One-Hundred Twenty

How far do you have to go before you're away?

A new name, the same face, but if I don't look in the mirror or run into anyone I know, I'm pretty sure I could pull it off. I'm going to die anyway--and the people that care will hurt, but what's the difference if I hurt them now, or later. I'll stage my death--car parked reckless along a beach road, a trail of clothes into the water, booze splashed all over the dashboard and the seats--foul smelling cheap whiskey. The police will say, "It looks like he got drunk and took a swim." My detractors will say "I always knew he was a fuck. Probably never was sober."

Meanwhile in a small restaurant bar, a man who looks and sounds like me gets a shit job bussing tables--at 48 the work sucks, but the restaurant overlooks the ocean cliffs, and the job comes with a small room in the back that he can sleep in rent free.