Harrisburg (2nd Version)

I sat, slumped, in a Greyhound bus terminal in
Harrisburg, & Stephanie Holt stood
twenty paces to my left; had, suddenly,
materialized there; skin glazed, forehead
protruding, as though she had philosophical
issues with reality... that night back in
Cheltenham, I'd sat in a car outside her
mansion, waiting for the deal to be done
inside I barely knew was there— now,
the mansion reduced to this redneck terminal,
& rednecks too— "It's always the same in
the end, Steph; I give you & your friends
a chance, & you blow it." This parasite needs
a new host, I fumed, like I need some new luggage—

"as if, Adam; as if I had any idea how to handle
you, or us, or what Cheltenham had turned into
by then. You: always special, always different,
always such a fierce disruption against our lives.
Remember I never liked you much anyway.
There's no room for special people where I
come from. What's special is the order of
who gets placed where when, & why. So, as I
followed you out that stupid door, it's with
no special anything. Philosophy? Where I
come from, its this: where you come from is
who you are, whether you like it or not. You
were lower than us, lower, & still are, you little shit
& that luggage you had was pretty cheap, wasn't it?"