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I run to bad beds.
I-I laid down with a man. I laid down with the Devil.
And he has roots in me, all his spindly roots in me, and I can't think nothin' anymore but his voice and his words!
I had planned to make a new life for myself in St. Louis. That was to be my destiny. And now I know I was right.
Only it turns out the saint is not a city, but a handsome man with a most agreeable disposition.
I can take away that sorrow, Louis.
I can give you that death you begged your feeble, blind, degenerate, nonexistent god for.
But I can do it... joyfully.
I-I-I-I lure them in and grab what they got, Lord. I take daughters with no homes and I-I put 'em out on the street, Lord, and I lie to myself, saying I-I'm giving them a roof and food and dollar bills in they pocket, but I look in the mirror,
144 years of life, and you're still Louis the Pimp, paying a whore to sit in a room and talk with you.
'Cause why? You got some story you wanna tell the whole world about yourself?
Emasculation and admiration in equal measure.
I wanted to murder the man, and I wanted to be the man.
I had come there for Lily. But I left thinking of only him.
Every room you enter, every hat you are forced to wear... the stern landlord, the deferential businessman, the loyal son... all these roles you conform to and none of them your true nature.
What rage you must feel as you choke on your sorrow.
You don't need a memoir, Louis.
You need a hundred sessions of EMDR.
You know, the shit they put soldiers through when they see one of their platoon buddies get blown up in front of them?
Guilt, shame, floating-on-a-sea-of-vodka type encounters. Obviously, I've come to embrace my sexuality.
Course, you know that.
We met at a gay bar, didn't we, Daniel?
Do you think God heard you, Louis, in that tawdry box, through this pig vessel, this- this charlatan?
Do you not see how unworthy he is? How can you humiliate yourself like this?!
I send my love to you, and you send it back round to me.
And this circle, this home we barely had a glimpse of... know it frightens me as much as it does you.
The blood, it came as a dull roar at first.
And then a pounding, like the pounding of a drum, growing louder and louder, as if some enormous creature were coming through a dark and alien forest.
I can swap this life of shame, swap it out for a dark gift and a power you can't begin to imagine.
You just have to ask me for it.
You just have to nod your beautiful head and say yes.
So much would be written about that grim night in New Orleans, but not a single mention of our last hour at Latrobe's, as if the only crime unfit to print took place on that dance floor.