Jerry crossed 2^nd Ave. along High Street making way homeward, tired, exhausted from a long, long time empty, a day begun prematurely, forced through blurry vision and blinding lights, any sound like the sound of his alarm clock catches his attention always and makes him slightly shutter— not that sound! His mindless duties for pay included various mindless tasks for various mindless people and their one god-like, insomuch as they worshipped and loved it, their god-like corruptoration. Tick of clock tock and keyboard, carpal tunnel green. Go to work to make money to pay for therapy for depression because your life tastes like sHit. Jerry coursed the side of the street with a quick pace to get as far away from work as soon as possible… for what? What was waiting at home? Besides pot, the television, ... And, in fact, what was even worse than his job, das arbeit: his very home, where privacy existed only in closed drawers, dark closets, under a sofa or in the refrigerator, or in the cloggy pipes, for what awaited him at home was surveillance, 24/7 surveillance, for security purposes, of course: No eyes but vision from every angle, no mouth but a sharp tongue and hissing voice, thin and dead, but they think, the walls think and what and speak and rat, little rats in the wall writing down every word, morpheme phoneme intonal, prepared to huff and puff and blow you down, 60 rounds. Jerry slowed down, surveillance in public is less uncomfortable than in the ‘privacy’ of one’s own home. It is not in public one must change and bathe and eat and sleep, but at home, when even at home you can’t take a shit without someone… something* watching, and not even saying a thing, and you can’t see it— yippee, you can’t see me, but I can you! Jerry remembers the last moments of privacy collapsing through the years following attacks, when everyone became a patriot, a professional spy, and renounced comradery, those were not the days should say, but I can say here it was not what he thought. For as powerful these walls in question were, they quite dumb. Yes. And time fuzzy. Under hash haze or dope daze he longed for the years he had hoped away, but time travel is not permitted for the insane, they may improperly interpret the past, be it history, or their own lives, their own themselves. And walls don’t speak or watch or talk. And the point is NO! And that was his last petition, but he could not have it removed, because it wasn’t, and were he to push further, they would throw, throw him behind bars, and not bars made of watermelon candy where you sit onto seeds to enjoy a drink and you can chew your escape and fill up (I mean kill two birds with one stone, no, I mean the cold metal and concrete. That’s what we’re dealing with here, the concrete, the solid, the touchy tangible and so there’s no thinking going on by your place of dwell, so shut up! And so Jerry bit his tongue as he entered his home and threw his keys on the counter and locked the door, though why He should be more afraid to be inside than out so let the outside in, balance it out, and removed his shoes and fell into his recliner and massaged his aching feet, removing his socks so his feet could breathe stretching his toes, to Breathe! He loosened his tie and sighed relief, unbuttoning his horrid work shit… shirt*, he had seen thrice in passing, and let it fall off, a beater and a drink for his thirsty dry mouth and he’s been feeling sick yes. He had felt sick, both physically and emotionally, so he chose a glass of apple juice, perhaps the culprit , with its mix of juice from radioactive apples of Europa! Europa! And turkey.