“Yes it is. Thank you. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

And that’s it. Of course that’s it. Evil Hansel does not care what the fuck a stranger does with tires and old cowbells on his opa’s mountain. And I am a stranger. Jack Price is dead and my face is full of Doc juice and he does not know me at all. He does not look back.

—

Charlie makes me do much art shit. I drink apple juice and pretend it is champagne. I drink a lot of it and establish a reputation for an iron stomach. I flirt with old ladies and young ones. I talk art finance with suits and art concepts with anyone in jeans. All bullshit all the time.

And everyone knows it. Evil Hansel, even Evil Hansel knows it. Over by the buffet table there is a little heap of clothes and a shock of psycho Sound of Music hair, and a couple of Lego figures have fallen out of his hand onto the floor. One of the waiters is nudging them back toward him. Yeah. Sleep well kid. Crazy little fucker.

So yeah. Art bullshit.

After a certain point you just gotta pee.

“I gotta pee.”

“Thank you boss you don’t need to keep me informed on micturative matters.”

“I do not know what that is.”

“It’s peeing.”

“I know that.”

“Boss—”

“Yeah—”

“Go pee please.”

“Yes.”

—

Some things you just don’t see coming. Things like that I take out my penis and point it at the urinal and—

WHAM.

Because there is.

A gun sight.

On the urinal.

A fucking sniper sight.

Printed.

On where you pee.

This is a hilarious joke for executives. It is good for your pelvic floor to control aim and flow and also it is a feedback trick to reduce splash and therefore janitorial costs. Seriously. This is a thing. Porcelain semiotic design is a thing now.

But I have just been shot at and my friend is dead so I see—

The interior of the mail van—

“Price I got to go now. Okay I go but you just—”

“Don’t leave me here you Soviet prick I am stabbed—”

“I got to go now—”

“You live an untidy life—”

Agent Hannah bears down on me I am thinking about sex—

Bunnyboner—

“Wash me—”

“I am Banjo Telemark I am Banjo Telemark I am—”

I’m fine I’m just a little shook up is all it’s—

Then WHAM again but this is a different not just impact but weight. That’s not a hallucination that is something around my neck and it is heavy and I fall—

“You are him,” Evil Hansel says. “You are the man.”