I   S E E   H I M,
E V E R Y W H E R E


BY JUSTIN INCH

- - - -


It didn't start so suddenly. No, it grew, almost carefully, concertedly. A well-kempt vine threading throughout my frontal lobes. I see. You think I am of the flowery prose. Or, worse, poorly mimetic. But. I see him; everywhere. He is not everyone. I know this. But He is in many places. Possibly everywhere.

For instance. Today, on the train. A woman looked up at me, over her glasses and a book I could not identify. I thought, for a moment, it was Him. I panicked, turned wildly away, tried to run, and instead thrust myself into a gaggle of surly morning commuters. With a collective push I was expelled, back near the woman. I realized then how absurd my speculation was. It was a woman. But. Then. He could be that clever, couldn't He? Disembarking, I glance to my left. No, it was not Him. He was the conductor, grinning as He announced the next stop.

The man who sold me hot dogs at the deli this evening. That was definitely Him. Selling hot dogs. Such a perfectly low key activity. The conductor, that was stretching it. Civil Service, the union, all that. But hot dog man at a famous deli, that was easier. Except that on the way out, I noticed that His head had been substituted for all the others on the wall where such photos are placed.

In a local video store, his eyes follow me. I do not think He is there; instead, I am certain, the diligent video store employees have carefully cut out all the eyes on all the posters and replaced them with His, in each case, carefully photocopied, or worse, inscribed by monk-like video store persons on break in the basement, creating illuminated manuscripts consisting only of His eyes.

I try not to think of this as I look at the firemen on my street. I go to sleep, terrified to think that I may need their assistance, and they will charge through my window, shattering glass everywhere, each one of them, Him, over and over. Saving me.





OTHER McSWEENEY'S STORIES
- - - -

I Wish I Had Never Gone Through Puberty by Tara Wray
Suite Crimes Unit Under Fire by Ron Singer
New Titles and Synopses for the Next Five Gor Novels by Bart Locart
It's Monday and We're Desperate: An Exercise in Seeing How Far You Can Get by Simply Knowing Television Executive's Names; A: Not Far (NB: An Overly Long Title Doesn't Help, but Perhaps the Ironic Self-Reflexivity Will) by 'Jim' Slade
Dialouge Fourteen by Kim Granger



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