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No more chances. No more people, trees, music, dogs. No more anything.

But then suddenly I had allies. “I thought you guys would never get here.” Simon and my father, or damn convincing hallucinations, were holding me up and talking about getting me the hell out of that apartment. I hadn’t been allowed outside since my nude sprint around the block.

We were in a car going somewhere. The fuckers didn’t have me yet. My waiting game had paid off. I had allies.

I’d give almost anything for a tape of my ride to the hospital. My father had a lot on his mind, but still, not to have brought along a recorder verges on criminal neglect. My finest rave is lost forever unless you believe in that big cassette in the sky.

I didn’t think my rave was being lost at the time. I didn’t know it was just a normal day with a normal father and a normal friend of his son taking his son who had gone crazy to the sort of place you normally take someone who’s gone crazy.

It was bop talk. Like a ’50s DJ. I wasn’t thinking, it was just all there. Words a mile a minute. No second thoughts. No need or time for them. Music.

Wazzzzzzzzzzzz Wassa what I thought my rave-a-rap a’ doin’. Passwords. Getting through to different teams and getting them to climb aboard. Start a bandwagon. For what to start a bandwagon? For to show those fuckers for to keep life going. I had something that made H-bombs look like ladyfingers. I had rhythm. And ain’t no mother fucker nowhere nohow gonna take it away.

“Hey Giuseppe, how good you think that joker swim with some nice new cement booties?”

“Get the fuck out of the way. The team is coming together, coming through. Anybody I ain’t talkin’ to ain’t gonna get talked to by nobody. Climb aboard or get run the fuck over, Jack. Get with it, Jack, or get off it.”

I had some modest goals. Like letting a few people know I wasn’t dead, that I was still in there somewhere. That I was salvageable. I had some immodest goals, like saving the world.

One thing a tape of my ride to the hospital would show was how I was responding to outside events. It was a dialogue. I’d give some sort of a blues rap and then there’d be some horn or something which was a “yes” or “amen” from all blues freaks. I’d do a Mafia thing and they’d answer a woman’s thing and they’d say yes yes. A video tape would be even better. Flashing neon signs and I had some very good raps. Jackhammers had some very encouraging things to say. And big diesel trucks and fire sirens. Who would be dumb enough to try to mess with me and Mack trucks, sirens, electricity, jackhammers, and traffic lights all on my side?

Hospital. Back at the apartment Simon had asked me if I was ready to go to the hospital. Sure I’m ready to go to the hospital. I’ll go anywhere. Father seems very worried, very nervous. I guess there’s no time to ask questions. Maybe everything will be explained at the hospital.

Remember Lot’s wife. Full speed ahead. This train is bound for glory. Simon’s driving beautifully, the car’s running perfectly. Who’s against us? How can we lose? We’re on our way, great God, we’re on our way.

The shifting is music to my ears and the lights are all turning green. Hold on tight, we’re goin’ to make it. We’re passing everything on the road, and I hear myself rapping, cursing nonstop, hitting every password just right.

And Simon gives a “Wa hoo,” double-clutches down to third, and passes another car. What a ride!

Why are they taking me to a hospital? Why is everything whizzing by faster and faster? Why am I holding my breath? Why do I feel so strange? Whatever is wrong is very strange. This will doubtless be a very strange hospital.

When the car finally came to a stop, the place looked like the Hyannisport Kennedy compound. I complimented Simon on his driving. My father and Simon turned and looked at me somberly.

When they left me, when three guys dressed in white started walking me down that long hall, half holding me up, half holding me down, I understood. I had gone too far. I was putting too much on the line. Simon and my father couldn’t go the whole way with