By whom? Russians seem obvious choice: Manhattan and Comedian both key military figures. But Comedian referred to an island, artists and writers living on it. Doesn't fit. Can't concentrate. Too tired. No sleep since Saturday. Walked home past trashcans stuffed with rumours of war, weighing factors, bodies, motives... waiting for a flash of enlightenment in all this blood and thunder.
Woken at eleven by shouting outside. Disturbed to find I had fallen asleep without removing the skin from my head tireder than I thought. Should be more careful. Across street, boys with spray cans were defacing abandoned building. Memorised their descriptions, then prepared for work. First, peeled off face, foiled it, hid inside jacket. Without my face, nobody knows. Nobody knows who I am.
On way out of room, met landlady. Usual complaints re hygiene and rent. There were purple bite marks on her fat white neck. Fresh ones. She reminds me of my mother. Out in street, inspected defaced building: Silhouette picture in doorway, man and woman, possibly indulging in sexual foreplay. Didn't like it. Makes doorway look haunted. On fortieth and seventh, saw Dreiberg and Juspeczyk leaving dinner. They didn't know me. An affair, perhaps? Did Juspectzyk engineer Dr Manhattan's exile to make room for Dreiberg? Also, she hated Comedian. Must investigate further.Entering diner, bought coffee then sat watching my maildrop, immediately across street. Passers-by made various deposits: candy wrappers, newspapers, a pair of Keds strangled by own laces, tongues lolling out horribly. This city is an animal, fierce and complicated. To understand it I read its droppings, its scents, the movement of its parasites ... I sat watching the trashcan, and New York opened its heart to me.
Someone tried to kill Veidt. Proves "mask killer" theory murderer is closing in, Checked maildrop. Message from Moloch. Connected perhaps? Next, went to retrieve face from alley. Outside Utopia, police restrained a youth on KT-28s. He was screaming something about President Nixon. Something about bombs. Is everyone but me going mad? Over 40th street, an elephant was drifting. Beyond that, unseen, spy satellites. If they so much as narrow their glass eyes, we shall all be dead.This relentless world: there is only one sane response to it. The alleyway was cold and deserted. My things were where I'd left them. Waiting for me. Putting them on, I abandoned my disguise and became myself, free from fear or weakness or lust. My coat, my shoes, my spotless gloves. My face.
Had three hours before calling on Moloch. Away down alley, heard woman scream, first bubbling note of city's evening chorus. Approached disturbance, an attempted rape/mugging/both. Cleared throat. The man turned and there was something rewarding in his eyes. Sometimes, the night is generous to me.
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