I felt my face moving. Back and forth. Then I heard a clapping sound. Face moving, clapping sound, like I was clapping with my face, and I came out of it chuckling, laughing at how silly it was, clapping with your face, and opened my eyes and looked into bright light, and the guy stopped slapping me.
I never saw his face. I saw nothing but the light. A lamp I guess it was, with a hundred watt bulb or maybe something stronger. Anyway all I saw was light, and the guy, who was somewhere behind the light, right behind it, said, “What’s your name?”
“Jack Wilson.”
That was the name I was registered under at the Holiday Inn. The phony driver’s license in my wallet had it, too.
“What are you doing here?”
“Going blind.”
“You know, I can jam this. 38 up your ass and see how you like it.”
The light was blinding me, all right, but I didn’t have to see to know I didn’t want a. 38 jammed up my ass.
“I’ll ask again,” he said. “What are you doing in Des Moines?”
“Looking for work.”
“What kind?”
“Any kind. Salesman.”
“What are you doing hanging around the Barn?”
“Playing some cards. Banging the lady bartender.”
“It’s time you moved on.”
“Anything you say.”
And he put out the light.
He hit me with it.