A./alcoholics'-anonymous, & sometimes n.a./narcotics-anonymous twelve-steps-&-twelve-traditions self-help-recovery-program meetings without somebody else breathing some, or such funk in my face whereas one's breath can, or could possibly become, or be just as much as threatening as a fist, hah-hah, heh-heh, yeah, just that damn bad, …& then I try to stop off at a comic-book-store as I myself am still into comics, yeah I know that being of the question could possibly be asked "what is a grown-up looking at comics for?", & as if I myself am the only one, I mean it is just another means of escapism unless I want to risk relapsing, & then get to escaping in a bottle, or a pipe once again, & I don't want to go into that being of the many times that I myself have relapsed, & that is a damn hell in that being of it's own right, so I can only imagine that being of the damn hell that the local neighborhood community d**g-pusher, or dope-dealer have to be worried about as to if he, or she is. Tomorrow these halls would fill with jubilant laughter. I should have trudged home, showered, gone to bed. But I didn't.I couldn't answer why I did what I did. A leopard or tiger could never explain why he had to prowl, hunt, and kill. I ducked from the dimly lit hallway into the humid blackness of the girl's locker room. The smell of perfumed shampoos mingled with the hot moist scent of recently used showers. I nervously felt along the damp concrete walls, my quivering fingers seeking a light-switch in the darkness, my anxious heart leaping against my ribcage.I blinked as cold, fluorescent light drenched the room. Holding my breath, I eyed the walls, the showers, the lockers -- so familiar to the boy's room, but so deliciously alien. I'd penetrated a Holy Place, where goddesses I dared not speak to would daily congregate while nude. I stood tremblingly upon sacred cement. On tiptoe I slowly crept, fumbling with each of the lockers, striving silently as possible just in case someone.
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