by Sam Pink
Cabby looked at me and said, “Yes, you go with. Is ok.”
Face didn’t say anything for a second. Then he shrugged. “Aight jo, I’m sorry. Come find me when you back around. Come find me at the bar.”
I slapped hands with him and got in the cab.
The cab smelled like piss and old rain.
Speedy mumbled about money, trying to put his hands in his pants pockets.
Something about 900 dollars on him.
Something about paying for my way back.
Something something.
Bussy.
Speedy gave the cabby an address and we drove toward it.
The cabby started to apologize.
Said he didn’t know.
Said he didn’t want to have to carry him, couldn’t carry him.
“Can’t do this, my man, you know?” he said, making eye contact with me in the rearview mirror at a stoplight.
“Yeah, no problem,” I said.
Speedy tapped my arm and loudly whispered, “Heece a bussy”—then hiccupped.
I laughed.
The cabby laughed making eye contact again in the rearview mirror.
He turned up the contemporary dance music on the radio and raised his eyebrows to me in the rearview mirror. “I make it louder?”
“Hell yeah,” I said, looking out the window.
And we drove.
Speedy tapped my arm with his hand.
He nodded toward the cabby and said, “S’a bussy”—then fell sideways a little.
I caught him and straightened him as the contemporary dance music played.
Cabby said, “I turn here? Here good?”
Speedy said, “No, kip goin. Go a my house, marfucker. I get paid, I have a lot of money. I make more’n you.”
Cabby turned down the music. “Yes ok, that’s good my friend. Ok.”
Speedy took out a handful of crumpled money and showed me.
I opened my eyes real big. “Whoa, nice.”
Speedy laughed, resting against the door and holding the money out.
I laughed.
That made Speedy laugh more.
The cabby was making eye contact with me in the rearview mirror.
He started laughing too.
It was chaos.
When we got to Speedy’s place there was no wife or son out front!
Just a small house with a gate and staircase and some signs about not having a dog on the premises.
“Pull up here, pull up here,” Speedy said, pointing to a utility van out front his house. “Don’t hit my van, it has a security system, ya fung bussy.”
I laughed.
Every time I laughed, Speedy’d laugh and look at me.
Felt like we were both 8 years old, at a sleepover.
Speedy told the cabby to back into the alley a little to line up his door with the sidewalk. “Pull up, pull up,” he kept saying.
Cabby kept saying, “Yes yes, pay here, pay here.”
Speedy handed the cabby a handful of bills.
He offered to pay for my ride back but I said I’d walk, lying about how I knew some people who lived nearby — the old “I know people” routine.
Oh brother!!!
The cabby got out and opened the door for us then stood back while I got Speedy out myself.
I almost dropped him at first because my arms weren’t securely around him, all the weight on my fingers and wrists.
But then I adjusted.
“Put me onna steps,” he said, looking over my shoulder at his house.
I carried him down the cab’s ramp and onto the sidewalk.
Looking at the cabby over my shoulder, he said, “Heece a bussy anway.”
I laughed.
The cabby laughed. “Is ok?”
I said yeah.
He got in his cab and drove away.
I carried Speedy up the front steps, set him down so he had space to lean back.
“Anks,” he said. “I’n sit here and smoke a square. Shh, I mean a joint, nehe.”
I laughed and nodded, said goodbye.
He said, “Ok, I see you Friday,” and fell asleep on the stairs.
It was a really long walk back.
There was already a blister covering my entire left heel, from not wearing socks with my boots.
The blister came off the heel immediately, squishing with each step.
The fucking squishes.
Lord Almighty, the fucking squishes.
Up above, the moonlit clouds looked rippled, like the ribcage of some giant thing digesting me.
And I wondered if the direction I was going went down into the digestive system or up out of it.
Wondered what difference it made.
There was a bug hovering over a small pool of ice cream on the sidewalk.
Like a firefly, but it wasn’t a firefly.
And I could’ve stepped on it and killed it.
But I didn’t.
Be thankful, little bug.
For in my world, you are just a little bug.
IN MY CASTLE/ FUCK THE WORLD
I passed by Spider-Man’s alley this afternoon and saw Face pissing on a dumpster.
“Whattup cous?” he said, zipping up.
He started walking down the alley and motioned for me to follow.
Spider-Man and Janet still weren’t there, but there were two other guys — Larry and Craig — sharing a 40.
Larry was sitting on an overturned bucket.
I shook hands with him and sat on a parking block.
He smiled, clasping his hands between his knees.
He was overweight, wearing this big stretched-out T-shirt.
“Hoowee, namn,” he said.
Craig sat on the ground with his back against a column of the train tracks, holding a crackpipe and a lighter.
He had no shirt on, baggy jeans tied off with a belt, and unlaced peanut-butter-colored work boots — eyes hyped and yellow.
He said, “Hey, we uh, doing some choice activities here.”
Face said, “Don’t worry. This cat coo as shit.”
I said hi.
Craig looked at me for a second.
Then he smiled, holding out his hand.
“Craig Williams,” he said.
I thought it’d be funny to kiss his hand and say, “Nice to meet you.”
But instead we shook hands and locked thumbs.
“Craig Williams,” he said again. “Thass British, but I’m talkin bout I’m become Chinese to my kids if I stay out here too long. Talkin bout ‘One Gone Too Long.’”
He took a huge hit off the crackpipe, turning it slow and watching with his eyes crossed.
He exhaled.
“Yizzir,” Face said, then cleared his throat.
“Hoowee, namn,” Larry said, his hands still clasped between his knees.
Another guy came walking down the alley.
Troy.
I’d seen him around but never really talked to him because he was always too drunk to remember me.
He came up and said, “Ey, hassa goin erybody?”
Skinny, sunburned, and bald.
He wore an oversized white tanktop and long wide-legged shorts with the brand name ‘spraypainted’ on one of the legs.
There was a foam flower behind his ear.
Face said, “Nice petunia, Petunia.”
Troy said, “Anks”—poking through a handful of cigarette butts he’d collected.
His hands were gray and dry like elephant skin, bleeding through cracks.
“Troy, fuck you been?” Craig said, holding up his hands. “You get that ice?”
“Huh?” Troy said. “I’s?”
“Yeah, you suppose’a get ice. I gave you that dollar before. We tryna ice this beer, man.”
Troy barked through some mucus. “Nah man, I never got any dollar.”
Craig laughed. “What? Man, bullshit you didn’t.”
He started to stand up.
Troy just shook h
is head and said, “Hol on, be right back”—holding the petunia in place with one hand, cigarette butts with the other as he walked away.
There was a strip of hair along his neck where he’d missed shaving.
Troy.
“Man, fuck that motherfucker,” Craig said, resting back against the brick wall behind him, looking at the crackpipe.
He touched an area on his ribs, lightly scratching.
He lifted his arm and pinched the area a little, showed me some scarring on his ribcage.
“Man,” Craig said, smiling. “This shit from this one bitch I used to date, Suzie. Bitch was Canadian, Spanish, and something else. You member her, Face? Face, I done told you this story.”
Face was staring at the ground. He looked up and said, “Huh? Nah man.”
Craig said, “Yeah jo, Suzie — when she, you know.”
He waited for Face to respond.
When Face didn’t respond, Craig turned to me and said, “Bitch lit me on fire while I’s sleeping.”
“Oh shit,” I said, trying not to smile.
But then Craig smiled, so whatever.
“So it’s like this,” he said, licking his lips. “Man, one time she thought she caught me cheatin, and she locked herself in the bathroom. I’s poundin, yelling, ‘Let me in let me in.’ She kept saying, ‘One second, one second.’ So I broke open the door and she in the bathtub cuttin her arm up with a motherfuckin razor. I told her, ‘Baby, I’m not cheatin.’ I told her, I said baby, get mad at the person cheating when that happens. Then shit, one night I pass out drunk, ok. And she found a number and a name in my pants pocket. Calls the bitch up. My ass wake up to something cold and wet. She pouring rubbing alcohol on me. She talkin bout, ‘You said hurt the person cheating on you, not yourself.’ So she lit my ass on fire, jo. And my dumbass, hah, instead of rolling around, I run to the bathroom. Got my dumbass burnt. Second-degree burns, jo.”
Face was laughing like ‘Hik’ik’ik’—his shoulders going up and down.
Larry said, “Hoowee, namn.”
He’d mostly been sitting there with his hands clasped between his knees, saying, “Hoowee, namn” and sometimes grabbing at the small floating things blowing off nearby trees.
A butterfly flew by.
Face turned to Craig and backhanded him on the chest. “Ey, you see that butterfly, cous?”
Craig said, “Yeah, uh huh, that orange one. What’s that? It’s a—”
“A monarch,” Face said.
“Yeah, monarch,” Craig said. He clicked his teeth. “Man, look at you, Bug Man.”
“Yizzir,” Face said.
Craig laughed, kept licking his lips.
His lips were like, white with dryness.
Me, I was trying to get crust out of my eye.
Things were happening so fast.
Worlds of possibility crumbled into newer and larger worlds so fast, it was as if none existed.
Craig said he had a riddle for me. “Alright, this a real brainteaser,” he said, sitting up a little. His hand looked like he was about to karate chop something. “Alright, you got two coins. They equal 30 cents. One is NOT a quarter.” He folded his hands. “What are they?”
I thought.
“One is a quarter and one is a nickel,” I said.
He clicked his teeth. “Dag, jo.”
It was the first riddle I’d ever solved.
Larry said, “Hoowee, namn.”
Face laughed like, ‘Hik’ik’ik.’
He took a cigarette butt from behind his ear and lit it, offering Craig a pull.
Craig said, “Man, you know I done quit smoking. Come on, man, I’m allergic to cancer. Shit, I got stress too. My motherfuckin job got me travelling all over. I should be smoking like I kilt Jesus.” His cellphone rang. He ignored it. “Work. Man, them dudes I work for, they be I-talian and shit. Talkin bout, ‘Ey paisan! Goomba! Yo, ey!’ Them motherfuckers, they all live up in Norwood Park and shit. Up northwest. They own everything, man. They got that strip place called The Pink Monkey. They told me I could work the door and shit but I said nah. Not with them girls there, jo. Haha. I’m a hound dog, man. Plus I’d be selling powder to they asses in no time. Powder powder powder. Who wannit?”
Face laughed. “You feel me, cous?”
“Them girls love they powder,” Craig said. “You want the best powder, go to them girls.” He pointed at the ground beside me. “Shit, you snort gravel, they get the best gravel.”
I laughed.
Snorting gravel up into my brain where it ricochets at an increasing speed until becoming a humming sound, completely liquefying my entire head, which then spills down over my body in a perfect coating.
Larry coughed. “Hoowee. Namn.”
He picked up the 40 off the ground and took a pull, holding the neck with one hand and the bottom with the other.
“Pass the pain,” Craig said, sitting up.
He tipped his hat back and scratched his head, took the 40 from Larry.
A train passed above us.
After it passed, Face looked at me. “Ey, how come I ain see you the other night.”
I pushed one nostril closed and blew a hard booger out of the other nostril. “It was late when I got back from taking Speedy home.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, smiling. “Hik’ik’ik. Dang, cous. Ey, God gone bless you for that, though. F’sho. You the man. I got you. Even if I ain got shit, I still got you. Face got two dollars in his pocket then you got two dollars. And I’on’t even have to say that, cous.”
“Yeah man,” I said.
Craig was idly tapping his crackpipe with the metal part of his lighter. “Let’s play some cards or something,” he said.
Face got a pack of cards from Spider-Man’s dumpster and broke down a cardboard box, laying it on the ground.
We played spades, sharing a 40 Face had newly opened.
“Aw man, forgot,” Craig said, shuffling the cards. “Scrappy done gave me this shit here. You seen this, Face?”
Craig went into his backpack and got out a small square calendar(?)/book(?) called A Thousand Places to See Before You Die.
He held it out for everyone, flipping through the pictures.
One was a castle on a small mountain.
“Shit,” Craig said, smiling. “Tryna live in this bitch.”
Larry looked at the castle, arranging his cards and chewing his bald gums. “H’only issue I’d be worried bout be how to git food up there. Specially when it snows. But hoowee, namn.”
Craig was looking at the castle. “Man, if I lived there, I be like ‘Fuck the world, I’m in my castle, jo, fuck all y’all.’”
It felt cooler out.
I noticed it was beginning to get dark.
And for a couple seconds, it was scary — like that meant the world was breaking, or expired, or bruised, or something worse.
It was really scary for a couple seconds but then I calmed down.
BED THRONE, PISS JUG, VICELORDS
Larry slept out front of the library.
On the way to the Two Door tonight I saw him in his sleepingbag, lying on his side.
He had his elbow against the ground, head propped up in hand.
I waved. “Larry, yo.”
He waved and said, “Hooooo”—slowly standing up.
He wobbled, looking up into the air somewhere.
“Larry, how you doing?” I said, shaking his hand.
He said, “Man, I am FUH-TUP. I’s at the Two Door watching the Howx game. Hoooo.”
The Howx game.
Many play the Howx game and many lose.
“Hooo, I drank too much,” he said. “Naaaaamn. What’re you doin?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Namn. I am, FUH-TUP!”
“Walk with me back to the Two Door.”
He said, “N’ok yeah,” but then didn’t move when I started walking.
He stood there, trying to balance.
“Hoowee, namn,” he said, taking o
ff his hat and rubbing his head.
I walked down the street towards the Two Door.
Face was at the bus stop out front, smoking a cigarette.
He was wearing a big Blackhawks 2010 Stanley Cup Champions T-shirt and a red White Sox hat backwards.
“Wha’s good, cous?” he said, slapping my hand then pulling me in for a hug.
“Nothin, man.”
“Shit, you wanna walk with me? I got some beers and a little bit of a fiff back at my mama crib. We can tip some with bitch-ass Troy if you wanna.”
Troy lived in an alley near Face’s mom’s house, where Face stayed.
On the way there, we passed the library.
Larry was asleep.
“Hahhhh, he smack-drunk,” Face said. “They threw his ass out after he ain have no money. Du at the bar didn’t have to be so rough wit his ass but he ain have no money.”
Oh Larry.
Larry Larry Larry.
We went into an alley behind a gas station.
Someone had written, ‘One more chance’ in thick-tipped permanent marker on a dumpster.
There were drips coming off the letters.
I imagined the drips coming from the sky — lowering from rain clouds — and everyone gets to pick one to climb — and when you get to the top you get something — but whatever you get, it’s yours and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Nothing!
Face and I passed backyards and gangways and dumpsters, piles of garbage, a garage with a large gang tag that’d been x’d out and inverted in red.
A pit bull rushed up to the gate of a chainlink fence, barking at us.
It made sideways eye contact with me, going, ‘Oorv, oorv.’
Part of me wanted to grab it by the head and kiss it right on the lips then let it eat my face off.
The other part of me wanted the exact same thing.
Troy’s place was down the alley, by an old freight door — with a loading ramp held up by metal wire on each side, a throne of beds stacked on each other.
Face stood by a dumpster and tapped the lid with his fingernails. “Wha’s good, T?”
Troy lay in bed with a stained hoodie on, coughing, his eyes barely open.
He was drunk as fuck, pasty spit around his mouth.
He opened his eyes a little. “Wah? Ey, hassa goin, man?”
He barked out some mucus.
“You sleepin?” Face said, lighting half a cigarette.