This is it you son of a bitch, your first walk to the ring as a professional cage fighter. I bet Gretchen’s chin is on the floor right now. When my walkout song starts playing, I might pull my hair out. This is why you trained for twenty years. Kids in school thought you were a loser for doing Jiu Jitsu instead of playing football. Yeah, well how does my Louis Vuitton cape look in HD? Listen to that rowdy packed house. They’re not ready for my song. It’s too perfect.

John woke up with a grenade in his hand.

This is how I remember the fateful concatenation of events which led to my present state.

I’d gone to the flower shop to buy some flowers for my mother for her birthday, her birthday having been the day before. And even though her birthday was the day before, I thought she would still enjoy the flowers, anyway.

He was a character, apparently. He wore a cape—not one of those little capes that rich people (usually villains) in old movies wore to the opera. This was full-size, and black as night with a red lining. He had a khaki shirt and trousers underneath, and he wore a pith helmet like he was Livingston I presume, going on a safari.

Bird shit. Bird shit everywhere.

“You said car washes were a rip-off, Dad.”