I spend a lot of time dancing. It may be Hell. If so, Hell is dancing to your own music. And the occasional Snake appears. Who knew.
I keep baker's hours. Snoring at nine and up at three ante meridian. My front step is on the pavement. What happens on the street happens twelve feet from my desk. Dawn happening. Peace.
I began to feel vibrations in the ether. Maria de los Dolores passing: earrings flashing, bracelets clashing, accompanying cherubs jiggy jigging. I am fond of Lola because she is the only woman I ever met who is louder and crazier than I am. I find that soothing. Everyone else runs.
Lola starts her circuit around ten o'clock most days. Big disturbance in the pattern means big news. It is the Cherubs. Little fuckers tell her everything. So I opened my door.
"What?" I said.
"Baby Dee is dead. You got a stamp? Give me fifty cents and I get my own stamp."
Baby Dee and I, we had a thing. Knees. I would hobble around to the bodega on my (I can still walk and get my own coffee) mission every morning 7 a.m. On bad days, Dee would hug me this hug that saved me every bad time. Dee ruined his knee being a running back. Baby Dee saw people. He would stop detailing some Cadillac and hug the fucking pain out of me. I am like a child. I thought it was forever. I can walk now and Baby Dee is gone to Jesus.
Lola jiggy jigged away, news delivered and a dollar richer. I went inside, dazed and amazed.
to be continued