dmseay

Seated at the counter…..calling for the death of Dennis DeYoung…..these are not the best of times….

The old Greek serves a cheese danish….a cup of light and sweet….the #2 keeps rolling above….

He calls out, Bacon and cheese….soft….roll, the voice doesn’t quiver; money in spotted hands; nothing shakes….

The place isn’t clean….not spotless….smells of sausage….garlic…spilt wine….eggs fried in butter….

I love it…

Pig’s ears lay in corn tortillas with cilantro and grilled onion bulbs dressing the stewed organ….or…lingua…..chorizo…tripe….Pig’s stomach…..buyer’s choice….whose got balls?….

Horchata flows….it’s sweetness hits the palate….all is right with the world…

A Mexican school girl holds a bundle of flowers while Pedro holds her….asking her what she desires…her wildest dreams….her fantasies….

I’ll take the Pig’s ears, she says softly, Yes….the Pig’s ears….

Pedro plops down a bill….kisses her on the cheek….

The #2 rides above….She kisses him back….the line forms to the right….

Next…..

She offered herself….quiet….meek…needed money for food…maybe a habit or two….I don’t like to second guess…

I do it for a $20…..no betta deal in town, a brown finger was placed on her Rouge lips, $50 for anything else, hands on hips with a motion in the middle

What are ya?

What you talkin?

Twenty-four….tops?

You in or not?

Brown eyes stared me down, No….I’m not…..I’m not….

Not a sound was made. She went her way, I went mine….

I wondered…..does she ever get lonely……

And the scene moves from Manhattan to the Bronx….Dominicans…..Arroz con Pollo rather…..no longer salt- less ….meals….no risks….no flavors….

Dark skinned girls walk the streets….hanging-on street corners….toot toot…..yeah….beep beep….but the white boys still drive-by….windows cracked….lips puckered….

Art on brick walls…reality hits….an El train brings memories of Wicker….of Humboldt…..

It’s only a matter of time…..soon Mr. Charlie will stake claims here…as he did there….and there….and still on the prowl……

Was in  Queens…..Brooklyn…..Washington Heights….Harlem….do we want blight turned shiny and new…..with masses…tossed….Maybe The East River…..

It’s a dirty job…..nobody has to do it….

Naw man dat nigga had his chance…..blew it like a champ…..I knews it’s was comin to dat, Skinny Slim slammed on his boy from the past….

Told dat nigga ta git his shit togetha……did dat nigga listen?…..Fuck no……just kept on keepin on like a rollin stone…..like a rollin stone….

Where ya goin Slim?….what’s up wid you?….

Couldn’t tell ya…can’t tell ya…..maybe headin down da same road, Slim stammered….might be
..

Ya never know Slim….

Ya better motherfuckin know…..you better….

No more of this…..asleep with an eye akimbo….free porn streamed til wee hours….not a dry cot in the joint…..

To lie awake….to walk a somnombulist stroll each morn…..for what….to encounter yet another night in the trenches….

Board a bus again…..go to a land west…..seeking warmth….seeking something…..always seeking something…..

What is it…..why is it?…..wanderer’s blues…..to tread on America in these last days of Rome……

Take it in…..just take it in….we are all just one step from the abyss…..I  welcome it….

Served coffee at a Euro joint downtown….lattes, espressos, Al Pacinos, frothed, creamed, sipped and sucked all day long to Midtown mogul midgets….light airy muzak playing to sophisticated playful palates pouncing at the bit…..”Get a load of this broad,”……that language wouldn’t go in this lizard lounge….

The bottles lined the wall….cleaned glass…..rods of steel dividing whiskeys from  Scotch….bourbons and Brandies……gins….vodkas….a fancier version of Campari….extra herbs…..cleaner….still tastes like cleaning fluid….

Drank  joe…..watched a young black tattooed artist/barista/ waitress/ knowitall….work the marble top….a shook here…a jook there…a flip of the Brazilian blow-out…..and away we go…..

Conversation kept to minimum…figured my game real quick….or did she……Bragging  she has two jobs….always had….. working since she was fifteen….(now an old maid at 27)…….If you got two arms….two legs….and a head…you can work, she rattled off to the fat white guy…..What was she fishin’ for?….had she misdiagnosed?…..

I’m an adult, she added, I pay my rent, intrigued….quickly I followed-up……

So….curious….if one is an old guy sitting on a stool in a homeless shelter drooling on himself….not paying rent…..is he an adult?

Well, she sassed, He don’t no responsibility…so….no…..

I see…..

The bill came…..she shuffled…..expecting the pay-off perhaps…..Signed for the black gold….added in the tip line, Here’s your tip for the day…..Don’t show your cards Sis……Earnings lie in the balance…..

I wanna hold ’em….like in Texas where they fold ’em…..

 

Thanks to Lady Gaga….Poker Face

 

Waiting on an end…..maybe beginning….don’t know…
Perhaps not waiting at all….just being still….without movement…..

Can you move?….take steps….

Have to wait….

For what?

For word….permission…

What a fine fix….

Yes….a fine fix indeed….

Is anyone smarter than Samuel Beckett?….not Joyce…..not Eliot….wandering in The Wasteland….their’s was genius too…not a Beckett…..not a Beckett….

Does today’s reader even attempt a writer of Beckett’s range….mastery of language….today’s readers find themselves in quaqua…..and that voice shall not be found….

It is the tech saavy world…..it is the non-reading ungraspable planet of wasted youth and blighted years…..no time for English to be translated into French then back to English with Latin gems thrown about like crystals in a cave…..

Waiting for Beckett…..I am waiting for Beckett…..can’t go on….can’t go on…..I must go on…..

These people…..they say….talk of class issues in America….nothing could be further from the truth, the Episcopalian’s Attorney told me….a swig of red……a Nouveau Riche sandwich before him…..dressed in Mesclun..frisee…..a hint of purple……

Now Europe…..that’s a class structure…..Not America, he dabbed thin lips….

I suppose you want a sandwich too…..aye?

Naaaa…..fine…..

One works….one eats…..

Yes….yes…..but….what makes work…..work?….

I don’t follow…..

Eat your greens…..