22::2::99

Cinnamon came around today. As usual it seemed more of an
inconvenience than it was worth, but at the same time i decided to take
this opportunity to take a break from the work i was doing on my
computer. He asked if he could have some tea and sit down. I am sure
that he comes here as a last resort if not only because i wont let him
smoke in the house or smoke dope with him and will sometimes not let
him come in at all. It's not that i don't like him, its just that
sometimes his condition can be a little, well, overbearing, and you
can't help but be bored by his talk of "satanic attacks" and the
"gestapo" and what not. That sounds terrible.
So, while the tea was on the boil i sat on the floor and began leafing
through Kathy's Marie Claire magazine. No sooner had i opened to a
centre spread on the Jonestown massacre than he starts crying. And real
loud too. I quickly changed the page and looked up but he hadn't even
seen it. I didn't know what to do. I asked him what was wrong and he
said, as if it was plainly obvious "I'm having a satanic attack man!"
He had never been this bad or at least i had never seen him that bad
before, i just said "oh". really i wasn't sure if i should get up and
hug him, pat him on the back, or hold his hand. I continued looking
through the magazine, full of pictures of beautiful people, unbridled
and guilt free consumerism, opulence and depictions of a life most will
never have the chance to know, of beautiful people, their beautiful
loves, and their beautiful homes and the beautiful food they ate and
how plastic everything is. Cinnamon continued sobbing on the couch as
the water boiled.