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Chapter 9 The Beginning of Breakdown Number One Page 24&25
I put the two gallon jugs in one hand, opened tack door to the apartment with the other, and locked the handle from the inside with no doubt as to my purpose. I walked through the door and slammed it shut behind me.
I had two days left of my vacation, and I still didn't have a car because I never felt the need for one. It was now approximately 4:30 in the mourning on a Saturday. I walked briskly down 10th to Fremont Street anxiety ridden, higher then a kite, the force of my delusion upon me like gale force winds in a ripe apple orchard. Once I reached Fremont, I felt some relief: it was now a straight shot to the Showboat to quit. The only thing holding me up now was time. I had four hours left to kill before the bank opened, so I could collect my savings. The jugs weren't that heavy.
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