Mid November wind is wailing near my ear as I am walking on
the half empty street, to the next house. It is almost dark,
but not dark enough for me to stop my route yet. There is
still hope that this day might turn out to be successful.
All I need is one customer; just one person to look at what
I am selling. That would be enough. Why won't anyone look at
these marvelous creations I am carrying in my suitcase? This
suitcase makes me look important enough to be invited into a
house and offered some coffee. This suitcase is so elegant I
could fool the whole of Wall Street into thinking I am one
of them, selling numbers to each other. But I don't sell
invisible things like they do; I don't always run around in
a hurry like they do.

I sell knives. I am a door-to-door salesman, and I
sell knives. Now those are not just knives, I've seen knives
before. God you can get knives anywhere, I know that. But
these are the best knives around; I mean they would cut
through anything. I would go into people's homes and I would
show them how my beautiful knives can cut through anything.
Sometimes they have so many things in their house that I can
demonstrate my precious knives on... But I don't do that
anymore. I guess people don't like it when I use their own
things to demonstrate on, even though I think it gave a
personal angle to the whole demonstration thing. The cops
said they would arrest me next time, so I don't do that
anymore.

I walk past the Jenson's house. I always look to see if
anyone is home, but unfortunately their lights always go off
as I pass their house. It's probably just too late and they
go to sleep around this time. I almost got them to buy a set
once. They were my biggest success that week. Old Mrs.
Jenson was so thrilled to see that my knives could cut
through her husband's wooden statues (that he was working on
at the time), that she was going to buy a set. I know she
was. But then Mr. Jenson came home, and he didn't really
like what she did to one of his favorite sculptures, the
little squirrel one. I don't really know myself why she cut
its head off, maybe she doesn't like squirrels or something.
So yeah, he got pretty mad and told me to leave. I find that
it happens a lot more these days, people asking me to leave
in anger. Anger is such a bad thing. I guess they get mad
because they want my knives so bad and can't afford them, or
maybe they just buy their own knives from someone else. I
wish they were a little nicer about it. I was hopping Mrs.
Jenson would be home tonight, but the light went off again.
Maybe tomorrow she'll be around.

The street lights go on and I can hear the sound of the
electricity rustling inside the light poles as I pass them
by. I know it's time to go home; she's waiting for me
again.
"You do know you're not supposed to be walking around this
late, young man", she said in an old angry tone. My mother
never uses her nice tone anymore, I think it's dead; she is
a bitter old woman. I don't think I like her much anymore,
but she's my mother so I shouldn't say that.
"I got caught up in a customer's house; they had a lot of
questions."  I was hopping she'll leave me be, at least this
time.
"Don't lie to me Mathew, you know you weren't in anyone's
house, no one wants to buy your stupid knives. Why do I have
a son like you..."
Thump.
And I didn't hear her anymore. I love doors, doors and rooms
are a great thing. If I could sell doors, I am sure I would
do so much better. Damn it everybody like doors. They are
just too big to carry around.

Her muffled sound invaded my room again. Through the cracks
in the door it crawled in. It drilled little invisible holes
through the wall and found its way in to bother me some
more. I looked through the crack in the floor that was aimed
at my mother's rocking chair. She looked so miserable, all
small and cuddled into a ball. She was covered in a blanket
from her waist down, as usual. As if she was hiding whatever
was underneath it. She was holding on to that blanket as if
it was her most prized possession, like it was part of her
body. Sometimes it looks like it's growing right out of her,
like a long chunk of skin dangling from her abdomen. She was
such a wrinkled old woman too. As if someone stretched her
at least three times her size, and then squished her back to
her size again. She had wrinkles everywhere, even places
where I didn't think wrinkles could appear. When it was dark
at night, and she would sleep with the blanket on the chair,
sometimes I couldn't tell apart the wrinkles of the blanket
and her. They were so well mixed together, cohered into one
pile of wrinkles that moved like an ocean sea weed, slowly
at the sound of her snores.

I turned the light on, and climbed in my bed. I took out
the flash light and the little black book with the chewed
plastic pen. I guess this wasn't such an eventful day, but I
could still write something, I never read it afterwards. So
I can write anything.
'The sales didn't go as I expected today. Actually I sold
none. I didn't sell anything this week again. So far I don't
have much saved; I'll never leave the house in this rate.
Maybe I should advertise. But that costs money too. I want
her gone, I want to take a frying pan and smash it on her
head, Just bash it until it's flat and broken badly. No, No
these are bad thoughts, I shouldn't think that. Don't.
Don't. Don't think that. Fucking diary. I always say things
I shouldn't when I write. I shouldn't. My knives could cut
through her throat like nothing. She'll be out in a second.
The Magic Meat Cutter would chop her head right off, and it
will fall from the chair and bounce on the floor a few times
like a basketball. God don't think that! Oh my God I am a
monster, she's right I am... Night'

I got up as soon as the sun rays hit my face; it was
probably about six in the morning. We don't believe in
watches so I couldn't really tell. My mother says that
watches are the worst thing man ever created. Mrs. Fields,
the neighbor next door, says that mother doesn't like
watches, because when the army came to tell her daddy died,
she tuning his watch. I think she just doesn't like them
because she doesn't like anything anymore. Bitter old bitch.
I rose from my blanket, and looked around my room. It needed
a serious cleaning, there were piles of old clothing on the
floor, mixed in with rotting food I never bothered putting
back in the fridge. There were little clumps of dust
scattered around the gray wooden floor, hiding away the ugly
old wood panels that were slowly disintegrating with old
age. The yellowing wallpaper was pealing at the corners of
the room, bowing towards my bed. Paying me some respect.
Telling me to leave.

This house was too old, this house was falling apart. The
city council asked us twice to move so they can demolish
this house. They said it's not the prettiest thing around
the neighborhood, to say the least. They even offered us
money, so much money that I could have gone to school with
all that money and mother could have gotten a little
apartment. They even said they would help us move everything
to a new place. But she didn't want to. She likes this
house; I think she is planted in here, like a tree that
cannot be dug out because its roots are so deep into the
ground. She is like the fungus in the kitchen cabinets, like
the mold on the old loaf of bread lying on the kitchen
table. She is like the grease stains on the dirty dishes
that haven't been washed in a few years. She is like the
dead fly that's been smashed into the window by dad, and was
still there. She grew old in this house and she wants to
fall apart here, along with it. She likes the decay that
surrounds her. I think she wants me to rot with her too.

I rose slowly into the dim light, and put on my work suit.
My one and only work suit, because I couldn't really buy a
new one. This one was a little old, the sleeves were too
short, and so were the pants. It was a little tight around
the chest too. I had it for a few years now, about eleven.
But I like it. It suits me well, almost as well as any
other. It's not the clothes that make the man, daddy used to
say. But he was an army man, and he wouldn't trade his
uniform for anything. Sometimes he would let me wear his hat
for a few minutes. I felt so proud that I wanted to run
around to every house and show off. I think she sold it
years ago, or maybe she gave it away. She never asked me if
I wanted to keep anything, she just sent it all away. I wish
she left it here to rot along with her, like one big grave.

"I'm going to work. I'll be back sometime tonight." I
screamed as I hurried towards the door. Hopping she wouldn't
hear me, or ignore me at least.
"Oh go on you selfish bastard. Leave me here alone. Maybe
I'll be dead when you'll come back. I know you hope that
every..."
Thump.
And I was out, I made it out. I know she kept going about
how she's going to die before I am back. I know the speech
by heart. She used to give it to my father too before he
left for a battle field. I guess she was wrong on that one;
he died before her, just like he said he would.

There was the bridge, the bridge that was really a tunnel
for me. It was dark. Moist as usual. I could hear the drops
of water hit the pavement. Plop, Plop Plop. One after
another, like someone was crying. The sounds of the tires as
they were passing by made an irritating noise against the
road. Like nails on chalk board, they rubbed against the old
cement bridge, trying to pierce it through and reach me. So
they can pierce me too. I hate cars. I hate the sounds they
make against the road when they squeak like a suffocating
mouse. I reach the end of the tunnel and I can see the
office. Today is report day. I have to go it and fill in my
forms. Pink one goes to Phil, the manager. He wants to
review it himself, and then he files it away. The Yellow one
goes to Candice, the accountant. She calculates how many we
sold. I don't know why we need her, we really don't sell
that many, but I guess Phil likes her. Cause I always walk
in on them being in one funny pose or another, and then Phil
gets mad, and then I have to swear I won't tell Lilith, his
wife. I don't know what I would tell her really, I didn't
see anything. Or that's what Phil says I should say if
anything happens. I'm a little nervous. I didn't sell any
this week. Boy I'm gonna be in trouble.

"So Mathew, How were your sales this week?" asked Candice.
She's always so nice to me while I wait for Phil to OK my
forms. She always sits next to me and plays with my hair,
like she's looking for something in it. I think it's funny.
She chews lots of gum too. She keeps making balloons and
popping them while she talks. I think it's quite the skill,
because I can't do that. She is wearing her short leather
skirt today, with her pink stockings. She looks as though
she was taken out of a Halloween magazine and put on display
right here in the office. Her hair was disorganized and
greasy like a street dog's fur after a storm. The intercom
makes a rustling sound, like an old car engine, chocking
away.
"Send Mathew in Candice. And get me a sandwich will ya? Move
your little ass a bit" Phil screamed in his smoked away
voice. He was gonna die cause he smoked so much, he kept
coughing and coughing all day long. I'm surprised his brains
didn't pop out on the desk in front of which he sits all
day.
"Why hey there Phil. So everything's fine right? Don't
worry, I didn't see anything earlier..."
"Just sit down and shut up Mathew. You know you weren't
bringing anything in for almost a month now..."
"Eh, I know but it's hard right now, people..." I said
defensively.
"People will buy if you sell right, and between us you're
not selling. I wouldn't buy anything from you. Look at you,
you're not a sales man. Now I know I promised your daddy
I'll take care of you but I can't pay you anymore to do
this. You're not getting me any profit."
"I'll do this for free for a bit, really Phil just to cover
your expenses. I'll try hard. I'll start work earlier, if
you want. Or maybe I'll try the other side of the city. I've
never been there, I can try there. I'll try harder..."
"Don't sweat it kid. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do. I
gotta let you go."
"But I filled out the forms and everything..." I felt a
salty little tear trickle down my white check.
"Sorry. Johnny will pick up your kit later this afternoon.
Go home, rest a little".

Thump.
The Office door shut behind me, as I was stumbling towards
the exit. I think Candice was talking to me but I didn't
hear anything anymore, I shut my ears from the inside. I was
walking like a mechanical doll towards the busy street with
its unpleasant smell, and then pacing away from the building
towards the tunnel. I heard my heart beat away. It was as
loud as if gun shots were being shot right near my ears. I
walk slowly, and I hear babies cry, and mothers scream at
them. I feel the warmth of the sun as it's trying to calm me
down and light my darkened heart. But it's useless. It's not
working sun, Fuck you. I saw the tunnel approaching me, and
for once I decided. There was no more doubt in my mind. I
was gonna walk on the bridge, look at the ocean, pick out
the sea-eagles from the while puffy skies above the rippled
water. There was nothing left at home for me, I can't be
there all day. She's gonna make me sit with her, and talk to
her. She's going to remind what a failure I am. Fuck I
tried. I don't know why it didn't work. What was I going to
do? My knives, they are going to take away my knives. What
am I without my knives, I am just a person. I am a salesman.
The sun was reflecting gently from the water, touching it
lightly with a golden stroke. I looked down from the bridge
I was standing on, trying to ignore the horrible fucking
sound of the screeching tires. Shut Up! I can't take this.
The water looks so warm, so inviting. I think I'll go take a
swim. And I dive like dolphin into the water, feeling my
blood rush through my vanes in these brief few seconds of
freedom, these miraculous seconds of nothingness, without a
thought...
Thump.