Talk to Mike Grotsky on the Fictionville blog
Did I ever tell you about the time Burroughs autographed my ass?
I was driving cross-country with the Twister, as beautiful and explosive a package as you’d ever care to tangle with. We knew we could pass through Lawrence, Kansas if we could stand more corn without one of us burying the hatchet in the other at a red light. Lawrence, we knew, was home to William Burroughs, Inc. and the chance to meet the man as we drove across this vast nothingness was too tempting. There was the usual debate about bothering the natives but we soon Scotched&Whiskeyed that, Twister herself being second cousin to the Cajun god of Imposition.
A call to the offices of Burroughs, Inc revealed that Inc. was Inc. as far as his gatekeeper was concerned. No fat chance for mere peasants - tributes, it seemed, had to be piled high and this particular Cerberus had greedy paws that we couldn’t satisfy.
But our dismay was short-lived. Having coffee at the Sinking Torpedo and suddenly the lights went out. The goldfish began to get nervous and one of the waitresses grunted hard as she hit her groin on the counter. Soon everything was copasetic again and when I looked up Willie Lee himself was sipping something sweet at the next table. ‘Fucking teeth not what I bargained for’, he mumbled.
Twister veritably leapt at his feet and tried to kiss his hand. She cut a beautiful figure, all curves and long-black hair, but Burroughs looked at her distastefully just like the D.A. looked at the Buyer groveling at his feet. He turned away with a pained expression, which is when he met my eye. I saw the glint and then his crooked smile.
We followed his cloud of dust back to his ranch and I loaded some shotguns for him. He sent the Twister to fetch some more spray paint and boards so he could ‘make some goddammed art like god intended an old man to do. Shoot some beauty into the sons-a-bitches’, he chuckled. We watched Twister head back to his place and he growled, ‘I’ll bet you’ve wanted to play William Tell with that one more than once. My advice: keep your passport up-to-date and read up on extradition treaties.’
Burroughs picked up a can of gold spray paint. ‘Like an autograph, Sal?’, he offered shaking the can with surprising vigor. ‘Bet this’ll stay with you longer than she will.’ ‘Well’, I thought, ‘don’t have anything to write on—‘ Then, just like a satellite was hooked straight to my brain, I understood.
And that’s how I got Burroughs’ autograph. Steady hand and it looks just like a tatto across my left cheek. Twister tried to bite it off at first but she had to admit she was just jealous (as if someone like her could be ‘just jealous’) and now she digs it special.