Borderline excerpt 1

Was it necessary? Was I too proud, too pretentious, what did I expect? Where did I make my mistake? I kept my other self always hidden when I could have used it. I had to. I was ashamed of it. Pitiful. Gas. A hero. Good at games. Say little. Think a lot. Cope with grotesques. Bea knew that. Used it. Using it now. She knows how I will take this. All words now. A game. Smart stupid me who never suspected the less subtle bits of the obvious on my shoes. A gibbering animal throwing its stuff at the bars.

They imagined our streets and valleys as ancient shit. I imagined myself that way too.
And we imagined theirs as a paradise but also it had alleys of hairy unburied vermin, leprous hucksters, stinking and preying on our pockets and on our good sense. But we had none left, or we had forgotten it. This really helps, Bea. I see what you mean. Pain reduction. It works.

Yes, we never had anything, we are hairy and unburied and leprous as they were imagining us. Each trying to steal from the other. We hunt and are hunted down like noble animals, those animals that have become sick scavengers. We hunted each other. We cross over, back and forth, us and them, lovers and haters, running and dodging, desperately limping through the line of fire. Guilty carrion in our mouths, back and forth, nearly free, but not, nearly saved.

Separated from each other by imaginary lines. That was pretty good too Bea. Maybe this is worth it. Good game. Therapy.

From 'The Borderline', a novel.