I attended a Creative Writing seminar at work today (I work at a college, and at the beginning of the school year, we have a Fall Conference to see what different professors are teaching), and I came up with this seedling, this sprout, this germ of an idea. I’ve been kicking around an idea for a project for awhile now, and this seems like a good place to start. It definitely needs work, but it provides a good place from which to start gathering notes.
You’ve got to understand–it was one of those fall evenings where, bored with school, sick from the feed bag of nonsense force-fed us, we sought out something to salve our souls. I think it was Gabe that came up with the idea–you know Gabe, balding now, a paunchy pothead doing nothing with his life, and so dull. . . dull as a rock worn smooth by a river. But then. . . yeah, this was twenty years ago, he was our Whitman, our Hunter S. Thompson. Sharp as a fucking razor, he was, blazing red hair that matched the fire raging in his spirit, his mind. Oh, ye gods, that man was on fire, and we worshipped him. So I think it was him that came up with the idea of stealing Jonah’s mom’s TV and throwing it off the top of the Old Chicago building. . . That started it. . . Our era of destruction, I mean. . . .