borough of lost boys, vol.

vii
-knife ght-
*by someone who gets creative*
(frankie leone, just a man)
-delivery boy-
*by someone with a colorful work history*
(frankie leone, just a man)
*
! *no new york neighborhood boasts pure hopelessness.
even the worst ones are cut with chances for gentrication. ve
to ten minutes by subway or bus and someone can nd an
organic salad.
! there are cities where both sides of the tracks are the
wrong ones. l.l. bean doesnt send catalogues to any of the
buildings unsolicited.
! one of these is through the holland tunnel or over the
george washington bridge. its a city that hasnt recovered from
riots decades and decades ago. its political systems so broken a
trillion dollars would pass through it like water in a sieve.
! im talking about newark, new jersey.*
*
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2
! *the caddy i drive from age seventeen to nineteen idles in
the daylight. ill total it in about a year. my eyes absorb the
harshness of downtown newark while her and i wait in bucket
seats for him.*
*
! *he knows what i pass him through the rolled down
window of my early nineties el dorado isnt mine. theres a
chance hes aware whose it is. doesnt matter though. even if he
is he doesnt care.
! this is clinton avenue, cocaine capital of jersey, and im
just an errand-running white boy working for another white
boy. this is his neighborhood. im just passing through.
! hes wearing workout gloves. its fall but ive seen him
wearing them in the summer time too. its not hard to guess why.
! nodding, his gloved hand turns the package. he seems
unconcerned with the neighborhoods police. his corn rows are
freshly twisted. like an investment banker in a cornower
button-up with a white collar, he looks the part.
! we straight, he says and begins to turn away.
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3
! this is bad.
! i insist, wherere the bills?
! he smiles, dont trip mah dude. takin this one on credit.
i got you later.
! shes riding shotgun. we dont talk much about my after
school job. shes gathered enough to know whats happening
isnt good.
! i nd the handle and begin opening the heavy door.
! hold up, his jagged voice warns.
! his left hand lifts his t shirt exposing a pistol tucked
between ck boxer-briefs and sagged jeans. his right brandishes a
pointer nger at her.
! i aint playin, he informs without emotion.
! theres something wrong with me. being shown a gun
doesnt bring out much of an emotional response. it probably
should.
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4
! this situations the exception. she gets him. her face shows
the beginnings of hysteria. my hand sprint away from the doors
handle. both hands grip the wheel where he can see them.
! smart mofucka, he says and jogs towards a building
door fteen feet away.
! he must be pretty unintimidated to turn his back on
someone hes robbed for almost a thousand dollars.my ego
bleeds.*
*
! *the scary parts here. letting the propertys owner know.
! through a prepaid phone my voice tip toes, he took it
without paying.
! he never sounds angry. thats whats most frightening
about him.
! im coming to pick you up now. dont make me wait
outside. were day-tripping to jersey.
! ok, i say because its the only thing i can.
v
5
! what do they call this clown again?
! big rell.
! sounds like a tough guy, his vocal chords smirk into my
ear before he hangs up.*
*
! *1988 monte carlo super sport. fresh electric blue paint.
clean factory rims. its fucking beautiful. i make sure i dont
slam the door getting in.
! looking at him always jars me a little. his heads shaved to
the scalp. queens, new york is tattooed in gothic lettering
across its left side. eight of the ngers gripping the wheel have a
letter of skin head tattooed on each knuckle. his long sleeve
ben sherman button-ups orange. no one looks good in orange.
! he skips pleasantries.
! did the joker have a gun?
! yeah.
! what kind?
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6
! probably a glock. there was an extended magazine
sticking out of the handle too.
! he doesnt react. just opens the glove box and removes his
hardware. he makes sure every chambers full and spins the
cylinder of the large revolver. after clicking it back into place he
tucks it between his legs almost out of sight.
! you should be able to do everything with eight shots
youd want to with sixteen.
! id rather not use any shots, i say softly.
! thats why you got bitch made by a faggot amateur.
! i dont respond. we start driving towards the tunnel in
silence.*
*
! *the glass panes of the bars front havent been washed in
a while. a neon colt 45 sign hangs behind them.
! i had a twenty-two ounce draft here the one time i met the
poor bastard who robbed me. it was a dollar. the whites of the
bartenders eyes were more of a yellow.
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7
! this shit-holes where he hangs out?
! think so.
! makes sense. that rimmed out rice rocket an inch from
the grounds his?
! he gestures towards a modied foreign car parked near
the bars open door.
! think so.
! you think so? youre not brave or bright i guess. he
usually alone?
! i dont know.
! what fucking use are you, he asks bringing another
instrument out from under his seat. a section of the barrels have
been sawed off. im pretty sure thats illegal. doubt thats on his
list of concerns.
! this has gotten way too real.
! pushing the shotgun into my grip he says, make sure we
have privacy when i get him out on the street.
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8
! i dont shoot people, i whisper.
! fuck was that?
! i dont shoot people.
! his right knuckles, bearing the head part of skin
head, hook into my sol plexus. i lose my wind.
! youll be able to breathe again in a second. listen good-
you could trade places with him if youd like.
! when im able to get air back in my lungs i re-grip the
shotgun thinking about my options. the decisions ive made up to
now havent left any good ones. he sees i understand this and
starts rolling up his sleeves. i notice a u.s.m.c. death before
dishonour tattoo on the back of his forearm.
! after tucking the pistol into the back of his pants he walks
into the bar. his gaits casual.*
*
! *the doors open but the thief exits the bar through the
window panes.
ix
9
! my employer walks out the door with the same
nonchalance he walked in with. the gun gripped in his hand isnt
the revolver hed brought with him. its the automatic id seen in
the offending partys waist earlier.
! no one runs out of the bar to help the man lying on the
ground surrounded by broken glass. im afraid to close my eyes.
the shotgun rests in my lap while i stare.
! its a hell of a thing watching a man get beaten half to
death with his own gun.*
*
! *he shuts the car door as carefully as i did when he gets
back in. he starts rolling down his sleeves and buttoning the
cuffs. theres blood on the ugly shirt.
! want to get a sandwich? i aint buying though, is the
rst thing he says.
! i dont answer.
! suit yourself. im getting chicken cutlet on white.
cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, oil, vinegar, mayo, salt,
x
10
and pepper. if youre hungry you better get your own when we
stop. im not sharing.
! i dont answer. he shifts the gears, starts driving,
andsighs.
! maybe you should start thinking about delivering pizzas
instead.*
*
xi
11
-knife ght-
*by someone who gets creative*
(frankie leone, just a man)
*
! *i always feel like a dirt bag drifting towards
unconsciousness post sex. theyre awake and very aware im
falling asleep moments after.
i know what theyre thinking:
hes such a man.*
*
! *daylight and nudity betray my bodys been a few places.
exhaustion pulls back curtains around my belief im the center
of the universe.
! ivedealt with a myriad of dysfunctional
personalitiesworking since sunrise in three different boroughs
(biking nearly twenty miles) and still made half the money i
think i deserve. tonights self pity feels justied.
xii
12
! its nearing eight in the evening and ive been at her place
on caton ave and east 18th st about forty minutes. our plans for
an informal hang out were made days ago.
! the bitter-sweet apples been rough on her recently. i
heard it in her voice on the phone. her room reects the same.
clothes litter the oor. sheets are balled up at the foot of her bed.
theres a broken open capsule of m.d.m.a. on the bedstand.
! it hurts seeing her eyes look so beaten.*
*
! *our skinny bodies screw.
! i start to fall asleep. a wounded voice says, baby, its only
eight thirty.
! im consciously fucking up. i feel her disgusted green eyes
while i fade out of reality.*
*
! *i wake up at six and remember what went down. shes
still checked out. watching her sleep usually makes me happier
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13
about where i am. this morning guilt vibrates appropriately
through my brain.
! seems like a good time to clean up.
! she doesnt own a laundry bag so i fold clothes cluttering
the oor and pile them. i move onto collecting delivery food bags
and cans next. she wakes up to the percussion of cans and bottles
being thrown into a plastic bag.
! whatre you doing? dont worry about that, ill take care
of it later.
! i ignore her and collect some scattered papers into a
stack. she repeats herself.
! seriously, stop. i can clean my own room.
! i gesture to the drug paraphernalia on her bedstand,
need this empty capsule of molly?
! whats your problem?
! i dont respond, just stare blankly.
! she answers, ugh, youre so stubborn. no.
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14
! i throw it in the trash bag. a blanket stretched across the
oor begins to fold in my arms. she gives up and returns to her
dreams.*
*
! *breakfast is two egg sandwiches i buy from the bodega
by the q stop. the panamanian woman who made them doesnt
speak english so both our orders are wrong. were used to this.
after unwrapping them on her bedroom oor were pleased
theyre right enough to be palatable.
! she asks, working this morning?
! of course.
! i see disappointment in her expression. her face is
beautiful. it has a unique round shape. her skins pale and clear. i
dont like to smudge it with unhappiness.
! whatre you doing?
! she responds, probably hanging out here. i dont work
until twelve.
xv
15
! you mean youre going to sleep the morning away in this
windowless room? no way. walk with me through prospect park.
ill walk to the g instead of taking the q.
! youre not my father. plus, itll take you twice the time.
! im ok with that.*
*
! *the air in the park smells slow and safe. the emotion
saturating the ground feels breathable. her shoulders look less
weighted outside her bedroom.
! she speaks to me.
! you used to ght a lot when you were younger right?
! ive been in one or two, i say smirking.
! she laughs.
! right. well, right now im outmatched. i feel like im a
little girl whos never been in a ght and a much bigger older
guys kicking my ass.
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16
! whos the guy?
! she pauses to think.
! life i guess.
! its my turn to think.
! eventually i say, sounds like you need to change up your
ghting style.
! her face smudges in a frown.
! everything seems insurmountable. i feel like i couldnt
ever hit hard or fast enough.
! nd a way to pull a knife.
! this sharpens her frown into a smile.
! what if i dont have one?
! then dont wait for one to drop out of the sky. get
creative. pick up a chair or bottle.
xvii
17
! it feels good to hear her laugh again. were reaching the
edge of the park. the g trains not far.
! thanks for cleaning my room, she tells me after some
silence.
! course baby. once a bartender told me a clean room
makes for a cleaner mind.
! she doesnt say anything back for a little while.
! thanks for forcing me out of my apartment.
! didnt mean to be forceful. just felt like i had to make an
executive decision.
! were at the edge of the park and almost at goodbye.
! could you do me a favor?
! sure thing. what do you want, she asks.
! look around the park for a blade a little before going
home?*
*
xviii
18
-boxing-
*by a southpaw who still has a good right*
(frankie leone, just a man)
*
! *happy childhood in a long island suburb.
! blonde.
! only wears abercrombie.
! no piercing or tattoos.
! teaches me how to punch her face without leaving a
mark.*
*
! *my bedroom has no windows.
! red numerals of a clock radio glow onto us with sinister
appropriateness. it provides enough light for me to line up my
knuckles at against her cheek bone and jaw.
xix
19
! she whispers, draw them back a few inches and bring
them down. your st should land so the hit distributes across the
centers of all four knuckles. hit me as hard as you like.
! were naked in a spooning position. shes skinnier than i
am. i like that. my left arm is wrapped around her body. it hugs
her close.
! i hit her.
! harder. i wont break, she says elevating her tone.
! nervousness begins to tremor through me. i hit her again.
! harder. be a man.
! she means it. it feels more wrong because shes so damn
pretty.
! my knuckles land against her face one last time. this one
feels the way she wants. aqua eyes radiate ecstasy before they
shut. she bites her bottom lip.
! cant say i get it. that doesnt matter though- she does. we
kiss slowly.*
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20
*
! *sometimes i eat non-breakfast burritos in the morning.
! everyone has their thing.*
*
xxi
21
-broken hands-
*by someone trying to piece it all together*
(frankie leone, just a man)
*
! *sometimes i drag myself through days, my ngernails
sunken into a chalkboard. others i march mechanically, eyes
locked forward until i close them in sleep. now im not doing
either.
! the sun has resigned and i oat through my mind
listening to the buildings of manhattan whisper to me- their
nothings are especially sweet on the roof of the standard hotel. i
sweep my gaze over crowds of people watching everyone watch
everyone. a fall breeze massages my skin.
! light brown hair falls around his long face. he pushes it
back. looking at me with a smirk he remarks, were just kings
being king dude.
! my thoughts exactly, i laugh and we breathe in the city
silently.
xxii
22
! his eyes are red. whiskey hasnt been easy on him the
passed few days. still, a raw energy breaks from his eyes through
his pain. a bandaged hand brings a rocks glass to his lips. the
dressing on its fresh but blood still seeps through. the opposite
hand has a ceramic cast over it.
! he tells me, a song found me the other day dude. it was
magic.
! i reply, oh yeah?
! yeah man, it was so sick. after all the shit thats gone
down the universe nally sent me something.
! i dont understand but sometimes this guys tough to
understand. while i wait for an explanation i take in his features.
hes one of the tallest (and thinnest) people i know. his hair ows
passed his shoulders and his arms are blanketed in black tattoos
representing occult culture.
! hes weird so (of course) i feel deep affection for him.
! the explanation isnt coming. i shift our topic, you never
told me what happened to your hands.
! dude, no way. dont want to talk about it.
xxiii
23
! you cant show up with two busted hands and not tell
your boy whats up.
! lifting the bandaged hand he says, bartending dude.
sliced the shit open on a broken glass. piece of shit manager
wouldnt even pay for the e.r. guess my bad luck hasnt run out
yet.
! what about the other one? the one in the cast.
! angles of his face pronounce themselves more as its
muscles constrict in anger. after prying apart clenched teeth he
whispers, her. she took my hand along with everything else. i
cant even play guitar anymore.
! what? thats fucking heinous. she broke your hand?
howd she do that?
! he answers gripping the center of his chest, she stabbed
a rusty ice pick right here dude.
! his eyes have gone over the edge of the roof deck. hes
looking west over the hudson river. at new jersey.
! oh, i reply keeping my voice calm, that st found the
other guys face a few dozen times?
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24
! no dude. she was the only face in that equation for me.
this st found a cinder block wall a few dozen times instead of
hers.
! the gaze hes shooting across state lines should burn
newark to the ground. his apocalyptic stare rampages east
towards the loisada projects.
! he continues, when i think of her i can feel all the pain
and hate in this city. every white collar dip shit who just lost his
job. every hood mom who cant make rent. every junky in every
shooting gallery. i feel it all at once and want to scream it.
! but she took my hand so i cant even blast it through my
guitar.
! i dont know what to say so i say nothing.
! eventually i decide to snap our conversation back to his
magical song. what song found you playboy?
! he smiles and thinks for a second, then sings softly, it
only fell apart cause you let it, all the blood you had to lose, pick
up the pieces with your broken hands, it only fell apart cause
you let it, all the blood you had to lose, pick up the pieces with
your broken hands.
xxv
25
! the left side of my lips glide back as i half smile.
! whos that? sounds pretty fucking metal.
! damn fuckin right dude. lamb of god. gets me fuckin
rad every time. metal is salvation dude. its magic.
! hes beaming.
! happiness breaks through me. i smile with both sides of
my mouth. i dont know what to say.
! i answer, were just kings being kings dude.*
*
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