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"You sure you feel like working?" Ray asked. "Maybe we should take you down to Fulton Detox."
"I'm good," Peanut said. "The movie just reminded me of the day they took my old man off to the crazy place. Did I ever tell you about that?"
"You told me he went mental. You never told me about the big day."
"We was up at this diner, and they served us some cat-head biscuits. You know what they look like?"
"Big as a cat's head ..."
"Right. My old man looked at them and started screaming, 'Why are the cat's looking at me? Why are the cat's looking at me?' Then he knocked over the table and started punching everybody out."
"That's sad," Ray said.
"Yeah, my mother and all us kids were crying. The police came and took him to the crazy house."
"Must have been tough."
"Shoot yes. They took him to the mental place and he just sat in a chair like a rock and didn't say nothing. You know what they call that?"
Ray knew he was being set up. With Peanut, you never knew if he was buck-dancing or crying or maybe both at the same time.
"They call it catatonic," Ray said.
"That's right. Only when I was a kid I thought it meant something about not eating the cat-head biscuits. As a result, I developed a taste for them, which I have to this day. A cat-head biscuit every day keeps the psycho doctors away."
"The way you've been acting lately, you might should try a mental health program based on scientific principles instead of biscuit eating."
Peanut leaned against his head against the door post and closed his eyes. He was more trashed than Ray had realized.
"A point I need to make," Ray said. "You can't get messed up on drugs like this or your mind won't work right even when you're clean."
Peanut opened his eyes.
"No problem, man, I got you covered."
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