Chapter 4

My first visit to Alabama, John's bedroom, when he was still alive.

Go, go, go, go, get into climate change now, go, go, go.

Standing in front of John's computer, which sits eye-level, a top-of-large professional

grade sound system, his prolific collections of CDs and unopened furbies on the shelves

behind us, John scrolling through, showing me a manifesto he's read.

Go, go, go.

How many pages is this?

I have no fucking idea.

Go, go, go.

It's 53.

The document is filled with charts, graphs, images of violence and pornography, of West

boro Baptist Church protesters, and of Lady Gaga getting vomited upon by a so-called

vomit artist, as well as paragraph after paragraph, all laying out a Maclamorian unified theory

of economic, environmental, and societal decline.

And oh, at one point as you're showing me this material, John quickly and casually pulls

up this document.

Oh, yeah, I have this on file at all times in case it's necessary.

You never know.

Your suicide note?

We won't go to call it out loud, but you do.

Well, we're looking at it, it's right here.

...