NervousMan Eats a Porkchop Sandwich

NervousMan arrived back from the store just as the sun was setting. He closed the door quietly behind him, turned on the light, and made his way to the kitchen.

"I am lonely," thought NervousMan.

On the way back from the store, NervousMan remembered, he had passed the park again. And in the park, a man was standing on a box and speaking to some of the people there very loudly.

"Repent!" the man's voice boomed out above the heads of the bewildered park-goers. "You people need to pay attention to what is happening in the world! Jesus is coming back and God is going to judge us all for our sins and our iniquities! Repent! Don't you see the signs around you? America is full of vile and filthy iniquities that only the blood of Jesus can cleanse! America will be judged by God! Look around you! The value of the dollar is falling! Pretty soon it will not even be worth the amount of the paper it is printed on! Repent! For it says...."

The man then quoted a bible verse. Matthew something verse something, NervousMan remembered. But NervousMan could not remember what it was. The man was too far away from NervousMan at that point, his loud voice becoming unintelligible in the distance.

The man on the box made NervousMan nervous. So loud and frightening. The God he spoke of was not the God as it was talked about in the book he got from the library. That God didn't judge. It just forgave. And loved.

"God is love," thought NervousMan. Someone said that once. But he could not remember who. Maybe no one knew who said that really, he thought again. Maybe it was just an idea a lot of people thought about.

NervousMan gently sat his bag of things down on the counter top and started pulling out items.

Here was a can of chili. NervousMan remembered that he had bought it for one dollar and twenty-nine cents. Here was a half gallon of milk. That had been one dollar and forty-nine cents.

Sometimes, NervousMan knew, people running for political office would be asked how much a half-gallon of milk was. NervousMan knew. But the prospect of him running for political office was unlikely. NervousMan was too nervous to do anything like that.

NervousMan pulled out something in white butcher paper, a small package. This was NervousMan's pork chop. He opened the butcher's paper gently and looked at it for a few moments.

Then, NervousMan put the milk away.

"Perhaps later, I will take a nap," thought NervousMan. But it was already so late. Too late to take a nap. Perhaps turning in early would be a good idea. There was not much to do tonight.

Actually, there was not much to do any night.

NervousMan took a small sauce pan from his cupboard and even though it had been cleaned, NervousMan washed it again. It didn't matter that the saucepan would be a little wet. The heat from the stove would quickly evaporate any water on it quickly enough. NervousMan wasn't sure about how clean his dishtowel was.

NervousMan put the saucepan on the stove. But not before wiping off the burner with a sponge. Perhaps NervousMan should wash the sponge, he thought. But what would he wash it with? Another sponge? What if that sponge were dirty too?

NervousMan sighed, and switched the water off.

Turning up the heat, NervousMan pulled out from the bag a small tub of Country Crock margarine and sat it down. Then, he got a spoon from the utensil drawer and turned on the hot water, running it underneath.

"I should have washed my hands," thought NervousMan. "But if I washed my hands I would have to set the spoon down, and then I would have to wash the spoon again. And if I touch the unwashed spoon, then I will have to wash my hands once more".

NervousMan frowned.

Maybe it didn't matter, he thought, all of this washing of everything. Maybe it was good to get a few germs inside of him. It would keep his system on its toes, fighting some things off. Practice, NervousMan thought. That way, he would be more ready in case some really big germs came along someday.

But how would NervousMan know when too many germs were enough for him? Would he get sick? Very sick? Who would take care of him if he got sick?

Perhaps NervousMan could call 9-1-1 if he had to. If he got very sick. But this might make his neighbor below him mad. He would laugh at NervousMan as the ambulance took him away.

NervousMan decided to ignore the thoughts to 'wash' everything and anything. Things were clean enough, he thought to himself.

"No more washing", NervousMan thought.

NervousMan opened the lid of the Country Crock margarine. The lid was still cool to the touch having just come from the supermarket's refrigerator. There was some slight moisture on the outside.

Inside the tub, the top of the margarine itself looked as smooth as yellow sand dunes as viewed from a helicopter. Like some machine somewhere had glooped out liquified margarine and filled it up and somehow made these little waves of margarine that were so nice to look at.

In the middle of the waves, was a little curly-que that was pleasant and cute to look at.

Like ice cream coming out of a big nozzle, thought NervousMan. GLOOP!

NervousMan sank the spoon into the design of the margarine and scooped out half a spoonful and put it into the saucepan and it sizzled loudly. NervousMan turned the heat down.

"My head hurts," thought NervousMan and sighed again.

For a moment, NervousMan watched the smooth margarine melt and sizzle in the pan. Grasping it by the handle, and holding it up, NervousMan moved the liquid around until it coated the bottom.

Setting it down again on the burner, NervousMan sighed. Then, he reached for his porkchop.

"I shouldn't wash the porkchop," NervousMan thought. He blinked.

Enough washing, he thought again.

NervousMan put the porkchop into the sizzling margarine in the saucepan and let it cook as he then covered it with the saucepan's cover.

"I am tired," thought NervousMan. The porkchop would give him energy. But, what would he do with the energy? It seemed wrong to just eat and not do anything. Perhaps he could use the calories to think about things.

"Perhaps I should clean the bathroom," thought NervousMan.

No, enough washing, he thought again.

NervousMan turned on the hot water in the sink and ran his hands under the stream. He thought to himself that perhaps he was God, who was asleep, dreaming of running his hands under water which he was also dreaming of.

NervousMan smiled at such a silly notion. And then he reached for the soap.

No, thought NervousMan. No more washing. "I am not washing," he thought. "Just rinsing. That is the difference". NervousMan enjoyed the rich sensation of the water running over his hands.


Later, NervousMan sat on his bed eating his dinner on paper plates. He had made some sweet peas too which he warmed up for one minute in the microwave. NervousMan liked peas.

Paper plates did not need to be washed, thought NervousMan. You could just throw them away. No need to keep them.

What about the environment, thought NervousMan. Were paper plates good for it? But then, how good was using water to wash plates too? And soap? How good was that for the environment? The soapy water had to go somewhere. And eventually, even a real plate would have to be thrown away too. How good was that?

NervousMan cut the meat of the porkchop away from the bone and put it, plain, between two slices of multi-grain wheat bread he had also bought at the store. NervousMan loved the little meal he had made for himself. For a moment, his heart felt full of love. For everything. NervousMan smiled.

NervousMan took another bite of his sandwich.

"Perhaps I am God," said NervousMan to himself, quietly, so his mean neighbor would not hear. And he chuckled. "But this all depends on how one THINKS of God. You know? I mean... what is God anyway? I could say that I am God but, only in the sense everyone else is too. Maybe that's how it is. Maybe we all are. Just us. Every living thing".

NervousMan listened to a lone cricket singing somewhere in the night outside his window. He blinked and smiled slightly and thought about these ideas more as he stared at his wall, alone in his room, eating his porkchop sandwich.

NervousMan Walks and Thinks about Dreams

The next day, NervousMan walked along the city street to the bus stop looking down, frowning, and thinking about his thoughts.

For a few lost moments, NervousMan watched the sidewalk move evenly under his feet. Then, over and over, he had an image of himself walking along the sidewalk staring wide-eyed at the ground, and he imagined that he looked peculiar to those around him.

At this point, he would come to, and would look up at the people passing by around him.

Sometimes, people would look at NervousMan and NervousMan would wonder what they were thinking.

Othertimes NervousMan would just look at other people.

He wondered if the people around him had dreams too, and if those dreams were like his.

NervousMan had been reading his book from the library and it talked about dreams.

In fact, it seemed to be saying, amongst many other things, that life itself was just a dream.

This notion seemed to remind NervousMan about a dreamy song about a boat he once heard in his childhood, but he could not remember what it was.

"Life is but a dream", thought NervousMan.

Life is but a dream.

NervousMan's frown softened slightly and he turned a corner. Crossing the street, coming toward him, he saw a young Asian couple, each not older than 25, striding toward him.

"In love," NervousMan thought, and then NervousMan froze, not wanting to run into them as they passed by, smiling to each other and not noticing NervousMan at all.

From behind him, NervousMan heard the couple giggle to themselves.

Above NervousMan's head he watched a large yellow and black butterfly fluttering wildly to stay afloat.

NervousMan's eyes widened, and without thinking, he smiled.

The pretty butterfly flitted over NervousMan's head, dipping slightly over him, and then disappeared into some tree branches way up above his head.

NervousMan glanced over and saw a man watching him from a car that was waiting for the light to change. The man smiled at NervousMan. He must have been watching NervousMan look at the butterfly. After a moment, the light changed and the man, still smiling, drove on.

Lately, NervousMan had been noticing many people walking hand in hand and smiling happily, glad to be together with each other. Perhaps, they were glad to be alive.

More and more, it seemed, NervousMan had been noticing... pleasant things.

NervousMan wondered if perhaps he was feeling better, in general, because he felt happy for the happy people, instead of being left out of their happiness. Maybe things were like the book said, that everything he saw around him was his own dream. A 'projection' of himself, in a dream.

If NervousMan felt less nervous, then he noticed pleasant things. Or perhaps it was his noticing pleasant things that made NervousMan less nervous.

But maybe it was both... like a circle. One thing causing the other.

Hmmmm. Maybe there was something dream-like to it. Maybe NervousMan was walking around in a dream, really.

If that were true, then everything around him, including the happy couples, and Ned and Jenny and well, even the mean neighbor, and the man in the car, ALL of them WERE part of NervousMan, and NervousMan was part of them. It was all the same dream.

Meanness, nervousness, niceness, pleasantness, even nastiness... they were all part of the dream too. Just in the way that the dragon, which NervousMan was hiding from in his dream the other night, that was part of NervousMan's dream.

A dream within a dream.

Cars honked around NervousMan and from blocks away he could hear the sound of construction going on. A truck roared past him on the city street and NervousMan could smell the exhaust and it burned his sinuses. NervousMan looked up and saw a huge crane above his head that was colored yellow. Part of the crane, a very long part, jutted off-balance out into the pale blue sky, several stories high.

NervousMan frowned and wondered why it did not fall over.

NervousMan walked on thinking back again to his dream from the other night.

How, NervousMan thought, could part of a dream, like the dragon, hide from another part of the dream, which was him him, in the dream? How could that be? Why didn't the dragon just "know" where NervousMan was, in the dream, if he and the dragon were coming from the same mind?

How could one part of the mind, fear another part of the mind?

And if all this were a dream, thought NervousMan, looking around at the people passing him left and right, the buildings, the cars, the trucks, the sidewalk... how could anything hide from anything else?

How could it be that this ... 'dream' ... didn't just 'know' everything else in the dream that he saw around him?

Perhaps, that was the level called 'God', thought NervousMan. The part of the dream that dreamt the dream, and that knew everything in it.

Maybe... 'God' was dreaming. Dreaming... all this.

NervousMan walked on watching cars pass him on the street. At any moment, thought NervousMan, any of the cars, for all he knew, could come up over the curb and squash NervousMan flat.

NervousMan frowned.

"Someday", thought NervousMan, "I will die". That is a truth.

NervousMan stopped walking.

"When that happens, will I just... go to sleep? Or will I wake up?"

Was NervousMan the God of his own dream??

NervousMan stood in the middle of the sidewalk, thinking and looking down at the ground and rubbing his chin lightly, his eyes very far away.


People passed NervousMan on the street, some glancing very briefly at him, a bit nervously, as they passed on... lost in their own worlds as they chatted on their cellphones and listened to their iPods or thought their own thoughts.

NervousMan looked up, and watched them pass by.

And after a moment or two, he walked on too.

NervousMan, in the Theater

NervousMan found himself in a dark theater of vast size.

NervousMan could feel the soft lush material of the seat pressing against his back through his clothing and his hands gripped the solid armrests of the seat he was in.

The light of the screen streamed forth from the projecter in white dancing beams that pierced the darkness of the theater.

NervousMan realized that he was looking at his own face, as if he were a floating: an unseen observer in the theater observing himself observing the screen.

He was both! The person looking at the screen, and the person looking at the person looking at the screen.

How could this be, thought NervousMan?

And then NervousMan remembered that he was still dreaming.

NervousMan's point of view changed again in the dream and now he saw things as if he were in the projection booth.

Now, he was observing two 'NervousMan's', the one seated and watching the screen and another floating about the theater and observing the first NervousMan watching the movie on the screen.

From his vantage point in the projection booth, NervousMan looked up at the screen in the theater.

The film onscreen showed NervousMan in the projection booth watching the other two NervousMan's in the theater, as if the camera were just over the projection-booth NervousMan's shoulder and was then projecting what it saw onto the screen.

NervousMan, in the projection booth, watched the projection-booth NervousMan on the screen of the theater. NervousMan waved his arm and the NervousMan onscreen waved back.

NervousMan blinked and the shot onscreen changed. NervousMan saw his own face, in close up on the huge screen. He looked up and the screen-NervousMan regarded the projection booth NervousMan as if looking into an enormous projected mirror.

"What if I were in the theater?" thought NervousMan. And suddenly, he was. Feeling the seat against his back, and the hard armrests under his arms, looking up at the scene onscreen.

"What if I were floating and watching myself?" thought NervousMan. And suddenly, he was. Floating just inches away from his seated self which looked at the screen as if swimming underwater in a medium he could breathe.

NervousMan floated up, up, up toward the ceiling of the theater his arms waving about in the darkness, his body glided through the light of the projecter.

NervousMan could see his tiny self way below him, the only one in the theater, a tiny figure seated there watching the screen.

NervousMan smiled. NervousMan was up very high.

"What if I fell?" NervousMan thought suddenly.

And then NervousMan woke up.

NervousMan Dreams Dreamy Dreams in the Dark Darkness

Shoulders slumped, and feeling dejected, NervousMan walked back into the darkness of his apartment and sullenly reached behind the blind and closed the glass partition of his window with a soft 'THUMP'.

"I must learn to be more quiet," thought NervousMan.

Being quiet was good. NervousMan enjoyed quiet anyway, because noise made NervousMan nervous. To sit and to be still and to be away from noise and dust and the mean people outside, these things were all good, thought NervousMan.

Very softly, outside his closed window NervousMan could hear the sound of a siren off in the distance.

Perhaps, thought NervousMan, someone somewhere was having an emergency.

Yes, of course, thought NervousMan. Why else would there be a siren if someone, somewhere wasn't in trouble for some reason?

But NervousMan didn't know what these things were. He was glad that, at least for now, he could be quiet and not be in trouble. The way he had got into trouble with the mean neighbor.

NervousMan listened carefully. Outside the window, from somewhere down below, he could hear the mean neighbor talking to someone else. NervousMan thought he heard the words '...shifty-eyed little freak'...' being said.

NervousMan frowned and felt sad.

NervousMan walked around his dark place, quietly, thinking to himself.

Walking past the mirror in the hallway, NervousMan could barely make out the reflection of his own shape.

In a way it was nice, in the dark. Because NervousMan could not see himself, or much of anything else.

NervousMan didn't like to be in the dark all the time, just like NervousMan didn't like to be in the light all the time. Sometimes the light, or the dark, was pleasant, but if the light or the dark continued for too long, it made NervousMan nervous.

Too much of anything made NervousMan nervous.

NervousMan paced a little bit more in the still darkness of his apartment, thinking about his thoughts, and then decided that perhaps he should take a nap.

Even though it was the middle of the day, NervousMan felt tired from being so nervous. Dealing with the mean neighbor had worn him out.

And so NervousMan took off his robe, and got into bed in the dark and pulled the covers up to his chin. He stared off into the silence of his room and after a while he began to dream.

In the dream, NervousMan was still in his apartment but the apartment was much bigger and had many many rooms. The ceiling was very high up almost out of sight, NervousMan saw.

NervousMan had a sense that there were mean people outside of his apartment who were looking for him. If they found him, NervousMan knew, they would be very mean to him indeed.

NervousMan ran from room to room, trying to find a place to hide before the mean people came.

Somewhere in the dream-apartment of many many rooms, NervousMan heard a roar of a great monster. It sounded very very scary and loud and NervousMan was scared and frozen with great fright.

NervousMan peered down a dark hallway in the apartment of his dreams and saw the long scaly green tail of a green dragon disappear into one of the rooms.

The dragon was looking for NervousMan!

"Quickly! quickly! I must find a place to run and hide from this dragon or it will find and eat me!" NervousMan thought.

NervousMan looked down and saw that he was carrying the book 'Your Immortal Reality', which he got from the library, in his hand.

NervousMan blinked.

And then something strange happened.

NervousMan realized that he was dreaming a dream. After all, this was not his apartment. His apartment was only one bedroom and this was many. And there was no such thing as a dragon even though he had just seen one walk into one of the other rooms of his place.

NervousMan looked at the wall in front of him and reached out to touch it.

It seemed solid and it looked real. There was nothing else here to be seen. Then, NervousMan looked at the floor. He noticed the threads in the carpet and he bent down to feel the texture of them with his hand. How real it was. And yet, how could it be if he was dreaming.

NervousMan looked at his hand and it seemed to pulsate and warp in front of his eyes.

Now, he KNEW that what he was seeing was not really real. How could such things be if they were real? NervousMan had to be dreaming.

From far off in the apartment of many rooms, NervousMan heard the howl of the dragon bellow and bray. He imagined the cruel visage of the beast as it turned down a nearby hallway.

NervousMan must run! But to where?

NervousMan was nervous.

When NervousMan stood up he saw graffiti writing on the white wall in front of him.

The words spelled out a phrase that NervousMan had heard somewhere before.

"One Bad Apple Spoils the Whole Damn Bunch"

He was sure that was what it said, but as NervousMan took a second look at the words, they seemed to shimmer and change. NervousMan reached out to the words on the wall.

And then... before NervousMan knew it... everything changed.

NervousMan Eats an Apple

NervousMan realized he needed to go to the store and get more items. So many things to do! Go to the store, see Mr. Deedle, cash his check.

NervousMan needed a planner to plan his day.

But where would he write down his plan to get a planner if he didn't have a planner to write it down in?

NervousMan felt nervous.

NervousMan was too nervous to sleep. And NervousMan was hungry. So NervousMan got up from the bed and walked carefully to the kitchen.

"Carefully! Carefully!" NervousMan thought. "So as not to trip on anything I nervously left on the floor!"

Opening the refrigerator NervousMan saw that all he had left inside that he could eat immediately was a half jar of mayonnaise and a red Roman apple. There were other things inside too, but they would require cooking up. And NervousMan was too nervous to do that! He might nervously leave the burner on the stove burning! And then his face would burn up and the fire trucks would come and people would beat NervousMan up!

"I will eat the apple!" thought NervousMan. "That will make me less nervous!"

NervousMan felt the cool skin of the apple in his hand as he shut the refrigerator door carefully and then walked cautiously back to his bed.

"Carefully! Carefully!" thought NervousMan as he made little gasping noises of distress with each step."Or I will trip and fall and hurt myself terribly!"

NervousMan was nervous.

And so NervousMan took his apple and sat on the bed and took a big bite out of it savoring its cool sweetness.

"Mmmmm yummy yummy apple!" said NervousMan aloud his mouth full of apple. "This is mine. This is my apple. My little... red... apple-ly apple". NervousMan smiled and took another bite. "Yummy yummy! Eating the apple!" NervousMan ate more and more and more.

After the apple was nothing more than just a core, NervousMan felt tired and too un-nervous to get up and put it in the garbage. So, NervousMan put the core on his nightstand.

"I will put the apple-ly apple core in the garbage-y garbage laterly later!" NervousMan said to his empty apartment, and chuckled.

"Now I will take a nappy nap!" he said.

Somehow, talking in this silly way made NervousMan less nervous. But what was the harm? There was no one around to make fun of NervousMan for doing so. NervousMan was too nervous to have people in his apartment anyway. He could be silly and do anything he wanted to.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door.

"Oh no!" thought NervousMan, suddenly very nervous. "What will I do! I am naked and someone is at the door!"

The knocking happened again, this time more insistent. Someone wanted NervousMan to open the door right away!

"Uhm.... who is it??" said NervousMan, nervously.

From the other side of the door came a mean male voice. "Your downstairs neighbor!" it said.

"Oh no!" thought NervousMan. "What in the world could they want?"

While NervousMan slipped on his bathrobe, the knocking came again.

"I'm... I'm coming!" said NervousMan. "I mean-- I'll be right there!"

"Hurry up, I don't have all day" said the voice.

The neighbor sounded like he must be mean and angry thought NervousMan. But what could NervousMan do? He had to open the door. And he better do it quickly! He didn't even have time to get properly dressed.

NervousMan unlocked his door with a click and then opened it slightly.

"Y-yes?" said NervousMan.

"Yeah. I'm your downstairs neighbor," said the man.

The man looked to be in his 40's and was unshaved. He was wearing dirty jeans and a tshirt that was sleeveless and a bit too small for him. A beer gut poked out from underneath the bottom edge of the tshirt.

"What are you doing?" said the man pointedly. He looked right at NervousMan.

"Uh... what?" said NervousMan.

"You heard me. What are you doing?"

"I uh, I'm taking a nap".

"You're, uh, you're taking a nap," said the man mockingly.

NervousMan felt nervous. Was the man going to beat him up?

"We're sitting outside and you know that even though your blind is drawn, you've got your window open and we can hear everything you're saying down there?"

"OH NO!" Thought NervousMan. Suddenly he was mortified.

NervousMan looked away from the man, his face distressed and anxious and flushed with shame. Then NervousMan looked at the ground.

"Uh... I... I was... uh..." NervousMan said.

"Yeah, you're 'uh... ahhh... uh' alright. Listen you little freak. I don't like the looks of you! Standing there with your eyes darting around in your dirty bathrobe. Talking out your window about being naked and eating 'appley apples' and whatnot. What have you got going on in there?"

The man narrowed his eyes and looked over NervousMan's shoulder into the darkness of NervousMan's apartment.

Unconsciously, NervousMan moved the door a little bit more toward being closed.

"Probably doing some sort of weird sick nasty things in there," said the neighbor, grimacing disgustedly. "Don't let me hear you in here going through your pre-versions you twisted little freak!".

"Oh uh... I was just probably having a dream or something" NervousMan said and looked at his feet.

"Having a dream. Yeah, I'll bet. Sleeping in the middle of the day. When other good and decent hard-working people are at work trying to feed their families. Either way, I don't like the looks of you. So you'd better watch it!"

NervousMan was very nervous!

"Oh--okay. I'll be more careful," said NervousMan.

Maybe if he were nice, the mean man would go away!

"I'm sorry," said NervousMan.

"All right. That's more like it," said the man and walked away shaking his head in disbelief, but not before giving NervousMan a studious and supicious glare.

NervousMan closed the door and gulped.

NervousMan was nervous.

NervousMan Gets Naked

NervousMan walked quickly down the hall to his small studio apartment, feet padding over the tiles faster and faster as he neared the door.

"Quickly! Quickly!" NervousMan thought! "Or else someone might see me and my frightful nervousness!"

NervousMan's face grimaced in a harried mask of distress and terror.

NervousMan dropped the book on the ground and with trembling fingers fishing the keys out of his pocket.

He thought of movies where the heroine is pursued by some sort of menacing shape, getting closer and closer and closer until the last minute when...

NervousMan turned the key and bending down to get his book, he pushed his bulk to open the heavy door and rushed inside, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh! Not so loud! Someone might be disturbed! They might complain about me!" he thought to himself. "Then, I will get thrown out of my apartment, and I will be homeless myself! No one will give me potato chips and I'll starve!"

Sweat was already starting to cool on his forehead and his chest heaved mightily. He could feel waves of heat pour off of him.

"So hot!" thought NervousMan.

The hallway inside was dark and cool and quiet. NervousMan started to relax. Just a bit. He was safe. Apparently.

NervousMan ran a shaking hand over his face and breathed deeply.

"Must... breathe... must breathe..." he thought. But I am breathing. I am breathing. He thought to himself.

NervousMan let the book drop to the floor and his shoulders slumped. He took a few steps into his darkened apartment and then looked over to the light switch.

NervousMan took off his shirt. He was very warm. Then he took of his shoes, then his pants. Then walking into the bathroom, he sat down on the closed toilet and and took off his socks.

"I made it... I made it..." NervousMan said to the walls around him.

NervousMan took off his underwear, then got up and walked over to the shower and slid the sliding door back on its tracks so he could get in. The door hit the wall with a THUD.

NervousMan grimaced. He hoped his neighbors didn't complain about him. Maybe someone heard.

NervousMan felt ashamed. Naked and ashamed.

NervousMan got in the shower and turned on the water and forgetting it came out cold, NervousMan jumped. "Oh! I must be careful! I might slip in here!" he thought.

Fear cluched NervousMan's guts like a giant freezing scaly claw.

After a moment, he stepped into the stream cautiously and the water flowed over his naked body and slowly got warmer and warmer until it was fully hot. NervousMan reached over to the knob tentatively and turned the temperature down. The water might scald him!

If it did, he might slip and his leg might break, the bone sticking out of his thigh, he would have to lie helpless in the shower, screaming piteously for help from someone passing by outside.

"Help me! Help me!" he would scream.

They would have to call an ambulance, thought NervousMan, and then they would have to break down the door and the paramedics would see him naked! And for weeks, he would have to walk around with huge blisters all over his body and in a cast. People would laugh at him and call him 'that idiot who slipped in his own shower'.

NervousMan was tired.

Pushing the thoughts of getting scalded by hot water from his mind, NervousMan lathered himself up and washed himself everywhere. His chest, his hair, behind his ears, especially his ears, his face, his stomach... and... down there. All the while being very careful not to slip and fall. NervousMan eyed the handle of the door in case he felt his legs going and he would have to reach out and grab it suddenly.

"This will get me clean. Real clean." thought NervousMan. "I have to go see Mr. Deedle, my Chinese Stepfather, about more money".

NervousMan scrubbed his legs furiously.

After rinsing off NervousMan got out of the shower, stepping onto his lime green bathroom carpet, and dried himself off with his big yellow towel.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he saw himself for a moment in the hallway mirror.

NervousMan walked up to his reflection and looked at his own eyes, examining his pupils. Then, he looked at his own nostrils. Something NervousMan just couldn't do without a mirror.

"I'm naked now. Yes. I'm naked. Yes. I'm naked now". NervousMan said to himself.

NervousMan walked in the living room, passing the picture of his late mother. NervousMan blushed and carefully turned the picture to the wall.

"Good", NervousMan thought, "the blinds are drawn". If they weren't someone might look into NervousMan's window and see him naked and then call the police on him. He would get sued by the person, and then led out under a police blanket completely naked. There would be photographers from the media and he would be on the evening news and called a pervert for all to see!

NervousMan sat on his unmade bed.

"I'm naked now" he said one last time to the dark walls around him.

Looking over to the drawn blinds, NervousMan thought of the poor homeless man somewhere eating his bag of potato chips.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." said NervousMan softly to the blinds.

Then he laid back on his bed, shaking so badly he feared that he might fall off and hurt himself.

"I'm sorry" he said once more, barely above a whisper.

NervousMan Tries to Decide Which Way to Go

Things seem to be included in his memory. Like days of sunshine and deep green grass and trees, somewhere far off and away.

"Somewhere," NervousMan thought as he walked away from the park. "Sometime," he thought dreamily.

Like maybe a few minutes ago, he thought.

"Where? Where?" someone said next to him and NervousMan glanced at them. They were talking on a cellphone.

NervousMan walked away from the park, secretly wondering if he shouldn't have stayed a bit longer. The Immortal Reality book was tucked under his arm and he felt its presence there against his side, like a companion.

NervousMan munched chips from the bag in his hands, his eyes focused on some distant place a thousand miles away, somewhere up in the distance, where the sidewalk turns into the street. He was vaguely aware of perhaps not looking so great, someone dressed a bit shabbily walking down a city street, munching on a bag of chips, staring off into space.

NervousMan saw that he happened to be walking past the 59 Club restaurant again. He looked through the plate glass window of the place and saw the mean waiter serving a couple of people at the counter. All three were looking at the menu and the mean waiter was explaining something to them.

The mean waiter glanced up briefly, as if sensing NervousMan staring at him. Ever so imperceptibly, the mean waiter's eyebrows raised, and his head tilted very slightly, as if looking down and up the length of NervousMan. The look lasted only a moment and then the mean waiter turned back to the couple he was talking to.

The word 'critical' flashed through NervousMan's mind. And he frowned.

NervousMan felt strange. NervousMan remembered that he had to cash the check he got from them as a prize. Perhaps tomorrow, NervousMan thought. The thought of going into the bank today made NervousMan nervous. Especially today with so much going on.

NervousMan walked on. After a minute, he saw a man who was sitting on the ground. It was the man he had seen before sitting asleep in the sun in front of the cafe. The man who didn't have anywhere else to sleep.

As NervousMan approached, the man looked up and said to him "Sir, this is really embarassing, but do you have any change you could spare? I'm real hungry," said the man.

NervousMan looked at the man's face looking up at him. His face was half covered by a bushy white beard and his eyes seemed old and sad.

"I don't--," NervousMan began. "Uh... here you can have these chips. I've had enough". NervousMan smiled slightly.

The man's face brightened as if the sun above had come out from behind a cloud and illuminated it.

"Ooooh, God bless you sir, God bless you," the man on the ground said as NervousMan handed him the chips.

NervousMan walked on.

Maybe, thought NervousMan, he could do more. Maybe he could help out people like the man who had nowhere to sleep. Or help carry boxes on Saturdays. What did that woman Jenny say? Between 3 and 4pm. Maybe, thought NervousMan. But I don't want to get nervous.

NervousMan wasn't used to dealing with people. NervousMan was used to being alone. Living in the building that his Chinese stepfather owned was his own private space. Other people made NervousMan nervous.

NervousMan stopped on the sidewalk to think for a moment. Should he go back home, or should he go to the bank? Or back to the park?

NervousMan started to walk to toward the bank, and then stopped and thought, no, perhaps I should go home and take it easy, enough for one day. He reversed his steps and started walking back the way he had came.

He stopped. And then thought he might look peculiar to other people walking back and forth aimlessly on a city street. Maybe it looked like there was something wrong with NervousMan if he did something like that. NervousMan didn't know.

NervousMan glanced around at the people around him. Some of them glanced back, perhaps wondering what NervousMan was looking at, but most were either talking to other people, or listening to their headphones, or talking to someone they already knew on their cellphones.

Some of the other people laughed, even though NervousMan couldn't see where the laughter came from, and NervousMan winced at the laughter, caught by the notion that it was somehow directed at him.

"I will walk home," thought NervousMan finally. "I will go home. That is best".

And that is what NervousMan did.

NervousMan and the Bag of Chips

The men drumming the drum circle in the park came all at once to an ending. A climax of sorts to their playing which concluded with a big group BEAT and then a pause and then laughter from the drummers.

NervousMan opened his eyes and looked around at the lush green trees and the beautiful grass which shined brightly in the clear day's sunshine.

"Ugccchhh!! I hate that beat!" said someone next to NervousMan.

NervousMan felt nervous. He looked over to the seat next to him on the bench. A man had sat down next to him.

"That pounding pounding pounding oh it drives me crazy!"

Why had the man come to the park and sat in front of the music if he did not want to hear it?

"When do they ever play jazz or some classical music? Why not form an ensemble? It seems like all the music nowadays if they ever play it is around a beat. Boom! Boom! Boom!"

NervousMan glanced at the man. His clothes did not seem to fit him and his hands were chapped and red.

"I'm Ned" said the man and offered NervousMan his hand. NervousMan shook it and it felt sweaty and a little cold.

"Nice to meet you," said NervousMan. NervousMan felt nervous. Maybe it wasn't safe to shake the man's hand. But NervousMan wanted to be nice.

NervousMan saw a line of people carrying boxes, over by the concrete steps where the musicians played. The line of people went to a car where there were more people retreiving boxes.

One of the people opened the boxes and started pulling out bright green packages that looked like bags of potato chips. Other boxes looked like they had fruits and vegetables and greens in them.

"Oh good... EATS!" said Ned and got up from the bench and walked as fast as he could over to the boxes. NervousMan noticed that the man had a limp but got around fairly quickly.

NervousMan cautiously got up and stepped slightly closer to the people with the boxes. What was this? What was going on?

A young woman gathered together bags of chips from several boxes, placing them in a larger box on one of the benches. A small group of people waited behind her and then another man appeared and put another box down next to the big box. He opened it up and inside there were carrots that looked like they had just come from the farm.

"Hi" said the woman who stood next to the large box. "I'm Jenny". She offered her hand.

"Hi" said NervousMan and looked down. Then he looked up. Then to the side.

"I was going to ask you if you're homeless but I don't think you are,"

"I have a place," said NervousMan. "I came out today".

NervousMan glanced over at Ned who was going through the boxes and humming a tune to himself. NervousMan felt nervous.

"Well, that's okay," said Jenny and turned back to the box. "Would you like some chips?" She held out a couple green bag of chips to NervousMan and smiled.

"Sure," said NervousMan.

"We're here every Saturday between 3 and 4. Come and join us if you like". Jenny smiled again.

"Okay," NervousMan said. He looked at the chips.

"...or help out if you want," Jenny said and smiled again.

"Okay," said NervousMan again softer and more dreamily. "Help out... help... out" he thought inside.

NervousMan and The Drum Circle

NervousMan walked along the sidewalk at noontime on his way to the library.

Sometimes on the sidewalks, people were mean and took up the whole sidewalk as you tried to get past.

Well, maybe they weren't mean, thought NervousMan. Maybe they were just unaware of not being polite. They weren't like NervousMan. NervousMan always got out of the way for people.

NervousMan passed a cafe on the corner and saw an overweight man with a big bushy white beard and long white hair sitting in one of the chairs, fast asleep, in the light and heat of the noonday sun.

"Strange to be sleeping in a chair outside a restaurant," thought NervousMan. Maybe the man had no other place to sleep except out in the sun.

Sometime the sun made NervousMan nervous. Too much sun wasn't good. But too little sun wasn't good either. It was a constant challenge, thought NervousMan, to stay in the middle. Like walking along the sidewalk, like he was now.

NervousMan imagined a line of his footprints along a path. But the line of his footprints zig-zagged back and forth back and forth, back and forth, like a wave, as he struggled to stay on the path but to also get out of people's way.

Suddenly, down the middle of the sidewalk came a skateboarder speeding fast right for NervousMan.

NervousMan froze and scowled nervously, not knowing whether to walk left or right to get out of the skateboarder's way. But at the last instant, the skaterboarder pivoted and whizzed past NervousMan, the wheels of the skateboard making a sharp 'ssssshhhh!' sound as they went by.

NervousMan could hear the sound of the wheels rapidly disappearing down the sidewalk behind him. 'Rrrrrrr! (pat) Rrrrrr! (pat) Rrrrrrrrrrr!'.

A car honked nearby with a sharp and sudden bark and NervousMan winced as if someone had pinched him.

NervousMan opened his eyes and sighed. He wondered if he should just go home and call it a day. He was not even where he wanted to go yet, and he was already very nervous.

But NervousMan walked on.

Inside the library, NervousMan breathed in the air-conditioned air. Many people milled passed NervousMan as he walked cautiously through the aisles full of books and newspapers. Some of the people had white wires sticking out of their ears. "Odd for people to have wires coming out of their ears" thought NervousMan. He had seen the wire-people walking by more and more. NervousMan could hear the tinny sounds of music coming out of the people's heads. Some of the music sounded like a tish-tish-tish sound, very rhythmic and metallic.

iPods NervousMan thought they were called. Pod-People.

NervousMan tried to find an empty aisle to walk down.

"Hello!" said a woman happily behind NervousMan. "How are you?!"

NervousMan's eyes turned wide and he put a strained smile on his face as he turned around to greet whoever it was who had greeted him.

The woman was a pretty and tall dark haired lady in a 3 piece suit. She was talking to someone on a hand-held phone.

"No, I'm at the library right now, where are you?" NervousMan could hear the woman say into the phone as he walked quickly away.

In the New Books section, one book caught NervousMan's eye. "Your Immortal Reality" it was called. On the cover was a picture of a huge wave cresting, sort of like the poster of that one movie about the storm that was perfect. That poster had a boat on the wave, but this one didn't.

Looking at the picture, NervousMan remembered a time when his mother and his Chinese stepfather took him to Hawaii. He must have been about 13 or 14 years old. He remembered standing on the edge of the beach. Walls of cold saltwater rushed toward him one every couple of minutes or so.

NervousMan remembered that he, as a boy, would punch the waves as hard as he could as they came in. But the waves would always sweep him off his feet and catch him in some sort of vertical whirpool, like a washing machine, for what seemed like forever.

In the wave's washing machine, NervousMan, didn't know up from down for a few seconds, and he would panic. But somehow, each time, he would find the surface of the water, crawl back to the beach fighting against the pull of the surf, and then start the whole cycle over again.

NervousMan felt the cool smoothness of the book's plastic covering which he held. He looked at the subtitle.

It said "How to Break the Cycle of Birth and Death".

"Hmmm," thought NervousMan. "How strange to think of life as a cycle that you get into over and over." 'Incarnation,' he thought it was called. No, RE-incarnation, that was it. Life cycling over and over like zig zagging down a path.

Maybe that sort of thing made sense, thought NervousMan. After all wasn't the sun in a cycle of sunrise and sunset all the time? The moon too? And weren't the seasons always cycling? The rain going back to the ocean and them forming rain again? Even hurricanes and galaxies and waves seem to curl around and be circular, like the wave.

Maybe life, thought NervousMan, which seemed to be everywhere, operated the same way. Like a circle or a spiral going around and around and around.

How many cycles had NervousMan been through, he wondered? Maybe this was his first. Maybe that's why he felt so nervous and strange all the time, when other people around him seemed to be getting along okay. Maybe he was new here, in this life. Maybe this was just his first time through. Maybe NervousMan was just in a 'spin cycle' here. And being in the spin cycle was what made NervousMan nervous.

NervousMan strode out of the shadow of library's lobby, his newly checked out book under his arm, and walked into the sunlight, making his way toward the park. As he approached, he could hear the rhythmic sound of drums and instruments playing somewhere. It was coming from the northside of the park and NervousMan made his way toward the sound.

Under a tree, beneath the shade that shielded them from the afternoon sun, NervousMan saw at least a dozen men playing drums in a circle. Some of the drums looked tall and the men pounded on them in a very rhythmic and impassioned way. Others looked like bongo drums.

NervousMan watched the blur of their hands as they pounded the drums over and over. BOOM-boom-bah-bah-bah-boom-boom-bah-bah-bah bah bah BOOM and then over and over and over again.

Some of the men standing in the back of the men were sharing a cigarette, NervousMan saw. "Strange some people would share a cigarette" thought NervousMan. "What about germs?" But maybe it was their last cigarette and they wanted to make it last.

NervousMan sat on a bench and watched the nice men play. Most of them had black or brown skin, NervousMan saw and many were smiling.

The sound of the beats seemed to almost describe a texture to NervousMan inside his mind, a pattern repeated over and over, and he ran his fingers over the texture lovingly. And it washed over him.

Unconsciously, NervousMan's foot tapped out rhythm in time with the drums' pattern.

NervousMan felt the wallpaper pattern of the music as if it covered the inside of a spiraling shell.

NervousMan's busy mind rested inside the patterned shell and he closed his eyes and drifted off into the spaces between the beats that surrounded him. And after a minute, NervousMan blissfully lost himself.

And for a moment, which lasted who knows how long, NervousMan forgot to be nervous.

NervousMan Goes to the Store

NervousMan walked through the aisles of the local supermarket, not quite sure what he was looking for.

In the produce section, NervousMan looked at all the bright colors and held his breath without realizing he was doing so. He could feel the cool air of the refrigeration on his skin.

NervousMan felt light-headed.

They were having a sale on strawberries. Two bushels for three dollars. NervousMan put one in his cart. NervousMan liked strawberries. He also needed to get some salad, and some milk and some bread.

The aisles of the store, NervousMan thought, were very close together. Sometimes he would reverse his direction and go to another aisle if someone were in the aisle that he wanted to go down. NervousMan didn't want to make anyone else nervous with his nervousness. That would make NervousMan even more nervous and NervousMan already was.

Sweat rolled into his NervousMan's eyes and he thought to himself "It seems like they are all looking at me. Logically, I know that they are not. But it feels like they are".

NervousMan was nervous.

"Where are the eggs?" NervousMan thought to himself as he looked around.

Walking on, NervousMan imagined what it would be like if the store were being looted and all these people around him were rushing about and not getting out of anyone's way. Like, if there was some sort of emergency in the world and things in general broke down. Like the bridge had.

Then, NervousMan thought, if that happened, the mean people would come and get all the strawberries and things like that first. They might even beat up NervousMan. How could NervousMan ask the mean people for strawberries after the looting? They would laugh at NervousMan and beat him up again.

The thought of being beat up by the mean people made NervousMan nervous. So NervousMan tried not to think about it. But in order not to think about it, he had to first think about not thinking about it, and that meant thinking about it.

NervousMan sighed.

NervousMan found himself in an aisle staring at the canned beets. NervousMan looked at the nutritional information table on the one of the cans and blinked.

Did NervousMan want canned beets? How much were they compared to the canned corn? Which was a better value? Which was better for you?

So many questions. How could NervousMan figure this all out? Why was it so hard for NervousMan to figure out if he wanted canned beets or not? Other people around him did not seem to have that trouble. They just walked in to the store, got what they wanted and walked out. What was the problem? What was wrong with NervousMan?

NervousMan was nervous.

Glancing to his right, NervousMan watched a woman in a green apron stocking shelves very quickly. "She sure seems to think fast" thought NervousMan.

NervousMan looked back at the canned beets and regarded them.

At the checkout counter, NervousMan nervously put his items onto the conveyer belt. The checkout person was a good looking young man with a very clear skin and a light and short dark beard running along his jaw. The man did not seem nervous at all.

"Hey man. How's it going?" said the man, taking NervousMan's canned beets.

"Fine, thank you" said NervousMan, forcing himself to smile slightly but looking in the direction, but slightly away, from the checkout's man eyes. He seemed to remember reading somewhere that smiling at other people put them at ease, and also looking at them too.

"If my eyes are nervous, and I am smiling, I look weird", thought NervousMan. And he looked down, nervously.

NervousMan stared at the canned beets as the man fed them through the laser scanner.

"I should look at them and smile pleasantly," thought NervousMan. And he wondered if he should look back at the checkout man and say something pleasant. He could say something corny, like talking about the weather. But the thought of looking or being corny made NervousMan nervous.

NervousMan slid his card through the reader, his hands shaking ever so slightly.

The checkout man said something to him.

"Eh--Excuse me?" said NervousMan.

"Paper or plastic?" the checkout man asked NervousMan again, smiling pleasantly.

"Oh... Uhm... plastic please" NervousMan said.

NervousMan always said please and thank you.

When NervousMan's groceries were bagged he told the checkout man 'thank you' yet again.

"Sure man, take care," the checkout man said and he smiled at NervousMan again.

It seemed like the checkout man was thinking something about NervousMan but NervousMan did not know what that something was. Maybe it was something pleasant.

Then, without meaning to, as he reached out to take the bags from the checkout man's hand, NervousMan's thumb briefly touched the back of the checkout's man's fingers. The checkout man released the bags into NervousMan's grasp. Then without a word, the man turned to help the next customer.

Later, as NervousMan walked home, he felt the cool air of the rapidly approaching night on his arms and neck. And yet NervousMan sweated and felt hot. NervousMan needed a shower.

"That man at the checkout counter was nice," thought NervousMan. "Much nicer that the mean waiter".


As Nervousman ate his strawberries at home, he thought it was nice that there were nice people in the world. People who were nice, and not mean. People like the checkout man.

And thinking this thought made NervousMan feel a little less nervous.

NervousMan turned his covers down and got into bed.

NervousMan thought: "As the world becomes a meaner place, with more and more mean people in it, then must I too become meaner in order not to fall victim to it? Would that not just make the world meaner if I did that?"

Perhaps, Nervousman thought, the thing is to love, as much as one can, in the face of fear. To hold onto one's heart. Maybe that is the greatest challenge,

And then, thinking these thoughts, NervousMan fell asleep at the end of a busy day

NervousMan Wins a Prize and Thinks about Things

NervousMan stared at the mean waiter's shoes as he walked evenly across across the floor toward him. The waiter seemed to be glowering at him as he stopped a few feet away.

NervousMan gulped.

"Do they think my card is stolen? Maybe I'm the victim of identity theft," he thought.

The thought of NervousMan being someone's victim made NervousMan nervous.

NervousMan knew he should have paid cash. Now, probably he was going to jail. What would happen to him in jail?

NervousMan felt nervous.

The waiter motioned for NervousMan to follow him.

"I thought he wanted me to wait in my seat!" thought NervousMan. NervousMan felt fear in his stomach. Maybe the mean waiter was going to beat NervousMan up because he thought his card was stolen!

As they walked, the mean waiter, turned back toward NervousMan and said the word "Congratulations" tightly under his breath. Was the waiter being sarcastic?

NervousMan was nervous.

NervousMan followed the waiter up to the cash register where the well-dressed man in the pinstripe suit was standing. NervousMan felt like everyone was watching him. From off in the corner came a burst of laughter.

NervousMan didn't want to be here, he felt hot and nervous. What was going on?

NervousMan swallowed.

"Hello sir, how are you doing today?" the pinstriped man said with a steady smile.

"I'm fine," said NervousMan, his eyes darting back and forth between his surroundings and the man's eyes. They seemed like friendly eyes, thought NervousMan.

Professional eyes.

"I'm Derek Little," said the man. "I am a public relations representative for the 59 Club chain of restaurants".

"Puh--Public Relations?" asked NervousMan. What was this about?

"Yes sir. We are doing a promotion of our restaurant, and it is my duty to happily inform you that you are our one million and 59th customer!"

Mr. Little shook NervousMan's hand.

"I am?" said NervousMan, eyes widening.

From somewhere off to NervousMan's left, a flash bulb went off and people started to applauded wildly....

NervousMan felt nervous.


Later, NervousMan walked down city streets back to his apartment wearing his new 59 Club t-shirt and thumbing the folded up check in its breast pocket. The pocket had a little highway 59 logo on it, and then a big sign like it on the back of the tshirt.

Derek Little seemed like an okay person, thought NervousMan. But he sure made NervousMan nervous. Especially having the picture of him put up amongst all the other winners up on the wall.

NervousMan looked down at his copy of that picture which they had given him.

NervousMan thought Mr. Little looked a bit creepy. "Long in the tooth" NervousMan thought the phrase was. The man's gray and white combover was reminiscent of some kind of hairstyle... maybe it was Paul Newman's. Did Paul Newman have a combover? NervousMan couldn't remember.

NervousMan could see why they paid Mr. Little to do 'public relations' he had a great big smile. NervousMan thought maybe he had seen him in some commercial once. NervousMan remembered that Mr. Little's breath smelled like onions. But that was okay. Such a thing wouldn't show up on the picture, NervousMan thought.

In the picture Mr. Little was shaking NervousMan's hand. NervousMan looked at the picture while he walked along. He looked at himself, wide-eyed, and trying desperately to smile. However the gravity of his own distress pulled most of his features downward. He looked as though he was going to cry. Now this moment would be on the wall for everyone to look at, and laugh at. Forever.

"But I won", thought NervousMan.

NervousMan looked at the tiny representation of his own face in the instamatic photograph as he walked along.

"Somewhere under there, there is ... I think... maybe a smile" said NervousMan under his breath to no one in particular. "Hmmm."

A car honked sharply and NervousMan jumped.

He had almost walked out in the middle of the street! NervousMan thought about many things but this time he had been very lost in his thoughts!

The thought of being hit by a car made NervousMan very nervous.

NervousMan stepped 2 big steps back onto the curb. Other people nearby looked at NervousMan and scowled.

NervousMan saw a coin-operated newspaper machine. On the front of the paper were stories and pictures of a bridge that had fallen down the day before.

NervousMan wondered how such a thing could happen. Weren't there people out there who were taking care of the bridge? Wasn't that their job to do that? Perhaps, thought NervousMan, those people were nervous too and didn't do a very good job and then the bridge fell down. NervousMan looked at the pictures of cars strewn about in the water like so many kids' toys in a mud puddle.

The pictures made NervousMan nervous.

It was getting late. Almost time for dinner. NervousMan frowned and decided not to cross the street, but rather to go to the store.

"But first", thought NervousMan I will buy a sandwich so I would not 'shop hungry'. Of NervousMan's habits, this was one of the very few.


The lady at the cash register rang up NervousMan's sandwich and NervousMan ate it by the window of the restaurant, off in the corner.

"No one can see me sitting alone back here," thought NervousMan.

NervousMan thought about how the lady at the cash register just now didn't really look at or talk to him when he paid his money to her. Everything and everyone seemed so mechanical thought NervousMan. She even said 'Thank You' to him like a robot, not even bothering to look or smile at NervousMan.

"Maybe she was nervous doing her job too", NervousMan thought. Or maybe she was tired out from being nervous.

NervousMan was nervous too.

Sitting at the window, NervousMan watched the people pass back and forth outside the place. Back and forth, back and forth.

Some of the people looked mean. Others looked tired. Some looked nervous. But none were as nervous as NervousMan.

NervousMan could still taste the mustard of his sandwich as he pushed the contents of his tray through the THANK YOU door and left the sandwich shop, walking out into the dying rays of the sun.

NervousMan and the Mean Waiter (Part 2)

NervousMan came out of his reverie and was startled to look up and see the scowling face of the mean waiter standing over him.

The waiter put down the bill for the sandwich. "Pay here not up there" the waiter said, pointing at the cash register with an imperious finger and frowning. And then he walked away.

NervousMan took out his wallet and fished his debit card out of it, fingers shaking.

Maybe the waiter thought that NervousMan was going to walk out of the restaurant without paying and he wanted to keep an eye on NervousMan. Maybe NervousMan looked suspicious because he was so nervous. NervousMan worried about seeming suspicious all the time.

NervousMan looked at the bill. $9.98. He put the debit card onto the table and waited.

NervousMan thought that he should see his Chinese step-dad to get more money. NervousMan had thought about getting a job. His mother's inheritance had seen him through thus far, but in a few months, he would start to run out of money. He wouldn't be able to afford such luxuries as buying a sandwich at a nice restaurant like this one.

NervousMan looked around the restaurant. It was called The 59 Club. There were all sorts of representations of the number 59 on the wall. He looked up and saw what looked to be a roadsign that was for 'Route 59' that had neon around it the color of hot pink. This was the logo for the place. Instead of the word 'Route' it had the word 'Club'.

After a while the waiter came back and took NervousMan's credit card up to the register. In the booth next to NervousMan many teenagers piled in and talked in a nervous manner amongst themselves.

NervousMan wanted to leave the restaurant at this point. His nerves started to act up. NervousMan's nerves always made him nervous. NervousMan could feel his anti-perspirant start to fail. He thought he would like to get up and go to the bathroom, and get the ranch dressing out of his shirt, but the mean waiter was going to come back with his debit card at any moment.

The teenagers laughed and twittered next to NervousMan. Every few seconds they seemed to bark out sharply with more laughter at jokes that NervousMan couldn't understand. They seemed to be talking in English and yet NervousMan couldn't understand anything they were saying. He thought he could make out someone saying the name 'Derek'.

NervousMan looked across the floor of the restaurant, over to where the mean waiter was standing behind the cash register. He seemed to be talking to the man in the dark pinstripe suit. Were they looking at NervousMan's debit card? NervousMan didn't know.

NervousMan felt nervous.

(to be continued)

NervousMan and the Mean Waiter

NervousMan decided to go somewhere other than the sandwich shop where people made his sandwich in front of him and he ate all alone in the corner.

Instead, he went to the upscale burger joint down the street. It was a little more pricey, but NervousMan wanted to treat himself. Maybe something nice like that would make NervousMan less nervous.

The restaurant was made to look like something out of the 50's. There were many people there. Some singer, maybe it was Chuck Berry, sang on the loudspeaker. The seats cushions were cherry red and the place was very bright and colorful.

Not seeing anyone to seat him, NervousMan sat down at one of the booths.

After a few minutes, a waiter who looked to be in his late forties or early fifties came up and scowled at NervousMan. The waiter had brownish skin and black, slicked back hair. The waiter said something to NervousMan, but NervousMan couldn't really hear the waiter over the music. Perhaps the waiter was asking NervousMan what he wanted to eat.

"Can I get a pastrami sandwich, a side salad, with uhm, ranch dressing, and a large glass of ice water?" asked NervousMan.

The waiter scowled more at NervousMan and took NervousMan's menu. He jotted something on his pad, and then walked away.

Thinking back, NervousMan seemed to think the waiter had rolled his eyes when he took the menu. Had NervousMan done something wrong? Perhaps the waiter didn't like NervousMan.

NervousMan felt nervous.

After a few moments, the waiter came back with NervousMan's salad and a large glass of ice water and sat them down in front of NervousMan. The waiter did not say a word. He seemed to be upset at something. Then, he walked away.

NervousMan looked, for the first time, at how others in the restaurant held their forks. By the side, NervousMan thought, by the side. Not with one's fist, held out way away from one's body, scooping it into one's mouth like a child.

It seemed that NervousMan had seen this lesson once in a movie. Maybe it was the Titanic movie.

The thought of being on the Titanic made NervousMan nervous.

"Nervousness is a constant problem," thought NervousMan. And NervousMan was aware of the problem. Or at least, he tried to be.

NervousMan thought about how he hadn't known how to hold his fork. NervousMan felt that there was a certain logic to dealing with cleanliness issues and things like manners that he just hadn't been taught. Or maybe he had not been paying attention at the time. Or somebody wasn't paying attention. Attention to things like simply how to eat properly. Or something like that.

Why couldn't NervousMan pay attention? What was wrong with NervousMan??

"It is very hard to get a handle on this problem," thought NervousMan as he grasped the fork again and righted himself in his chair and tried to eat his salad. "Just things like my clothes, my hair, my thoughts, he thought. My shoes. My self. All these things are problems", thought NervousMan nervously.

"Hygiene", thought NervousMan. "Hygiene".

NervousMan suddenly felt warm. He took a sip of his ice water. As he did so he saw the waiter behind the counter. Was the waiter smirking at NervousMan? What had happened? Could it be that the waiter did something to NervousMan's water? Or was the waiter thinking of a joke? NervousMan didn't know. And he felt nervous.

NervousMan looked down and noticed that he had spilled some ranch dressing on the front of his shirt.

NervousMan thought more about his hygiene.

"What do I have to do?" thought NervousMan as he reached for a napkin to clean himself. Clean constantly? Spend 90 percent of my time keeping things clean? It exhausts me!

NervousMan felt tired.

As soon as all is clean, thought NervousMan, there is still more cleaning to do. One could spend one's entire life cleaning and still never get things completely clean.

NervousMan thought that he needed a maid. Or maybe a nurse. But NervousMan didn't have much money to hire one.

The waiter came back and gave NervousMan his pastrami sandwich on a white plate. NervousMan looked at the sandwich and regarded the texture of the white bread. The waiter said something to NervousMan that he didn't quite hear and then took his half empty glass of water away.

NervousMan lifted the pastrami sandwich up to take a bite of it. Some of the shredded meat fell out from between the slices of bread and onto the table, and some spilled onto NervousMan's lap.

NervousMan sighed.

Putting the sandwich down and reaching for yet another napkin, NervousMan's noticed that his sleeve had some dressing on it. NervousMan grabbed another napkin.

Perhaps NervousMan should finish his salad first.

The fork slipped from NervousMan's grasp and landed on the sandwich and tumbled end over end onto the floor.

Maybe NervousMan had had enough salad.

The word 'unconscious' appeared suddenly in NervousMan's mind.

NervousMan looked up at the face of the scowling waiter. The waiter sat a full glass of water next to NervousMan and walked away without saying anything.

NervousMan looked down, and frowned.

"The problem is a result of just being raised very badly", thought NervousMan as he grabbed a fourth napkin. "I see very clearly where it comes from" he said under his breath.

But to blame one's parents for not teaching proper manners, or good cleanliness habits, seems like blaming the water that's already flowed under the bridge. Bad parents, yes. Not really bad people. But bad parents. Or, just not very good ones. Or something like that. Maybe it was NervousMan who was bad.

NervousMan didn't know.

Maybe NervousMan had had enough to eat. He sat still for a few moments to collect his thoughts.

NervousMan saw himself as a soul in the before-life and choosing the family he was born into. And it made sense. Considering what sloppy decisions he usually makes. Choosing a weird family and a weird life to live, that was some kind of masochistic, wild, impetuous act. To... to show off, he thought. Like trying to eat the biggest sandwich ever, to impress your friends, and then getting sick on it.

Showing off. That's what it was like, thought NervousMan. Yes, this life is a show-off, thought NervousMan. That's what it is.

NervousMan watched the mean waiter wait on other tables. The waiter smiled pleasantly as he talked to a man in a dark pinstripe suit.

NervousMan imagined the ghostlike faces of the before-souls as they watched him open the door to this life and rush, unthinkingly, inside. They must have snickered at him, like the waiter had.

"Sometimes", NervousMan thought, "there is a fine line between courage and being rash", thought NervousMan.

That was a truth.

But now, there was no way out of it. No way that he could get out of this life.

NervousMan was trapped. And because he was trapped, NervousMan felt nervous.

NervousMan Thinks about Negativity

NervousMan walked along the streets downtown. Thinking.

NervousMan watched his black shoes fall on the gray pavement in front of him over and over and over.

Outside of the Safeway store, a man in a white suit rang a bell next to a bucket which rested on a small table.

"He is collecting money for some sort of charity", thought NervousMan.

The man smiled at NervousMan and rang his bell twice and said something which NervousMan did not hear. NervousMan walked on by, looking down. NervousMan's stomach felt a little queasy all of a sudden. NervousMan frowned.

Why was NervousMan so nervous?

NervousMan wanted to be as balanced and healthy as he could be. He didn't want to get too nervous. "But," NervousMan thought, "I need a certain amount of negativity going on in my head at any given time. Moreso than the average person, perhaps".

NervousMan liked his negativity. Negativity grounded NervousMan to the quote-unquote real world, he realized.

After all, just about everyone NervousMan was around was negative 24/7.

NervousMan looked around at the faces of those around him on the street. So many of them seemed to be frowning at NervousMan.

Here was a gray-haired man with slumped shoulders and a downcast face carrying two sagging plastic bags of groceries. Here, an old Asian woman with a scarf on her head and a dour expression, walking with a cane.

And here... on the corner, a young couple embracing each other. Smiling and laughing.

Why couldn't NervousMan be like the young man in that couple, thought NervousMan. It must be nice to have a girlfriend. Maybe a girlfriend would make NervousMan less nervous. But to have a girlfriend, he would have to talk to girls.

And doing that, made NervousMan nervous.

NervousMan didn't like to be nervous.

NervousMan passed another young lady who was jogging. In her hand was a leash for her dog which ran next to her. It looked like there was a red rubber band around the dog's mouth. "Probably to keep it from biting and snapping at people," thought NervousMan.

It seemed like negativity was reality to NervousMan. The only 'positivity' or humor seemed to come from the TV and movies and entertainment things, if anywhere at all.

But most of the time those things were negative too.

Walking along the street, looking at the smears in the sidewalk, NervousMan was suddenly caught by the deep blue of a storefront. He saw that he was standing in front of a Blockbuster Video store.

Having nothing else to do, he went inside.

Along the walls of the store were all sorts of shiny and colorful boxes for DVD's. But so many of the boxes seemed to be about scary things. Negative things. Chainsaws and killers and guns and whatnot.

NervousMan picked up one box which depicted a man holding a spear menacingly out at whoever happened to be looking at the box at the time. NervousMan looked at it. The man's face was a mean sneer. The title's lettering seemed to be in bright, smeared blood.

"How terrible", thought NervousMan. And frowned.

NervousMan watched a clerk putting boxes back on the shelf. The clerk smiled softly to himself, not noticing NervousMan.

How would it be to work at Blockbuster video, NervousMan thought. To be around the scary boxes all day long?

The thought of that made NervousMan nervous.

How could he escape such negative things?

Walking out of the store, NervousMan imagined himself in social situations, like parties, or at a job like at Blockbuster, or out in public. Places where NervousMan so-called 'had' to be positive. He found those situations to be extremely stressful.

Because even if NervousMan could 'pass' for being 'positive', he was afraid he would be afraid of, at any moment, opening his mouth, and saying something negative, and getting busted.

This prospect caused NervousMan to be quite nervous.

NervousMan walked past a bus stop and looked at the lined and dirty faces of the poor people waiting for the bus to arrive. The people frowned at NervousMan.

Walking on, NervousMan thought, "In social situations I will just stay quiet just in case I would say something negative, and just hope that no one would talk to me".

But, thought NervousMan, that wouldn't be very social.

NervousMan sighed. Why was everything so hard? What was wrong with NervousMan?

Lately, NervousMan noticed, he had been going around in black. Black shirt, black shoes, black coat, black hair, black sunglasses. Maybe some days NervousMan had even gone so far to have black socks and black underwear too.

NervousMan had been a little 'goth' lately.

No, he didn't go in for the black fingernails or eyeliner or whatever. NervousMan wasn't a 'joiner'.

A woman with bright red hair and a yellow dress smiled at NervousMan from in front of a Starbuck's. But NervousMan didn't notice.

NervousMan thought "my black clothes are all a reaction to certain people trying to 'positize' me". Yes, 'positize'.

Perhaps NervousMan had made a new word.

People trying to get NervousMan to 'cheer up' freaked NervousMan out.

NervousMan didn't want to freak out, and he never did. But NervousMan thought about freaking out.

NervousMan thought about everything.

NervousMan Buys a Sandwich

NervousMan wanders out, head down.

He starts at the opening of the elevator doors.

Each time, there is the mental image of it being full of people in his head, laughing, and so on.

There is usually someone on the way down that NervousMan has to share the elevator with. He hates it when they laugh or when they talk to each other in a foreign tongue.

"I just want a pastrami sandwich," NervousMan thinks as he shuffles across the underground parking lot in his blue socks and sandals, light blue jacket, dark blue sweats, and blue shirt.

Blue, blue, blue…. always blue.

The sky is overcast, the air nippy. As he opens the door he is very aware of his eyes: dark and serious and slightly mad. He hopes no one looks into them, so he looks down.

NervousMan mutters, "I'm sorry.... I'm sorry" under his breath as he waits at the sandwich shop, to be called.

"It is hard to deal with people without looking at them," he thinks to himself, nervously. And waits.

Fortunately, this time, he has a male making his sandwich; otherwise he worries about the females thinking he is looking at their breasts when he is only trying not to look into their eyes and look down.

NervousMan eats his food methodically, alone, in the corner by the window. This time, they gave him extra napkins without his asking for them. They know him here now.

NervousMan suddenly remembers that he has to breathe.

He sips his Mountain Dew. Like a Russian revolver, he doesn't know if it will make him less 'blue' or make him more nervous.

NervousMan's nervousness and his 'blue'-ness dance a tango in his mind.

NervousMan looks intently at the black Formica of the table as he chews the contents of his sandwich.

Someone laughs on the other side of the restaurant.

Finishing, he scoops up the remnants of his sandwich, sweeping bits of lettuce, and onion onto his tray; he pops a stray piece of pink flesh into his mouth and carries the tray to the THANK YOU door.

NervousMan can still taste the mustard as he slips out the door of the sandwich shop, into the coldness of the outside and makes his way, head down, back to his cave.