”Kaze! How’ve you been?” My jubilant handshake-hug couldn’t express my joy when our chests met. His hand patting my back wasn’t unlike a bears paw patting a rabbit.
“I’m doing well, friend! Long time no see.”
His smile was a bridge of pearly whites that span his golden face. The facial hair of his mustache and goatee framed a contemporary portrait of his mouth.
“Why’re you looking at my lips like that?” Brushing his mouth with his hand, ” do you see any crumbs there? I was just eating a spring roll.”
“Nah. I was just um - forget it. How’s everything with you, bro? I’ve been seeing your tag a lot lately,” gesturing to the wall behind him where a beautiful fat-capped Kaze laid in the cut. The bicycle seat he sat on elevated him significantly. The road bike had to set him back a couple of grand and his skin tight cycle pants and jersey tried, in vain, to contain his rippling muscles. My mind chuckled at his outfit.
“Yeah, man. Business as usual. The city is simultaneously my muse and my canvas and I have no qualms about adorning it as I please,” he said before pausing as if pondering what to say next. As he looked at the clouds smiling to himself in admiration for a moment I held onto the last word of his statement but my grip was slowly loosening. “So how has work been?” I asked. “That’s a nice bike you’ve got, K. Life is treating you well.”
“…no qualms about adorning it as I please, young man. This city is ours for the taking. Bloomberg, Giuliani, Kerik, Kelly - those narcissistic bums may have run the city but I refuse to let them run me out of here as they’ve run so many other natives from New York. So as a gift to the city and it’s denizens I present my name to the walls and gates for their viewing pleasure.”
His tone was pleasant but his gaze made me slightly uncomfortable. It shouldn’t. I’d known him for such a long time it shouldn’t affect me but it does. My question was never answered nor did he respond to my praise for his bike. On cue with my thoughts:
“This old thang,” referring to the clearly brand new bicycle, “I’ve had it for quite some time and work is great.” I don’t know what Kaze does for work but I’m quite sure that there has to be many financial perks to being the founder of the War Squad. “Well, that’s grea-” I started before he jumped on his bike and rode off. He turned around and yelled something about a party at his house on friday as I stood at the curb as still as garbage that can’t fit down the gutters storm drain. My presence was discarded by Kaze once again as a crack of thunder sounded followed by an immediate downpour. Drenched, I started to walk past the storm drain as garbage finally made its way into the sewer.
I walked home and planned to check my voice messages after I settled. Getting “settled” was a term I used for kicking off my shoes and leaving them where I may - this time one landing in the foyer and the other atop the kitchen counter next to a can of dog food that I bought mistakenly after a drunken trip to the habibi grocery store at 3am to get a can of pork and beans. I’d usually undress, leaving a trail of clothes until I’m seated on either my bed, my recliner, or my favorite seat - the toilet.
So I settled on the toilet and drank the last couple of ounces from a milk container I’d left on the bathroom sink when I brushed my teeth that morning as I let out a short firecracker fart that reverberated around the commode. Scouring my voicemail I heard no messages from any of my former flames. I wondered if the bonfires I felt were just flickers of a Bic to them.
I stood up to look for toilet paper only to find an empty roll and a waste basket full of used napkins, paper towels, and those little subscription cards and cologne advertisements that are annoyingly placed in the mens magazines that I read while soaking in baths that are pleasantly hot enough to boil any semen swimming in my scrotum. Grabbing a lightly soiled napkin I wiped my ass and threw it in the toilet only to find the turd that I strained so hard to release was the size of a pebble. I then went into the bedroom and, with a swoop of my hand, cleared a space on the bed big enough for me to sleep on.
I laid. Facing the side of the bed that was occupied by junk that I’d received from Craigslisters and ebay sellers my mind wrapped around the times when women laid there. The pillow that once preserved the lavender-citrus-chamomile-jojoba scents of their conditioners now holds the rank smell of the REM induced drool that leaked from my mouth as I snored relentlessly throughout many nights. How I’d missed closing post-climax eyes after sleepily watching the moons rays cascade over strands of their hair.
I laid immersed in junk. My home was a wreck and had been since the last time I had company. What time is it? Shit. Kaze is probably knee deep
in some pussy right now. He’s probably in poontang heaven. He’s probably backstroking in a pool of pussy juice while I lay here doing the dead mans float on this filthy mattress my grandma bought from Sleepys before she turned senile and maxed out all of her credit cards buying air conditioned dog kennels and shipping them to people whose name and addresses she’d found in the White Pages.
Turning on my side Diana appeared in the doorway, her silhouette aglow by the faint orange light of my lamp. She moved towards me and I received her entrance with calm anticipation. The clearly visible hard-on in my shorts was met by her prying fingers. Stroking the material that strained to tame my erection I moaned in ecstasy until a spot of moisture accumulated where the head of my dick was.
Turning on my side I envisioned Diana appearing in the doorway. Her curls cast shadows on her sensuous face and I imagined her floating towards me. Her hand nor mine had to touch a damn thing before I came on myself.
Damn. I wish it was really her.