98 Wounds by Justin Chin Page B

he is dreaming. His lost rib, the gargantuan task of naming all other living creatures, plagues his mind, we can surmise. But how will these stresses manifest themselves in Adam’s subconscious? There is no way that he can know what to make of his dream-life, or even his waking life. Nothing has yet been named, he cannot lift his hand to his mouth and call it suppressing a yawn. He cannot scratch his groin and call it itchy. He cannot piss and shake his penis in relief. All these he can do, but he will have no context as to how or why or what he is doing and why he has done it or how it should feel.
    Adam’s task is indeed colossal. Even with the historic breath of language, grammar, and colloquialism, we still have problems naming certain things for sure. Even something as simple and as everyday as a city. What is a city? Is it an incorporated municipality within defined boundaries with legal powers established in a charter? Some could define a city simply as a town of significant size. The academics will think of something undecipherable and frightfully tedious. The humanists would probably define a city by its inhabitants.
    Hmmmm. Imagine a city where the inhabitants do not know where they are; perhaps they have all been hypnotized by carnies at the turnpike or more likely have all been drunk driving in an alcoholic black-out. They wake up/sober up/regain consciousness to find themselves in this particular place and have decided to stay here. Why not? There is ample cheap housing, the cost of living is peanuts, and moreover, there are extended Happy Hours and a Velcro Human Fly game in all of the city’s 642 bars and 2324 mini-bars.
    What a city this will be: filled with the alcoholic surly, the alcoholic pathological, the alcoholic happy, and the recovering alcoholic. The word ‘bi-polar’ would have been invented here, if Adam had not already done his job. The industries that will emerge from this city, and come to characterize it, would be 12-Step Support Groups, Self-Help Psychobabble, Psychotherapy, and Gastroenterology, in both their traditional and holistic forms. This would also be the place where the concept of the Super-Bar, the Mega-Bar, and the Hyper-Bar was conceived over an early draft of the mojito (had chicory, too many mint twigs, but you could see where it was headed). Each of these bar types differed from the next by the number of imported beers served, the shape and volume of the beer mugs, the ratio of video games and pool tables to the height of the chairs, and of course, by the available merchandising. Only Hyper-Bars are licensed to make lobsterflavored saltine crackers emblazoned with the establishment’s name. Clam dip was always optional.
    And if I woke and found myself here, what would I do? How will I live here? Can I even? I’m such a lightweight drinker; but then I have contexts, notions, ideas to help tool me along. I might manage.

    â€œHow’s it going, Adam man!” It’s been Happy Hour for more than an hour, and Adam has finally staggered in, looking quite ratty. His tie and his breast pocket are stained with ink that is leaking from his ballpoint pen. Just last week, I helped him name Pocket Protector, but he just doesn’t get it. His hair is a mess (we had helped him name Wedge Cut last year), and his eyes are ringed with big dark circles. (Charmaine, the bar wench, helped him name Clinique Ultra-Hydroxy Moisturizing Eye Gel. Non-comedogenic will be named next week, and we shall all be thankful.)
    â€œI need something, something double,” he groans. The bartender takes pity and pours him a triple Jack Daniels, which confuses Adam, but he drinks it nonetheless. Adam named Double years and years ago, but the whole idea of relativity still hasn’t sunk in yet. He’s a little hung up on weights and measures, and he should be, that one project took years to finish, and only with a huge grant from the Sung Dynasty who were trying to