Overlook: A Story About Drugs, Disappointment and The American Dream

by Matt McCusker

“No! You fucking let me finish, John. He was trespassing, he was on my property, harassing me through my window, which is technically espionage.” “Espionage?” Whaddaya think, you’re the fuckin’ president or somethin’? Jesus!” John stepped back, holding his arms out like he was on a cross, stunned. “How about we talk about you assaultin’ my son? Huh?” he said pointing. “He assaulted me first!” “He’s a fuckin’ minor, a kid! And you not only assaulted him, you shoved fecal matter, dog fecal matter, into his mouth, which is, at the very least, a Class-1a felony, attackin’ with biohazardous waste. It’s technically terrorism!”

all of my core beliefs, my entire mental essence, was nothing but a hollow construction, a papier-mâché of vapid idealistic conclusions I’d arrived at while really high.

I wondered how many retarded kids had been called to the dark side through television?

“Yeah. I got a gun. A little one. I stole it off a Puerto Rican yesterday. Are they Black or Mexican? Do you know?”