Бойцовский клуб

           Andahandslipsbetweenmylegsandgropesforme. 

           "Don’thurthim,"someonesays. 

           Thehandsaroundmyanklesareamillionmilesaway. Picturethemattheendofalong,longroad. Guidedmeditation. 

           Don’tpicturethewindowsillasadullhotknifeslittingopenyourbelly. 

           Don’tpictureateamofmentug-of-warringyourlegsapart. 

           Amillionmilesaway,abah-zillionmilesaway,aroughwarmhandwrapsaroundthebaseofyou andpullsyouback,andsomethingisholdingyoutight,tighter,tighter. 

           Arubberband. 

           You’reinIreland. 

           You’reinfightclub. 

           You’reatwork. 

           You’reanywherebuthere. 

           "Threeminutes!" 

           Somebodyfarfarawayyells, "YouknowthespeechMr.Durden. Don’tfuckwithfightclub." 

           Thewarmhandiscuppedunderyou. Thecoldtipoftheknife. Anarmwrapsaroundyourchest.Therapeuticphysicalcontact.Hugtime. Andtheetherpressesyournoseandmouth,hard.Thennothing,lessthannothing.Oblivion.