Jesus Fuck Clark Handlebar                                                      Jesus Fuck! What the fuck am I going to do? What the fuck am I going to do? What the fuck am I going to do? (ad nauseum) The insurmountable amount of shame and guilt I feel at this moment. It’s heavy on my head like a giant foot pushing me down speeding up my decent into the quick sand. And the fear came and went in a flash. I was never much for fear (yeah. Fucking tough guy, right?). But this shame. Damn it all to hell! I’ve been standing in the shower now for how long? The fucking water droplets on the clear plastic shower curtain staring at me like a million tiny spider eyes. I shiver. And the fucking rubber ducky fucking shakes his fucking rubber fucking ducky head slowly from side to side. Ashamed of me he is. Well fuck him. Not even a real fucking duck.   30 maybe 40 minutes later and I’m toweling off and what the fuck am I going to do? I take long pulls off the whiskey as I get dressed. Soon I’m on the bus and then I’m walking into the café and she rises to kiss me, smells the liquor and says, “wow. 1230 pm and you’ve started already, huh?” I don’t answer. I sit down. And she knows things aint right. “what’s the matter?” she asks. “why are you drunk at half past noon?” I look up at her, eyes full of dread and shame and love and I answer, “Jesus fuck. Where do I begin?”