From "Sic Transit" (6)

And so on a trip to the gambling boat — a yeasty, floating oasis known locally as "Shitty Vegas" — as I played the three of spades on the first of May, it came to me that I'd made a Faustian bargain for emotional comfort, and that I would live to regret it. Experience may be its own reward (and punishment), but the fall into the field of Time is humanity in its natural element. Within days it became obvious that change lay in the past, and the present would contain nothing less than stasis.

But perhaps the good thing about blandness is that although sorrow ages one to some degree, malaise renders one ageless.

Last week on the street I met up with C again. He was with a girlfriend. Little kids flying by on bikes seemed to frighten them. He made fun of my clothes again, but this time it was because I was wearing black.

"I'll just keep wearing black," I said, "until something darker comes along."

They didn't seem to understand. The dynamic had obviously shifted. Walking away, I heard him say, "Look at the butts on those hunchbacks, honey."

I had to laugh — I liked him better as a bastard. But it was sad: C and all the horrors he stood for were now part of the dark magic that is the past.