Si, 5:51

I’m having a drink on you tonight, for what it’s worth, b/c I’ve got another way to make money now: Tonight I modeled in a life-drawing class for the first time. The teacher is the same guy who teaches at the dancing school. Andrew. It’s actually harder than you think, standing around freezing your fanny and your nips off, dead still, for an hour. Still, the money’s an incentive, and you get to see yourself from 16 different angles. For my first pose I looked like a sprinter in the Olympics getting ready for the blocks, and for my second pose I knelt as serenely as a child in prayer. Topped it off with walking with my hands in my pockets, and then we cracked open a bottle of wine. We’re meeting here next week, unfortunately, so I MUST clean this place up.

Jo-Jo has a little boy, I just discovered, and he doesn’t say much at all about the mother. He just starts weeping. He’s involved in a case where the state wants to give the child up for adoption. He has a job as a bicycle courier for a layers firm, so he’s having one of them help him. But, he’s Peruvian and the mother, his girlfriend, who’s Choctaw, doesn’t have a job. They need to get married fast. Yeah, right, like that would save anyone.

The little boy is gorgeous. Jesus is his name. Jesus Ramirez. Brown eyes, skin like smoldering clay, hair fallen from the leaves of coca trees. An absolute smile of a kid who likes to put his toys at my feet. Likes killing me with his plastic AK-47, too. I gave him my tracing of the human heart out of an encyclopedia. I caught him using it for target practice.

See, Jo-Jo has a gun that he packs without bullets. I want to charm it off him, but he’s so afraid. He sits there trembling when I drop him off and I just know that he sleeps with it under his pillow. Stupid boy. Wondrous boy. Do ye remember the time I stopped the knifefight between Jim’s father and Jim simply by screaming "DINNER," and you whispered in my ear "...and then sex until morning." Those were the days.

Do ye remember when we used to be better than the boys, able to do more chin-ups, run faster, kill them at Cribbage and still be able to sing each other to sleep when they left with their box of alone? No bullets. It would kill him if he ever bought them. He knows that. He sees my body flow. He knows it would never be worth it, but who could ever know the grip of the jaws that’s he’s in? He uses his cigarette as a shield, not a sword. So, you can see what I’m up against. No, I’m not up against anything. Just trying to teach him to lie back and close his eyes and forget who he is. "Forgetting," he spits. The boy who never tells me any stories doesn’t want to forget.

I’m in the morning with a great big jug of Java chugging through my veins. The sun on my feet, the wind in my hair. I must look like an ad campaign for about 57 different products. But no one’s here to see, thank God. The blades of grass are just thick enough to whistle through, and ah’m a-whistlin’ Dixie fa u, swee pea. One mint julep, Lawd, tha’s all ah ask fa. Taday.

Full moon. Lazy last of the month clouds and just as I thought of the sheer strength of Jo-Jo, something exploded outside. Sounded like the next cul-de-sac along, though. I went out to find a mailbox two away from mine blown off it’s perch, torn in two at the seam when an M-80 ripped it apart, laying at my feet. I heard the car scream away, but couldn’t see it at all. Jesus Christ.

I’m making a brick courtyard in the shape of a heart as large as a queen-size bed for my roses. Three stepbricks with a well in the middle that looks like the disc of a lilypond pool. Every time I get a Kennedy half-dollar I’ll toss it in, saving for my will: A bucket of Kennedy half-dollars.

I’m having a housewarming party for myself this Friday for the staff at Mad Micks and everyone at the shelter. Thought I’d make some stuffed crispins and some cream cheese wrapped up in ham slices. I’ll buy a bottle of Maker’s Mark, too. So, you’re invited spiritually cuz I know how you have no money. Still, you’re rich, still.

I know Buhr will be a blessing in the disguise of a little terror, which is why I’m happy that I know that it’s up to you. Give her what she needs, and let her know you’re always there. Like I need to tell you. Like you need to have a toxic espresso milk shake on me.

Adios amiga

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