The technician wears a Joan of
Arc haircut. She says, “Just do what the machine says.” The machine is a tube
with rotating lights. I’m lying on my back inside it, pants down around my
ankles. Even if I could find a pretty accomplice to escape over the border with
me, the border has probably already been unpinned, repositioned, and pinned
again. The machine says, “Breathe in and hold your breath.” There’s a menacing
buzz, followed by a burst of light, and then the machine says, “Breathe.” I
have the same questions everyone else must have: can funeral expenses be
claimed on taxes? Is this real? How do you say “fellatio” in French?
Howie Good
The Lunatic
Charles Simic