Excerpt from the Short Story "Necktime"

     "Soon enough you'll be with your ants and magnifying glass, on your knees in the sandbox. Until then you can give something to God, can't you, sixty minutes, something old ladies can do? Let's not have any repeats of last week. Don't make me have to drag you out of church again, with everyone staring from the pews, the whole church, everybody staring. "Not that tie. Look at the pattern! It doesn't match. You missed a loop in your pants, too. Can't you see that tie doesn't match? Look at the pattern. This one. Look at this. This one matches. There, put your belt through the loop. Have faith, wrap your tie, knot it thus."
                                                                                                    ***
     The Harvard. What a name for a restaurant in a town like this. And look at me: Like I'm a scholar at Conway Community College. Twenty-year-old busboy and part-time student, wearing a stupid tie.
     I remember this tie. It's one of dad's, a decade old. He probably wore it when we came here after church. Every week, after church, fish and chips and strawberry shortcake. Drop the knot from the Adam's Apple, breathe a little freer, free of God and neckties. Remember those days? Remember mom? "Have faith, wrap your tie, knot it thus."
     Look at that guy over in the corner. Reminds me of dad. Has that same kicked in the nuts smile, that uncharmed, magicless, no-fucking-nowadays, this is it, the best I can do, fish and chips and strawberry shortcake with the wife and kids expression. I should give him a wink. "I feel for ya, buddy. I'm with ya! Look at me: I'll be cleaning crumbs off your table soon. How's that? That should make you feel better. The little son of a bitch you feed the fish and chips and strawberry shortcake to? He'll have to work here one day, cleaning up your crumbs. Now that's revenge."
     And it is revenge, even if dad's dead. Everything he said proved true...but was it prediction or arranging? "Study hard or you'll end up working in restaurants and gas stations." Well, here I am, unstudied, working at a restaurant, and, best of all, wearing your tie.
     Here comes the manager with his barely visible waitress pleasing mustache. He's the man. He makes the schedule. He is my god.
                                                                                                    ***
     Look at that smug son of a bitch, wiping off the table. You're no better than me. Give it time and you'll see. You're not the first to smirk at a brokenhearted girlfriend, telling yourself, "I'm a walking razor, walking razor." The time between us will disappear, in daydreams, night sweats, reveries, in the million alternate lives you'll masturbate away, while the actual life takes hold, inch by inch, pulling the edges of the curtains around that tiny stage everyone else calls your life. Hell, if you don't live long enough, if you die in car accident or cancer misfortune, your obituary will mention The Harvard. Imagine that, my brave counterpart: This shithole will take you down like gravity.
     Swim faster, young man. Wipe that table clean, every crumb. Clean away the very atmosphere of crumbs, until your presence evokes such sterile grace that you are lifted out of here by some god of customer service. Don't loosen your tie, goddamn it; tighten it. Choke yourself. Choke that snotty ego. Become a people person. Have faith, wrap your tie, knot it thus!

                                                                                                    End.