Бойцовский клуб

           No,Isay,thepaper’snotmine. Itakethepaperbetweentwofingersandjerkitoutofhishand. Theedgemustslicehisthumbbecausehishandfliestohismouth,andhe’ssuckinghard,eyeswideopen. Icrumblethepaperintoaballandtossitintothetrashcannexttomydesk. 

           Maybe,Isay,youshouldn’tbebringingmeeverylittlepieceoftrashyoupickup. 

           Sundaynight,IgotoRemainingMenTogetherandthebasementofTrinityEpiscopalisalmostempty. JustBigBob,andIcomedragginginwitheverymusclebruisedinsideandout,butmyheart’sstillracingandmythoughtsareatornadoinmyhead. Thisisinsomnia. Allnight,yourthoughtsareontheair. 

           Allnightlong,you’rethinking:AmIasleep?HaveIslept? 

           Insulttoinjury,BigBob’sarmscomeoutofhisT-shirtsleevesquiltedwithmuscleandsohardtheyshine. BigBobsmiles,he’ssohappytoseeme. 

           HethoughtIwasdead. 

           Yeah,Isay,metoo. 

           "Well,"BigBobsays,"I’vegotgoodnews." 

           Whereiseverybody? 

           "That’sthegoodnews,"BigBobsays. "Thegroup’sdisbanded. Ionlycomedownheretotellanyguyswhomightshowup." 

           Icollapsewithmyeyesclosedononeoftheplaidthriftstorecouches. 

           "Thegoodnews,"BigBobsays,"isthere’sanewgroup,butthefirstruleaboutthisnewgroupisyouaren’tsupposedtotalkaboutit.