I don't know what it was. It probably had something to do with something, but I can't be sure - you never know about those things. So I don't know, but I think I might know, but that's not the point. The point is that it happened, and I'm sure it happened, regardless of whether I'm sure about how and why it happened.

The idea of time no longer has any meaning to me. It has dissolved, dissipated, dispersed, dispelled. It was a wet and heavy fog over my mind, but the sun rose and a little breeze blew and now it's gone forever. Of course, what the sun reveals here is quite disturbing, but, still, I suppose it's better to have the fog gone when all's said and done. So that's that; that's what happened: time lost its meaning. Everything that was and everything that is are absolutely equal to me. Everything that will be isn't something I can consider, so it's out of the question, but the past and present have melted together in such a way that it gets sloppy and unclear and even dreams and visions become the precepts and cornerstones of reality. Because reality is all things, you know - not just some things. And when you remove time, you can see that. Time is the Veil of Maya. I have no doubt about that now. And I've removed the veil, or, better yet, it was removed from me whether I like it or not, and now I see things as they are.

I don't like it one bit. But that's not the point.

Oh, hello. I didn't see you there. I'm sure this... well, I'm sure this all looks a little awkward, but I assure you it's not how it seems. Whatever it is that you're thinking, well, that's wrong - it's not like that at all. This here? Well, this here is just really a whole jumbled mess of coincidences and, and... and, well, it's just really a big train crash of chance and coincidence. It's not really what it seems at all, that I promise you. Things fall out of the sky on you sometimes, and sometimes, if you're really unlucky, several things fall down on you all around the same time in around the same place, and that's what's happened here. To continue with the train image - if I may - it's like... well, for some people, it's like they're riding in the rear of the train, in the caboose. They can't really see where they're going or what's waiting for them, and by the time they know that something's happened, well, it's just too late to do anything about it. By the time the guy in the caboose knows the train has wrecked, well, who knows? By that time fifty people, a hundred people, could already be dead, and he's next, and there's nothing he can do to avoid it now - he can't just jump off, you know, because that would mean certain death. So, you know, while it's not exactly like that, it's pretty close, and that's the position I'm in. I'm the guy in the caboose.

These bodies here, you see, with these bodies here - well, it would be real easy to jump to conclusions. That's why I said whatever it is you're thinking, well that's not it. It's not like that, and I meant it. I still mean it. Sometimes everything just ends up all wrong all at the same time all at the same place, and that's just what's happened here, and it's really no man's fault - no single man's fault, anyway. It's kind of like fate, I guess. I'm telling you, I'm the guy in the caboose.

So these bodies, and all the red, well, it would be easy to go thinking that I did this and that I'm the man to blame, but I'll say it again: I'm the guy in the caboose.

I jumped off the Brooklyn tonight. I landed and probably broke something, probably a rib, and I got up and walked away unknown and forgotten and wandered on into Chinatown, into those bright neon gates where the dragon calls me to heaven. I probably broke something, and I wanted to break everything, and I walked on unknown and I couldn't even get a free beer.

Some joker came into the laundry room and took my still-wet clothes from the dryer and put them on the ground, put them on the dirty ground still wet and they got much dirtier than they had been before I washed them and I suppose that this was the feather that broke the camel's back. I went to my room to get a knife to cut something and I did cut something but nothing was enough and so I got up and walked to the Brooklyn Bridge and never before had those headlights been more bright and warm.

They were whites, my whites, my only whites. I have only a few pairs of socks and I try to keep them clean and in good shape because I don't make enough money to go out and buy some new socks every time some fatherless joker, some thoughtless monkey bastard, some dumb godless heroin-oaf who can't count his own fingers and toes barges in and thinks that he's got to throw somebody's laundry that he doesn't even know onto the ground just to get his done right at this very moment. I only had fifteen minutes left but my clothes were still wet, so why would he do that? I can ask "Does God Exist?" "What Is My Purpose?" "Do You Love Me?" but I don't care to ask those questions because they're the easy ones. I want to know why he threw my clothes on the ground.

So I jumped off the Brooklyn and I didn't die and I got up and walked away unknown and forgotten and I couldn't even get a free beer.