one love…asshole

he’s sitting on the bench i wanted. more shade this time of day. his legs are up resting on his bicycle. just like mine were twenty minutes ago. except his shoes are off. and his yellowed socks look floppy on his feet. there’s an unlit cigarette in one hand. we make eye contact as i pass. i don’t give a shit, he says like i couldn’t already tell.

i ride beside the canal. twisting along the bike path. and in the bushes to my left. a hobo has a pretty good little set up. been there since last winter. as i pass this morning. the door to his tent is open. and i can see his bare feet sticking out into the morning air. they look pretty clean for a bum. of course i’m filled with jealousy. 

emily and i put our clothes in the washing machine. i grab two beers from my bag. we walk out the side door of the laundromat. onto a residential street. emily sits on the sidewalk first. so i follow. i pass her a beer. and she cracks it right as a respectable looking woman walks by. it’s as humid as it can be without raining. and we’re alive. 

the parking lot’s been busy all day. whooping and hollering. unrestrained drinking. first of the month you see. but when a fight spills out into the streets. the cops have to show. and even though she’s not working today. i watch the prostitute with the thick blonde hair do her top up. an effort to avoid the hassle. the one that comes from men in uniforms. 

i’m not paying attention. walking around with my head in the clouds. and when i bump into him i think walked into a pole. but i say ‘sorry’ as i pass. and he gives me a dirty look. so i jump down his throat. ‘i said sorry. what do you want from me?’ hands outstretched. palms open like what the fuck. 

the first four tall cans go down easy. and too early. so i put clothes back on. head down to the dep. grab another four of the same. cradle them in my arms. get in line behind a giant oaf. he’s sweaty. eyes glazed over. and his shoulders are moving in a cyclonic motion. drunk off his ass. he studies the cans in my hands. looks at me and says ‘i know what you’re doing.’ he falls short of a wink. so i give him one and say ‘yeah, continuing.’ he laughs. weaves as he pays for his plantain chips. as he leaves he tell me to have a good time. i look up at him. smile while i say ‘sure thing baby!’

the last few miles into albany are quiet. and as he drops his phone and sunglasses again and again i wonder why he doesn’t get a little sack to go around his waist. but i don’t bother to ask why not.

he starts talking about life in new york city. lived there seventeen years. getting robbed at knifepoint on the train. i’m listening intently. when all of a sudden his body convulses. his story cuts short. as he starts emitting a sound like ‘geeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.’ i sit there politely and wait for him to finish. 

i have a hard time hearing him. low voice and an accent i’m not familiar with. so i have to get him to repeat himself. while i lean in real close. i don’t end up getting all the details. but there’s something wrong with his hands. no feeling. no idea what he’s holding. then his phone hits the floor for the twentieth time so far. 

about forty five miles outside albany i give in. tell myself he’s probably got something interesting to say. put my hoodie in my bag. he starts telling me about upstate new york. his college days. the good drugs. and how that’s what life’s all about. i don’t disagree. 

he wants to talk bad. but it’s the last thing i can see myself doing. so i go through all the motions of faking sleep. stuff a hoodie between the window and my face. close the eye closest to him. he sits there fidgeting. dropping his phone on the floor repeatedly. i make him for a heavy drug user.

he singles me out. i guess it’s the tattoos. the scar on my cheek. he see’s something he can relate to. we shake hands. his name is tom. and he apologizes for being so sweaty. i tell him i don’t even mind.

the rain falls like it has all day. across the street from my window. two punks on the wooden loading dock. heads hung in unison. a bag of beer beside them. garage doors behind them open. and even the old black dog on the ground looks fucking beat.

i come out the grocery store. and his quick movement catches my eye. he’s between a truck and a brick wall. a can of cheap beer in raised hand. funnelling it down his throat. i think ‘jesus buddy, what time is it?’ then remember all the days i’ve been him. gulping beer alone in an alley before noon. 

i watch through a crack in the door. him standing three inches from her. finger pointed in her face. his voice coming out like a bark. she’s standing in the phone booth. legs skittering back and forth under her. one second she’s talking casually into the receiver. the next her face is a god damn mask of horror. a voice like venom. she takes a swing at his face. he dodges. then high tails it back into the bar. where he’s safe. i nod along. thinking ‘yessssss’

i knock on the door of the shack. wait for an answer. watch the ground. thousands of ants are swarming. the guy undoes the latch. invites me in. there sure are a lot of fucking ants out there dude, i say as i walk through the door. he issues a tiny grunt. ants man, thousands of them, i repeat. his next grunt has anger in it. so i give up saying, i get it, i get it. no one gives a shit about ants.