Mad. (pt 2)

The policeman hefted his belt over his belly, which was rather obvious, and kicked out his leg to sit down. He, of course had a handlebar mustache. Ray laughed.
“Your face sure do got a lot of fuzz.” he said, in a mock western accent.
Fuzz, Cops, Policeman, Policewoman, Woman, Girl, Girly, Feminine, Femine, Femm, Feet, Fit, File

The cop said nothing. He had a folder in his hand. Ray knew what was in the folder. His “file” of course.
Ray never liked files. He never liked organization. He had never liked cleanliness, tidiness. He had never liked the way people wanted things to be clean, to be pristine.

The white of this room was killing him. The cleanliness. The simplicity.
The way the mirror didn’t have any scratches on it. At all.

They’re doing this on purpose. They did this because the new it would get under my skin. The white. The….There’s no mess. It’s all so…
“Perfect.” Ray said aloud.
“What was that?” The Policeman half-said-half-exhaled.

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