thinking
in terms of significant sexual situations. a speck of of salt on her tummy.
who giggled in there? i have to share my toys, my room, my food with my sister!
i had just stepped in a conglomeration of rather emotional work, fact, speculation, and something my eight-year-old daughter identified to me as "polemic". no, she told me, you cant get that in a greek restaurant. (i felt better half a block later when she
asked me if the greeks eat dog meat!)
i slipped off my
tom mcanns and adopted an attitude of moral ambiguity. after several minutes of defensive posturing, however, i discovered that my spine had become a chignon. with her father temporarily immobilized, my daughter took advantage of the opportunity to reconstruct the scene of the crime: a nickel pop stand on 43rd, somewhere between the tough brawd's chop shop and the lazy
old man's shothouse.
neither of them ever changed clothes. the tough brawd had a pair of gray oilcloth coveralls with an especially dark patch where the name had been embroidered on the chest. she kept a greasy red rag in her back pocket. when she washed it with hot, soapy water in the sink by the office window, where sammy, the blind woman and former court reporter who refused to wear sunglasses sat
making out the bills and chewing medicated gum, the sink got grimier and it didnt do much of anything for the rag. sometimes i'd take the kids -- my sister's toddlers -- down there to pick up discarded counterweights from the under the tire racks, then i'd hold 'em up in the billing window and invite them to select a pair of sunglasses from the tray marked "lorst and found".
"those yers?" sammy would challenge. she was serious. every fucking pair was a gift that had been given to her by a new customer looking to become a preferred regular. if you're not popular anywhere else, why the hell would you be so welcomed at the garage? i sure as hell didnt ask her why she insisted on showing off her goddamned google eyes. i think the sentiment went without saying,
or was too much for words. miss sammy's words were always harsh.
theoldmanworeapairofgray
slacks andanoldman'ssleevelesst-shirt.theshirthad
whatlookedlikeegg-shapedruststainsonit.heneverworea
beltand
kepttheshirttuckedintohisboxers,whichstuckupaboutaninch-and-a-half
overthewaistlineoftheslacks.hisclotheswerentwornalthohewore
themeveryday;except,thatis,
fortheseatofhisslacks,which
werewornthinandsmootharound
his ghostly buttocks fromsitting
on hisstool thengetting
upto
reach into thecoolerortopoura
shot,usuallyboth,thenbacktothe
stool.hestaredatthet.v.,mouthhangingopen.theonlynewshowthat
heeverwatchedwasbaywatch,which
came onrightwhentheplacegotbusy
intheafternoon,fivetosix.andthenhewouldntwatch;itwasjustfor
thecustomers.hewouldwipeouttheshotglasses,sweepoutfrombehind
thebar.
his wife smokedmentholatedcigarettesandthefloorbehindthe
barwaslitteredwithbutts.
inevertookthe
toddlersdowntotheshothouse,eventhotheguysintherekeptencouraging
metodo
so. one of them,
mannysilentis,toldmeonedaythatit'sgreat
tomeetlittlekiddies.yeah,causeonedaythatlittlegirlthere,she's
gonnagrowuptobea
sexyteenager.mannycalledallteenagers
"sexy teenagers".
sometimes,whentheoldmanwassickoroutoftowntovisithisdaughter
in
nearby screwjunction,thesubstitutebartender,frederick,wouldletuswatch
the jerryspringer."lookathat
sexy teenager," mannywouldsay."hermomma
shouldadonethrottl'therbeforeallthismess!butnicetits."manny
hadworkedfornearlytwentyyearsasa
welderbeforefallingoffa
scaffold
at110
feet. hehadbeennapping,
living in thesummerbreezeontheshadyside
ofa
highrisehotelgoinginonthewaterfront.nowhedidguestspots
atthechopshop,fillinginforthepillheadswhentheycalledinsick.
hedrankandgambledmorethanhisdisabilitycheckeverymonth."iwont
givenoblowjobs,tho,"hetoldmeinallearnestness.mypenisshriveled
inmyshorts.whichonewasit,thateveryone
was talking aboutwiththese
blowjobs?
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