The walls

by Andy Siege

            I’m in my room. At the hotel. And I’m thinking about breaking the fourth wall. The walls here at the hotel are green and moist and I can just push my finger through them or my whole hand or my head. So it would be easy to break the fourth wall. But if I break the fourth wall, you might lose interest in my story. So I sit and I write you a blindfold because I don’t want you to see me.
            It isn’t really a hotel I’m in. It’s rehab. I’m not a junky or anything, I’m just crazy and so life is more difficult for me than it is for you. If life were all about typing my thoughts down into my laptop then I’d be fine. But life isn’t about that. Life is about taking the bus or the subway even though there’s tons of other people and the people make me nervous. And life is about working for eight hours straight, checking petri dishes for scratches or printing company logos on protective masks. And life is all about dealing with normal people who aren’t actually very normal. Just like this hotel isn’t a normal hotel. It’s rehab.
            So what if I break the fourth wall? I like to artfully break the rules in my writing. And so I do it. I kick that fucker DOWN and it breaks away. I rip the blindfold off your face you reader you. And I write these words and I hope that you see what I see.
            I was in the cappuccino garden a moment ago with my friends Momo and Lenny and Patrick. We were talking about getting tattoos. Patrick has colorful tats all over his arms. A semicolon, eyes, words… Momo doesn’t have any tattoos and neither does Lenny. But Momo writes poetry and Lenny bakes cakes. And I was in the cappuccino garden with them a moment ago and I just had to tell you. Out there where it’s green and sunny and it’s a good day.
            And you? What about you? What do you do?

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