For three hours and a half Bruce had been sitting in front of that stupid telly. It didn't make a sound and there was nothing to be seen. The vacuum in which he sat had first reached to Rock Hill and it had touched Beatty park where only some few days earlier a dog had been killed. Rudy. Sure enough Rudy had been a dog soon after his longing to become one. He's always been that dog, Mabel, you know about that. Bruce told her. Three lads, one of them had been a brownskin, had stumbled to Janet's place one day. George had been there. You know George don't you. And Rudy had been there. But Mabel had been living near San Diego for a couple of years. Sure she must have met George and Rudy at least once, but she couldn't remember. Bruce stared at the empty screen, reached his lefthand to one of the bottles. Guns and gold - damn shit, that's how it first had felt with Mabel. Bruce couldn't reach the bottle. Half empty it was. The other half was on its way to a more fortunate scenery downstairs. Bruce knew something and he wouldn't tell it even if they knocked on the frontdoor and asked him for it. They quite often pleasantly joked about it, how George and Rudy had done things Janet didn't want to happen, but it had happened anyway, Rudy did it on the carpet as he had done so often before, and George had done just that little bit more than looking with a sardonic smile at sweet old Janet. Please take notice of this, write it down, master of Cacaphonia, write it down: Janet never could have been that old. But cute she was whatever age she had.
Rock Hill, ten miles south. The vacuum had reached as far as Rock Hill, but, then, gradually, it had lost that vibrance to be out there and through Pleasant Road it finally had reached the kitchendoor and before Texas Dirt had started the complete house had been filled with it. No more talk on Rudy, please. But, then, Mabel, he thought, don't we share at least that one little thing Rudy had? Bruce made a large gesture, once more tried to reach the bottle. He finally got it. For a second or seven he stared at the bottle. Empty it was. Mabel goddammit. After that he stared at the black blank in front of him. His gaze switched from bottle to gobble-cage. He tried to get up. Mabel lay on the floor. She lay next to the dresser. Bruce couldn't remember what use Mabel ever could have had. A fly sang its dirty song. He expected rain to ring at the window. It was hot as hell. The whole goddamn house had to be cleaned and he knew he wasn't able to do it. He stared at the ceiling.