Journal Of Donald Cabrey, December 18th

Picked up a tabloid today. It called me The Watch-guard. [Laughter]. You know, it’s not a bad name.

Jane and I have been arguing a lot recently about my “hobby”. She says I’m not paying enough attention to my work, and that it isn’t safe.

I’m not sure if telling her about the Watch was the best idea, but it feels good. No secrets. Just the truth.

There’s not much work to pay attention to, anyway. Go to a different bar every night, except for Abe’s, which is twice a week. And what safety is there there to worry about when I can break baseball bats with my forehead?

That incident’s a little funny, though. I don’t remember that happening at all. I don’t remember getting hit in the head, or bending the pipes. That was all stuff I read from the news. Every time I try to concentrate on what really happened, it just … slides off. Like water. Off of something.

[Pause]

I wonder if I should change the costume. Jane says I look like, and I quote, “a homeless gangster”, but I kind of like it.

That’s all my thoughts for now, I guess. I’m never sure how to end these. Watch-guard signing off?

[Mild laughter cut halfway as tape stops]

The End

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