THE BOY UNKNOWN

Raspberries, I don’t care for. They’re prickly. They are fragile little pods, all delicate and thorny! Who needs prickly, thorny, fragile, mushy, seedy, moldy raspberries? 

They make a fine preserve…

But fresh, they don’t keep!…not hereabouts, they don’t. Blackberries, are big and hardy…cherries, and…first-pick strawberries…short window for perfect berries… Wait too late, and you end up with strawberries so bad, a raspberry wouldn’t date it. For that matter, get to any berry too late, and it’s a waste… So? You were saying…?

(and yet there are jams...) 

What?

(ahem) I was suggesting a small, simple, fruit plate with le fromage.

Then, Pear will suffice. A sherry might be nice…you have something?

Most assuredly. Might I also suggest…? We have a small assortment of delicate wafers – angels’ wings - dusted with finely powdered Cuban-cane, held in-reserve, for our ‘special’ guests. I could have them prepare an assortment with perhaps, an espresso…perhaps a vanilla bean custard…with blackberries,was it ?

Again with the berries? Did your buyer go mad at the berry mart, Marcel? The season is waning and so are my tastes for ...you know...

We got bananas in just yesterday, directly from Guatamala. Very fresh! Ha! Ha!

Something humorous about the bananas, Marcel?

The snake!

Snake! Where Marcel?!

In the bananas! In the kitchen! Green, like the bananas! Seven feet long!

My god!

Python! 

Oh No! Any staff injured or…?

No-o-o.

Pietro?

No.

Sixto & Michel?

No.

‘The Bowery’ still intact?

Yes.

And your sudden sadness...?

The mop boy got caught in the alley. It awaited him while curled in a can, and attacked on the boy’s last nightly visit. He lifted the lid…it was quick…it was late. No one heard. I suspect if they had heard they wouldn’t know.

How so?

It's just...what, exactly, does 'that' sound like? A muffled scream as he squeams within the vipers squeeze? A whimper…? Could that be a cat…? Two AM?... in these lots? You expect gunfire not whispers.

Screams and shots. Yes, I see, if its not gunfire, it hardly matters. 

There are silent options, of course...

What do we know about the poor boy?

Not much. He’s small…hard worker…He came on the previous boat, just last month... in from Guatemala. His remains will return on the same boat tomorrow.

Oh, no, …and the snake?

Claro took a clever…it was too full to give a fight. We plan to hang the skin. What do you think?

Seven feet might look grand above the bar, over there…and the meat?

Ha! You are a rare one, Harry. We are taste-testing tomorrow afternoon. The boys are looking forward to it. Would you like to join us?

Yes. Yes, I would. As testament to the young man lost, I would be proud to eat the snake that ate him.

Exactamento. We are proud to prepare. 

They traveled a long way to meet such a tragic fate, and each misplaced in this miserable place. Pour yourself a brandy, Marcel…and take a seat, there’s no one here. Join me.

Merci.

Now, if I may be allowed the honor, I would like to propose a toast:

May you finally find your home. 

Little Boy - Unknown.

(clink)

              
    ... and, snake, I'm betting you taste heavenly.

Amen.

  

V

observer

pink flora -

V

FINAL REST

My investments, all that I had left to my name, I left unflushed in the filthy bowl of a highway rest-stop, right-near the state line. It was an emergency stop, one greasy burger too many, and nothing 'restful' about my gut or the situation.

You gotta watch the meth-heads, man, they lurk out there at night, and have learned they can sneak up and slice your throat before you know it...middle of nowhere. Back to the urinal, or stuck in stall...you're meat, gasping for air, as blood floods your pipes, watching them dance a mad jig in your red pool while howling like demonic dogs before disappearing, the big-bore roaring, trailing, fading down the road into the darkness of the vast and vaporous landscape.

By 3 AM. temp is down to 92 degrees. The sand devils twirl, up-and-frolicing, bowling tumbleweeds into piles along the railings of the highway corridor. In the distance proceeds the flash and whine of the red-light brigade from far-across the long, flat, floor.

Then someone places orange pylons and drapes festive yellow tape…they mop around you…as you lie festered with flies, while shrill bush-birds mock you even in the night, as they’d dive for your drive-thru fries, strewn about the vehicle, that old gold jalopy now being towed-off down the road...the coroner follows, not all that far behind, in no particular hurry, just another soul added to his load. 

V

THE NIGHTLY RECITAL

So go ahead, tell me your list.

My list? What list would that be?

THE List.

Seems there's a list for everything nowadays...your 'A list...'B list...'

Some more serious than most.... 
Give me your top five, or six
...up to you.

For what?

I'll let you ponder that. Want another? On me.

Why?

Just a drink.

Why the list?

Have the drink. Take the time you need to think.

About?...

The List.

The List? Just to be clear - are we talking, perhaps...'women and fucking'...?

That's a wonderful reverie, I am sure, but, I can't do anything about that.

I didn't ask you to.

Some things I can do, you understand, but  procurement is not one. No, this list is more permanent, and far less vague.

That statement alone is vague. What are you asking?

What is the ultimate finality?

Death...I....wait-a-second!  Are you shitting me? Are you asking for my HIT list?! 

We never discuss specifics. Just the names on paper. Past relations that served you wrong, fucked you up, or fucked you over. Details not necessary.

Who the hell are you? ...and, why are you trying to elicit my cooperation in ... Holy shit, Is this entrapment? Who are you?

I am a professional, once removed, twice discarded, living on borrowed time, and in need of a cause to keep me alive until that window slams shut. Thinkin' maybe between you and I, we can eek it out a little longer if I am driven. But even if that's not the case, maybe it'll serve you up some vindication before I depart.

By Killing people…!?

Shhh.  We were just discussing names on paper, nothing more.

You a cop? …or...a paid killer?

Not a cop...and no psycho... so no further specifics. I'm not a 'Bad Guy', either, if that helps. You'll get no more from me, for your own sake.

Why me? Why...random?

I have a skill. An art - something I deplore philosophically, yet enjoy in practice and with reason. Once the course has been set, I'm duty bound, it becomes a mission. Its a service I can provide, anonymous and complete.

Why me? Why not him or her?

Could have been, when the evening started, but I don't need to waste time pursuing a candidate and then conducting interviews. Me and you, we had a few, and I like you. From what you tell me, you've been fucked over...

I drink too much, and am a regretful drunk, way too willing to spill my guts. Just let me be to cry in my bourbon.

Have another. Get it out. Maybe I can reap you some revenge. I can't fix it in the past, they're all our own mistakes, but I can provide you some retribution, so take it, or leave it. 

Just like that?

Everyone has a list that could be acted upon, question is - do you want to instigate it?

Maybe I do, but for chrissakes, man, I can't take a life!

Please. Stop with specifics. Most can't, that's why I offer, 'a gift'. You might as well make the most of my skills while I am capable and have the time.

How much time is that?

Who knows? I've seen men in the ward, they can depreciate rapidly. I know it's coming and I know what it looks like. Agent orange - it's insidious. Once it hits, you don't know it - you are in 'shutdown'...confused, delusional, and rotting away. By then you're...up here, you're gone, and the rest is just dealing with pain while fading away. So, I'm going to hold on to life as long as I can, these last precious days...
You were lucky to be born at the right time, some weren't. Some don't deserve the luck they got. So, just give me the Goal.

By taking the lives of others?

The one's that deserve it? You bet. You ever find yourself thinking, if you got the shot, you could still step up to bat and hit big league pitching? Look up there, guy gets a hit on TV and you think 'I could do that'...Just one more time - one more hack at bat. But the Truth is, you'll never get the chance, and you couldn't hit it if you had to...just that one more swing of the bat...only to prove yourself mortal and unworthy .

Ha, ha! You just ‘made’ my number one.

Me? How so?

You just brought to mind my 'Number One'.

Bullshit. You know the list, everybody has their personal list…you recite it every night: cheating spouse, bitter mistress, asshole boss, CEO, some mid-management prick. A banker, maybe...a crooked advisor...a contractor, that screwed you, or maybe a car dealer? ... bureaucrats, or maybe a malicious cousin, or a schoolyard bully...a coach that crossed you, or a priest who fondled you....or worse...and there’s always the one that broke your heart and drove you to drink. There are a million reasons. By now you've thought about it and you surely know who is on it. A longer list than you anticipated, isn’t it?

I guess it is... I...

We can whittle it down. I’ll give you a full ‘nine innings’, how’s that? Nine is your number. Now let me deal with 'the how'.

Like you said, first off, it’s ‘The Bat’. One more swing of the bat...You get to take my cuts on the bastard, so don’t get cheated, and take some vicious hacks.

If you so decree. Who is he?

Prick VP. You'll be happy to know that he has that very bat in a box, framed and under glass, right there in his office - a keepsake from his glory days...just waits for you to inquire, so he can regale on himself, yet again, about his athletic exploits...asshole.

How'd he screw you?

He opted to axe my entire group in order to maximize his Annual bonus...said so himself. He boasted about his fucking bonus as he gave us the boot. We were the rubble he climbed over to get where he needed to go.

Was it a lot of money?

Probably six-figures, back then, and much more by now...

How many people he screw?

Eight. Nine, with me included.

Do the math. The group did not equate.

It goes beyond the math.

Of course it does.

Here, take this pen and a stack of those bar napkins. Now on each napkin you write a name. Block print, no cursive.

This is evidence.

Napkins? No. I’ll keep them right here - front pocket. If I get caught I piss my pants...its a bladder problem. If they care to look, they’ll find soggy ink blots. 

And when you’re done? No souvenirs?

Don’t insult me. When I'm done with each, I flush it, used or not...no trail. 

And how do I know it's done?

Oh, one fine morning you wake up to have your coffee and news and there he is...front page Section two, 'Exec Suffers Grand Slam!'

Hahaha, thats rich!

So was he, once, but it didn’t serve him well, and he wasn't aware he just 'bought the farm' and the bill just came due.

You can do that? I can trust you, when I don't even know you?

I'm highly competent. I say -Who are you? Have we met? Oh yeah, maybe we sat at a bar by chance, in some close proximity, but that was random. Why, I didn't even know his name... 
You see? - No links, no ties, no knowledge....all to your advantage. I  don't care to know your name.

Nor I, yours. 

You won't.

Are you sure?

Are you?

Hand me the pen.

Batter up!  Thank you, my friend.

V

NIGHT CAPS

His late-night ring sounded - wind chimes. Who the

hell wants alarms going off in the dark. Get enough

of that all day. He had a meditation playlist on,

something he often worked to, in this, his late introspective state... Mulling within his medicated, meditative, machinations.

There it was again...was that his cell?… or the organic sound effects mixed into the waterfall and lute serenade, now playing on his headset. No, now

his phone was flashing - "who the hell..." Assuming it was work related, irritated at the interruption and blatant imposition, he caught a breath, to calm him before answering, but the breath was not cleansing enough, as the edge was apparent-

Yes!?

"Oh I'm sorry. Did I wake you? You're angry”, she

responded. He didn't know the voice, but liked the

sound of it.

"No. no… I'm good. Working on

something...awake...who...?

Of course you wouldn't remember...so brief...

I know you? We met?

At the station? Last week...I'm in music...you gave

me your card....you're the designer?"

The music lady. Yes. My neighbor!

Ha! that's me. Can I borrow some sugar?

You took my picture.

I did.

I didn't take your picture...

Because you're shy.

Who had time to try? Besides, I can't look too hot @

6 AM....can only imagine what the shot looked like. That really was unfair.

It was, and, yes, I'm overtly aggressive but that's me

and the business I'm in. Sorry if ... I simply have no

parameters.

I guess not. That’s not always a bad thing. But, now you're calling after midnight on a work night? Did you just random call to chat?...or do you have a gig?…as in, Work maybe?

No gig, not yet, we barely met... but we produce

forty artists, so…

Impressive. In that case, Did you check out my portfolio links?

We did.

We?

It's a big company. The more eyes on your work the

better. That's how it works. Nice work, by the way...

Thanks. I appreciate the exposure. Can I repay

you...personally...? ....buy you drink or dinner....or

maybe just coffee and a muffin? Get to know you?

I regret I have a man in my life already.

If you regret it, maybe you should forget it.

He gives me no regrets, ever. And you're not all that

shy, so don't try to reel me in.

I knew it! It was a lousy picture. Don't judge. I'm much better looking...and charming, in the evening. So please delete it! Don't want your man to see it! Big

Trouble….

Yes he is, but We do not mess with each others

devices.

You don't share?

There are devices we share because they are

meant to be shared, but we do respect the other’s

private devices.

Unless invited...

Exactly.

Well, then I demand a re-shoot. Please. Before

somebody sees it.

Someone already has. She's with me.

Is this a joke? Are you toying with me?

No we're not. 'She' was the 'we' I was referring to.

She's the Head of Visuals, so I mentioned you

over drinks tonight. She wanted to see your picture.

No! You showed her!? See...?!

Relax. I told her you were 'interesting...'

Interesting?

She liked what she saw....(surprise, surprise). So she

came up and we checked out your portfolio online.

She like my work?

Hold on. 'You like his work?" She just smiled and

said ahhhh-huh, and She's still smiling!

She's at your place?...now?

That's right.

You're in the south tower?

Yes.

Facing which direction?

North.

Huh...

What's that?

I'm in 'the North'...facing south.

What floor?

Twenty two...

Eighteen...

Your lights on?

No. .... Just a work light, rest of the place is dark… what about yours?

Oh yes. We're standing, looking out, enjoying the view and our Night cap.

What's your friend’s name?

"Monica" the new voice chimed in.

Hello Monica.

Hello Darren. I must admit, you two are confusing

me with the north-south talk. Carla what building are

we talking about?

The one facing you Missy. You don't need your

glasses, it’s a big building...

Right there? So close?! That's unreal!

I know. Darren turn your lights on-and-off for us so we know where you are.

They are – just flipped them on.

Didn't see it. Are your drapes drawn?

They are.

Care to open them and let Monica meet you from

across the way?

Sure, okay. Here you go....

OH My!

Well LOOK at you Mr. Portfolio!

Sorry ladies, this is how I work...and relax..

You mean that's relaxed ?!

I can't deny you ladies didn't arouse my curiosity…

Clearly.

Definitely. I think I'd like my glasses....

Good thing my man's not here...mmm.

Have you always been an exhibitionist, Mr. ...?

Mykowski. Darren. Never. So now what?

What 'what'?

I'm standing here on exhibition for all to see...

Yes you are.

Indeed.

So would you ladies like to join me?

No way are we coming over there. We don't know

anything about you!

Am I hiding anything? Here, allow me to twirl

around...am I hiding anything?

Nothing obvious. And, you should stop twirling...it's

strange and people are watching.

They might think...I dunno...I...oh, my! … Mr. Mykowski, must you?!

Somebody join me! It's quite liberating!

No way, not me. What...?

In that case, Carla, leave the room.

Are you serious?! You are one kinky bitch missy!

No one hears about this...

Never.

So please...leave. Allow me to draw the drapes for a

moment, Darren. Stand by.

I am standing.

You certainly are. I will be right back.

The window went dark, but only to be lit a minute later, and there in the light doing a naked handstand with long legs extended on the horizontal she balanced steady and turned slowly. Darren let out a barely audible, ohhh.

Awfully quiet. You there, Darren?

Nowhere else I'd want to be in this moment – so gymnastics, huh?

Ballet.

She then bent and rolled gracefully into a full stand,

before raising one leg vertical... up over her head, toes to the sky, with nothing to hide.

I ... You are very talented...I won't embarrass myself

by trying that and falling on my ass..I suddenly feel I need a fig leaf...oh, wow! Cartwheels! Can we meet? I

mean...

You were right Darren. This is liberating, isn't it?

...a date?

This IS our date Darren. I've never done or felt

anything like it. I want to do it again...and keep

doing it.

Wow, how can you do that behind your head? That's

impossible! We need to get together! Please Monica

you're killing me!

There's a lovely tension going on here, don't you think? Ever felt this tension before, Darren?

No. Never.

Exactly.

C'mon!

Don't beg or demand or you'll ruin it, Darren. Enjoy it and work on yours!

What?

I want to see what you can do...how you do it...next

time, Darren, surprise me.

Next time?

We'll call you.

WE?

That's a distinct possibility, if I know Carla.

That's crazy.

Goodnight, Darren.

The window went black. Darren is left holding

his....pose.

So began the midnight rendezvous. Monica would

become an eager weekly partner, so graceful and

creative, whereas Carla, once she joined, and felt the urge, was less predictable, less pliant, more stationary, but made up for it with some blatant hedonistic heat. Carla's boyfriend even gave it a try on one occasion. I would guess it was at her urging, because he left in a huff, not finding 'the fun' in the game. There was no joy in his performance and Darren was relieved not to see the big dude nude, and hoped never to meet him on the street. 

Carla and Monica did a duet that he'd never forget.

Then other rooms started to light up, different nights.. one here, one there. They came on randomly - old folks, young ‘marrieds’ in consummation, same-sex couples...some kinky, some flamboyant, others, clumsy, flabby, tight, shy, or self-gratifying, and one very angry...all nudes in the cubes, baring, daring, the anonymous night eyes upon them.

See me! 

We all saw.

When the day was finally arranged and Monica and I met in person, it was pleasant and polite. We blushed and laughed with our shared intimate knowledge, yet quickly came to realize how much we didn't know...strangers face-to-face in the sun - different people - different light - different voice - and the eyes, they spoke. The 'liberation' was over, leaving only  reality and barriers, between us. Fantasy had died somewhere in-between. I could sense her shame, or was that her disappointment in me?

We never saw each other again.  My portfolio was discarded with the lust - no further word. But I did receive several options 'out-of-the-blue'....and oddly enough, nothing stopped Carla, me, or any of the others from perpetuating the ritual. In fact, on some nights, the numbers are down-right conspicuous!  

Wait...sorry...I must stop as I write...another story beckons, as yonder shines a new light.

V

BITSEY's BUSINESS

Wendell felt the tingle of the vibrating phone under

his left buttock, but endured it and sat quietly

awaiting his turn. “No cellphones” the signs read and

there were many reminders about the office. He

thought the one over the urinal was a bit much, but

secretly hoped there was one in each stall. It disturbed Wendell that men, and surely women, felt comfortable chatting while shatting without regard for the receiver on the other end.

There were sounds being made that anyone with a

trace of grace or dignity surely would not release in

public, or certainly face-to-face, yet sensed it

safe and sanitary, if scatterd over the airwaves.

Gas, grunts, groans, and gushers...nothing seemed to matter, not even the flushes. “Gross.”

He suspected it was Bitsy on the line as she'd dial

back time-after-time, and would continue until she

got the news she expected to hear, answering the question of the year - did you get the job?!!!

He ignored her texts, and resented the

pressure, yet understood her motivational fear and

fixation.

The door to the inner offices opened and a jolly man

was clapping the rail-thin collegiate heartily on the

back, and when he saw that, Wendell's spirits went

slack. The decision had apparently been made. His interview would be perfunctory, brief and efficient, but his prize, and his pride, would be empty when he exited.

After a firm handshake and jovial " We SHALL be in

touch, Mr Klump. Can I call you Jimmy?"

"You may call me whatever you please, sir."

They shared their laughter down the hallway, where the round man held the door and bade the younger man 'good day'.

The round man returned, and looked around for another likely candidate, but found only Wendell, gazing up from his frayed Readers Almanac with keyed-up anticipation.

"You the last?", the man asked, barely hiding his irritation. Wendell arose and held out his hand, but the man gestured instead, to follow. So Wendell followed, as his butthole tingled," give it a break, Bitsy!", he thought, as he lagged behind, much like following his hangman to the gallows.

The round man sat down, his leather chair gasping

for air, let out a pphhhuuusssshhh, as it compressed

beneath his girth. The round man then murmured as he reviewed Wendell's resume, then stood up smartly, and with Wendell expecting the worst, the man said, "Allow me to relieve myself", as a statement, not a question,then smartly left the room.

Bitsy dialed again, and this time Wendell extracted

the phone and saw her text:
"how is it going?"

"Not good" he tapped.

"You blow the interview?"

"No, but geezer doesn't like me."

"Can you change his mind?"

"Doubtful"

“He there?”

“Toilet.”

“Ugh.”

“Gotta go!”

“Put your phone on his desk!”

“NO!”

"Do it or you're dead."

So he did as she said. He felt the floor rumble as

the big man returned and flopped back in his chair

and start to shuffle papers, and resume reviewing the resume where he had left off. Then he stopped and noticed the phone. He stared for awhile then said, 

" ...this yours?"

Oh, yes sir, just letting my wife know I'm running

late...sorry I..."

" I see. Yes, I understand...Women."

"Yes, Sir."

"When can you start?"

"What!?"

“The sooner the better!”

There were handshakes and affirmations, and

Wendell could not control his excitement. As he took

the elavator back down, he had to let Bitsy know!

But it would seem Bitsy was well ahead, as on the

screen she posed, wickedly wide and explicit, with a message that read:

" Can't wait to meet you, and soon! "

V