Agitator

I'm gonna drink your beer. I'm gonna eat your fuckin' cheese. I'm gonna rustle my hair in your room so the dandruff gets embedded in your carpet. I'm a sadistic motherfucker like that.

I might unscrew the lid on your pickle jar, watch all those pickles go bad. Do pickles go bad? We're about to find out.

You get your mail from me when you get home. Maybe something happens to it. Maybe it disappears, sure, but maybe something happens to it. Maybe it's got a coating, an odor, a musk. And maybe that check from your office came weeks ago and I can't wait for the day when I can nail it to my wall like a goddamn portrait. Rembrandt ain't got shit on an envelope with your name.

I'm gonna trim your hair. While you sleep. I won't even keep it. It won't even be much. It'll just get a little shorter here, and a little shorter there, and a little shorter here, and a little shorter there, until you're asking yourself, Why do I look like the before picture?

I'll look in your mirror, put on your clothes, pretend I'm you. Is that really so much of a surprise? I'll put on too many clothes even, shirts and sweaters and more shirts and that terrible moldy bathrobe. I'll squeeze into pant, after pant, after pant. I wish I could stretch out your shoes but your feet are so goddamn big. You're like a clown minus everything funny about them, which isn't much, and then some.

I've read your books. I've got your number. I've replayed your laugh more times than I'll ever admit. I know all your secrets and I will take them to my grave. But just because I can keep my mouth shut doesn't mean the rest of me ain't busy.