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And
please
do
n't
hit
me
,
again
.
Please
.
You
have
so
much
,
and
I
have
nothing
.
And
I
start
to
climb
my
blood
up
the
pinstriped
legs
of
the
manager
of
the
Pressman
Hotel
who
is
leaning
back
,
hard
,
with
his
hands
on
the
windowsill
behind
him
and
even
his
thin
lips
retreating
from
his
teeth
.
The
monster
hooks
its
bloody
claw
in
the
waistband
of
the
manager
's
pants
,
and
pulls
itself
up
to
clutch
the
white
starched
shirt
,
and
I
wrap
my
bloody
hands
around
the
manager
's
smooth
wrists
.
Please
.
I
smile
big
enough
to
split
my
lips
.
There
's
a
struggle
as
the
manager
screams
and
tries
to
get
his
hands
away
from
me
and
my
blood
and
my
crushed
nose
,
the
filth
sticking
in
the
blood
on
both
of
us
,
and
right
then
at
our
most
excellent
moment
,
the
security
guards
decide
to
walk
in
.
IT
'S
IN
THE
newspaper
today
how
somebody
broke
into
offices
between
the
tenth
and
fifteenth
floors
of
the
Hein
Tower
,
and
climbed
out
the
office
windows
,
and
painted
the
south
side
of
the
building
with
a
grinning
five
story
mask
,
and
set
fires
so
the
window
at
the
center
of
each
huge
eye
blazed
huge
and
alive
and
inescapable
over
the
city
at
dawn
.
In
the
picture
on
the
front
page
of
the
newspaper
,
the
face
is
an
angry
pumpkin
,
Japanese
demon
,
dragon
of
avarice
hanging
in
the
sky
,
and
the
smoke
is
a
witch
's
eyebrows
or
devil
's
horns
.
And
people
cried
with
their
heads
thrown
back
.
What
did
it
mean
?
