychological, he knew at last that love was the answer. It had seemed so…far away, but there it was, right in front of him—all about him, in his every pore. In and out, he breathed it. It existed in himself and in all things, for all things truly were one. Matthew had been those women left like driftwood in the trees of Bangladesh. He had suffered their suffering but, fuck, what did it matter now? Now everything was double jake. Sooooper Fraj-A-Lizzz-tik-X.B.-Al-eh-doe-shuz! All right now! Yah-sir! Hahaha. He hovered peaceably under the lime green canopy of the Slumber King for the next hour and a half sending out love vibrations—not only to the drowning in Bangladesh, but for souls that suffered everywhere. It never occurred to him to beam one out to his old lady.

By and by Matthew became hungry. He found himself magically padding out to the kitchen with another four and two (four morphine tabs and two Xanax). He gulped these down with coffee and then started rooting around in the refrigerator. He soon whipped up a tray of steaming biscuits and a cheese omelet with green onions. Fucking-A, was it ever delicious. Even doing the dishes was fun. After he had them squeaky clean he began to wonder about his mother. Shit, where was she? Surely not in bed still, she was the insomniac of all time. Funny though, her car was in the driveway. When he got the paper he noticed that she had not brought in the mail. That wasn’t like her at all! He went back to her bedroom and quietly opened the door. “Ma?”

She didn’t move. Matthew moved closer. “Ma, yo! What are you doing? Are you okay, babe?”