His mother was into modelling lingerie when he was three or four. It was weird how he used to read them and beat up any kid that wanted to look at the local catalogues. They thought it was great but after about 20years he still couldn't see past that point. It seemed to be evidence to him and it was a page by page account that could have been seen as a testemonial of his mothers bad behaviour. She had pressed herself into the pages. She had made a profile of herself and the doctoring he did of those pages turned into a movie. The movie was going on inside the house like a secret assasination plan making him uncomfortable all the time. People were always suggesting he go for a walk. It was the same people that went on and on about "those days". He had the maps set out of his mothers selfishness under his mattress. It had turned to a flame in his mind. It made him warm, too warm. We lived a few doors down from him. He went to work at one stage and fell off a lader from a long way up and we didn't see him for a while. He came back months later and no one wanted to mess with him or joke with him like we used to. No one said it but it was pretty clear that he was going on a ride in his mind . He could stand at the back of the house for ages like he was waiting for that house to do something, rot or come alive or come at him with legs...
He was in the empty bathtub at the side of the house one day and wouldn't get out of it.
We went to the side of the fence and he kept asking us if we had a light. We asked him if had any money. He didn't.
We didn't know his mother was still in the house until the cops and the firemen came. Can't remember the ambulance because it wasn't the kind of scene when you look for the body because your too busy watching the apprehension. He walked away slowly and looked like he was smiling.
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