John Murry
The Graceless Age

I find myself in a small town in the most remote province of the United States of America.

The dark losing of 10 PM, interrupted by a flashing sign of a modest drugstore, plays with the neon of a gas station run by a couple of Native Americans. A few steps away is my bus stop. I have twenty-six dollars in my hand, the value of which far exceeds, by much, that of my hope. The journey, long and tiring, will last all night and at dawn, I will find myself. Where will I find myself? I don't know where I will find myself. I don't even know if I want to find myself there. If the heroin that I will soon have in my system will make me miss the stop, then yes, maybe I will find myself.

Twenty-six dollars in my hand. My man is late, and this filthy America that doesn't smell like Broadway but of piss and bums wants to show me a road that I don't know yet. This is not the photoshopped version of my coveted land of opportunities. There are no opportunities here. Here a house is miles away from another, and in between are voids, howls, and gunshots. Yes, I could move to a big city. And maybe I will get there soon. My stop is there.
Maybe eternity exists and I could move there forever. My man has arrived. Small colorful balloons celebrate my overdose. I won't make it, I already know it. This time I will be a carcass. I will be the ghosts I always feared. I will be the mouth that no longer gives words, the hand that no longer moves, the circus that turns off the lights forever.

I was Born in the U.S.A., Bruce Springsteen yelled it at me with ferocity when I was still a child. I just need to stay calm. Collapsed a few steps away from a vomit spasm, don't I look like a Jesus Christ? So, Jesus Christ, I couldn't stand that light of the center with the addicts any longer.

Dear Magdalene, do you know what? I'm in California and I'm dying. Shift your gaze a bit beyond the signs of Beverly Hills, and you'll find me. Look at me, Magdalene, look at my shoulders. Look at my shoulders.

Hi, the bus has arrived at its destination: it's the era of the horrendous. Just a couple of steps to recover, then a taco, an hour of sleep, and I'll tell you everything.