And once again, he interrupts his own speech to start talkin bout Spark.

“He turned pro when he was really young. After making enough from the sport to afford his own house while he was still in his early teens, he watched the fat paycheques begin to dry up a few years later. I didn’t really put anything in it that wasn’t already in some issue of Sports Illustrated, or the New Yorker or Rolling Stone, though. He was profiled exhaustively in those mags, back in the day, that is. Well, anyway...”

“Hey, man, so where’s de report?”

I’s funny cuz he was so excited bout it, so eager to bring his’hit in, but dis time he missed his own deadline.

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Can I see?”

“Sure.”

He starts uploading it. Little freak was’posed to have it to me before dis here appointment. What de fuck.

To tell you the truth, I hate writing. I don't trust words at all, see. This probably sounds like some sort of foppery coming from someone who's just invested half an hour of his valuable time filling up pages with scrawl. Well, you know I'm thinking that my life story will be worth a lot some day, so I want to make sure I get it all down. I can see it now, "The story of a small town boy who makes it big in some faraway city".

Dis’eems familiar to me, somehow, like I done read it before.

Words just get you into trouble. If I had a choice I wouldn't use them at all. They are inadequate to the bone. Yeah, that'll be me, alright. As soon as I graduate I'm kickin the dust of this stupid, wasteland of a town off my feet and gettin outta here. Of course, right now no one knows this but me.

De boy is’till fantasizin, like as though’is life is completely different, somehow. He ain going on bout Chicago, though, no more. I dunno whether dis’ progress or not.

You know what though? As much as I hate words, I'm always talking to myself in my head. I mean it. You wouldn't guess it because I usually have very little to say in real life. But, you could pick any moment of the day and I can guarantee you I would have a running commentary going on inside of me about whatever is going on outside of me. People say it's okay to talk to yourself just as long as you don't answer yourself. But, if you ask a question that no one else can answer sooner or later you're the one who's going to have to come up with a response.

He gettin a bit philosophical der.

“So, K Jan, you still thinkin dat you gonna get outta Townsend one day, huh?”

“OK. AHEMMM... Spencer. He's got dis wizard keyboard talent.... AHEM. He been tryin to get a band together... AHEM... for the past three years. But no matter who he gets they never stick it out long enough to get anywhere. He even created these special earphones that sample background noise in yer immediate vicinity and then mix them with whatever it is that yer listening to. He wants to make them so that they can imitate any given pop song, just using surrounding ambient sounds. I was supposed to sing for them a while back but it didn't work out. That's just it. No one ever gets anything accomplished around here. They'd practise and sound really good for a little while and then go their seperate ways. Then they'd get back together and start all over. The deal was that I would buy the vocal equipment, y’know the P.A. an everything, and they'd let me join their band. I could be the next Henry Rollins or somethin. But I wasn't prepared to invest in a band that might be shot over in a matter of days.”

“You know what? I think you’d be a great songwriter. In fact, I’m gonna refer you to another counsellor who does writin workshops. His name is JoseF.”

“You tryin to get rid o’me, eh?”

“No, you keep up yer’egular appointments wid me. I’m jus givin you extra homework.”

He’smilin like he actually likes de sound o’dat. Maybe he jus needs’ome more attention.

“I want you to show all yer writin to JoseF. An he’s gonna give you his opinion. Maybe he can help you to do somethin wid’it some day.”

“Tha’s fuckin cool, man.”

“Glad you like my idea.”

Both fuckin JoseF an K Jan are fuckin handfuls. Be interestin to observe how dey gonna handle one another.

“I’ll want a full report o’course.”

Me’n K Jan jus laugh.