"Just get to Oz, get to Oz!" I kept telling myself,
like I was Dorothy, or the Tin fucking Man.
Like going anywhere,
or getting to anywhere had ever settled a single thing.
I'd been going to and getting to places
my whole life,
and it had never settled a goddamn thing.
"Get to Oz, my ass!" I muttered.
"If I ever got to heaven, I'd be telling myself,
'just get to hell, get to hell. The answer's there.'"
I looked around.
For eleven o'clock at night,
the Indian Buffet was packed.
"Fuck it," I mumbled, exhausted.
"Get to sleep! Get to sleep, you fool!"