Memories Of My Melon-Choleric Whores

The day began unusually, as I woke up without the usual violent coughing fits to which I have grown accustomed. I lay there for a few minutes, waiting for the spasmodic jolts of phlegm to shake me out of bed, but they never came.

I keep fantasizing about having tuberculosis. I imagine I'd spend my remaining years coughing in smoky parlors, cheating at cards. Drinking again. My charm and viciousness would make me notorious, eventually landing me games in the back room of the Vietnamese video store on Forest Ave.

The language barrier would often result in arguments over the rules, but only once would I stab somebody. He would see the shine of my knife for a split second, as it lazily spun through the air like a broken bird. I would take his whores home with me that night.

My new companions would dote on me. At the card games, one would silently refill my bourbon and the other would roll me cigarettes on the bruised, stretched skin of her exposed inner thigh. Both would try to pretend that they weren't scared.

They would pretend to love me, but secretly plot behind my back. They would feign adorance, but each night would pray for me to drown in the same blood and bile whose expectoration kept them tending to me at my bedside.

Eventually, I would become too weak to hold the cards in front of my face, and I would lose too much blood from coughing to stay conscious. It would be then that my whores would start to love me. When I died, I would leave them the entire roll of wrinkled twenties that was my life savings.


Anyway, today I felt fine.


It's raining rain, but landing ice on the Hill tonight. The bad weather means cars are grimly spinning up Kellogg St. The rain is sparse, yet morbidly persistent.

The futile climb of each car is commented on by Kevin, who keeps vigil at the window while his rice cooks in the kitchen. Molly is at Homegrown, drinking her "special blend" and conspiring with her friend whom I have yet to meet.

I'm going to put on my vestments and go to the grocery store.