If Suthep had come at
that instant, instead of Kumpee, he would have believed in Buddha or
God. As it was, he believed in Glue and its power to imitate the
strange magic of the world that was all around him.
His hallucination took him through the drenching storms of heavy
rains and again to the heavily billboarded world of downtown opulence:
iridescent Isuzu Ascender, its back wheels aired above a city, front
wheels ascending toward the fiery black nothingness of space, ascend,
it says, ascend, as if it, a thing, were the portal to creation, the
why, the reason of it all, ascend; Compaq Computers, don't be left
behind, don't, easy just a don't; large, sprawling cursory sentences of
lumination on these black moliminous rectangles towering above all the
tiny traffic, tiny cars and tinier lives, advertising self-help and
get-rich seminars; a more conventional but gigantic billboard placed
near a skyscraper lit like stage lights on an actress, a gigantic face
of a beautiful Chinese Thai with clean and white Chinese skin that
stayed pimpleless with Johnson and Johnson's Clean and Clear. There
were electric rotating piecemeal signs advertising cellular phones and
internet providers (instantaneous messages not for his patronage).
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