I read a really funny short story once...
Where the guy wakes up with something like green rash on his arm.
He freaks out, doesn't know what it is. Goes to the emergency room, doctor says something like: "I've never seen anything like that before" - meanwhile the rash is growing, spreading all over his body.
He starts thinking about his life, his neighbors... how it's all come to this...
Then he realizes he has nothing to lose.
Grabs a gun and starts shooting random people.
All his bitterness, discontent, disgust, sickness... he purges it in paranoia with the blood of strangers.
Anyway, long story short, in the end the police's cornered him somewhere. He's thinking of how he'll use some type of 'Wild Bunch' antic to fend them off, how glorious this rash has made his day... He's just lost his mind completetely. Then all of a sudden, it starts to recede.
and it goes away. he doesn't have a rash anymore.
it's was just some random thing.
The police kills him.
I forgot what it's called, it's a Bukowski though.
He freaks out, doesn't know what it is. Goes to the emergency room, doctor says something like: "I've never seen anything like that before" - meanwhile the rash is growing, spreading all over his body.
He starts thinking about his life, his neighbors... how it's all come to this...
Then he realizes he has nothing to lose.
Grabs a gun and starts shooting random people.
All his bitterness, discontent, disgust, sickness... he purges it in paranoia with the blood of strangers.
Anyway, long story short, in the end the police's cornered him somewhere. He's thinking of how he'll use some type of 'Wild Bunch' antic to fend them off, how glorious this rash has made his day... He's just lost his mind completetely. Then all of a sudden, it starts to recede.
and it goes away. he doesn't have a rash anymore.
it's was just some random thing.
The police kills him.
I forgot what it's called, it's a Bukowski though.
