Clown Excerpt 3: Lunch, Spermazoa, and When It's Okay to Buy a Gun

Chapter 3. Lunch.

Seattle is hilly like San Francisco. 3rd Avenue is probably 100 feet higher than 2nd Avenue. I always go into the building in the morning from the 3rd Avenue side, the East side, because my bus lets out over there. For lunch I usually go out on the West, 2nd Ave. side. To get out on that side you end up going down these escalators that are in a tube that protects you from the rain. I never go up them because the tube reminds me of a urethra.
If you look at the building from the side the tube slopes down at the same angle of a urethra inside a penis that is hanging over a pair of testicles. The first time I saw it I remembered a plastic gonad and penis display I saw in 8th grade, and I can’t shake the association. Well, I guess I could get serious and shake it if I wanted to, but I don’t. Life is already boring enough.
I don’t mind getting shot out of the urethra like a spermazoa, or laughing at all the people who don’t know they’re spermazoa along with me. But I refuse to go back up that way. It would feel disgusting. I might actually feel so gross that halfway up I’d have to jump over the middle divider to get back down. Or worse, I might feel bad enough to do that but be too afraid of being embarrassed. Which would mean I would stay in the tube and go up into the scrotal area. Disgusting. Forget that.
After I was cum into the street I walked west over to 1st Ave. and a good Pho shop. Pho is a Vietnamese noodle soup, in case you’re in a place where they don’t have it. It is very good. The dude there knows me and he doesn’t even ask me what I want any more. He kind of reminds me of the pimp/hustler from Miss Saigon, except he isn’t like that guy at all. He just reminds me of him because I want somebody to remind me of him.
After lunch I checked out this ridiculously cool store where people buy and sell and trade guns. They also have many knives. They know me there, too. They think I’m a weirdo because I always check out the guns but never buy any. I buy a knife every once in a while, expensive ones, so they’ll keep letting me in. I don’t think they would sell me a gun if I tried to buy one.
I’m not going to buy one, though. I know I’m not ready for one. My test is this:
I bring a girl home from a bar, and we get it on. Afterward her husband starts banging on my apartment door. I peek through the hole. He’s huge. He’s one of these inhumanly thick, solid steroid freaks, in the middle of a cycle. He’s going through ‘roid rage’ and I just had his woman and he’s going to beat the hell out of me. Do I pull the gun?
You can play too. Do you pull it? Don’t cheat. No calling the cops or hopping out a window. You don’t know what my apartment looks like yet, but you couldn’t hop out of a window anyway. Do you take out the gun?
I do. I know I would. If I pull it he runs or I kill him or he kills me with it. So somebody might end up dead. If I leave it in the gun safe, or wherever, I probably get beat up but I won’t freaking die. But I wouldn’t leave it in the safe.
Now you might say I have a right to pull it. But he loves this woman. His life is all about creating and having a life with her. Maybe she didn’t tell me she was married, so maybe it isn’t my fault. But take it from the other guy’s perspective. If I was him I’d want to hurt me too.
And if I was him would I want to be killed, would I deserve to be killed, for that honest impulse? Hell no. So no gun for me. I’m too much of a coward.