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              the air without bending his knees. He started for the door, then realized
              that if anyone saw him running from the house he would be blamed for
              God knows what in the next room. He decided to give whoever came a
              good story for his presence and went to see what happened.

                 When he went into the next room, (with his hands up) Normal Reality
              slipped from his grasp forever. There was the neighbors' dog, pistol in his
             right paw, brains on the couch. A note was lying next to the dog He sat
              cross-legged on the floor to read it:

                        Fuck you all. I can't take it anymore. You know I lean to-
                    ward vegetarianism, yet you feed me Alpo, You know I like to
                    chase the Chicks in the neighborhood, yet you keep me in the
                    garage. You know I dig Ocean City but you don't take me along.
                    All of that I can put up with. But today you do me in; when this
                    guy was reported dead on the noon news, SHE says, "Didn't he
                    play the blues?" And HE says, "Blues Schmooz, that's for niggers
                    and hippies, the goddamn world's gone to the dogs when they cry
                    over something like him!"-Thafs it! I say the world's gone to
                    the Men! Nirvana for me. See you later.

                 Rufus' wife had called the police when she heard the shot. She had become
             hysterical when it got dark and Rufus hadn't showed up. She went over
             when the police arrived.

                 They found Rufus sitting cross-legged on the floor, note in hand, mouth
             wide, staring into infinity. When they walked over to him and asked him
             politely what the situation was, he turned his head slowly to them, handed
             them the note, and put his head back where it had been. He was completely
             catatonic. The police called the hospital. His wife read the note, dropped
             cross-legged directly in front of him, staring into his eyes, mouth wide open,
             also catatonic.

                They took them both to the hospital. They're still there, sitting cross-
             legged, staring at the infinity in each other's eyes, both eternally, blissfully,
             lovingly fixed on each other. It's reported that they make the finest pot-
             holders, (from little rings of multi-colored cloth) in the surrounding three
             states.
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