He was acting his part of the big brother no
different than he always had since Kumpee was continually negligent in
performing the role. There were no specifics to this malaise he felt.
The malaise was brought on by the wistful craving to go beyond the
confines of his containment and yet reality, petty and limited, told
him to use what was there under his feet, in his sight, and what he
could touch. A man in the confines of his life used what was under him.
What being did not use the Earth?
He continued to finger the slit of the vinyl blue upholstery in a
vaginal preoccupation. He wanted to feel beyond the hole of malaise
that was as empty as the hollow whistling of a wind through a cracked
door or that numb sensation of lying alone, the fantasy of his
masturbation eluding him, and his semen flowing on his skin in a last
vestige of a river. Using others was as unconscious as a reflex but the
malaise came into the equation when he saw what he had to use. Why
didn't he have money to wine and dine a female in the mating protocol
like any male black-tipped hang fly? Why did he have to cajole, beg,
or charm an avuncular affection from this remote individual who wasn't
related to them by blood?
He began to stare at the driver and a boy who sat near the front
window in a padded hump that went over the gearshift.
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