Zepol - Poetry - Short Story

A  Night at the Chelsea

I wanted to stay there
222 West 23rd Street
She was grand
She could carry any party
Even in the big apple

Ginsberg once lived there
Burroughs wrote there too
Sid Vicious killed his lover there
All that macabre and gritty history

Looking down from the seventh floor

I dropped my coke
Suddenly it looked like snow
My contribution to the hotel
A performance piece called free falling winter

I thought this Babel of creativity was my last stop
Guess I was wrong I haven't any ghost stories
I am a quiet man with an impaired and hostile life

Shortening the pain was my plan
Instead I went out to get laid
Free and wild she accompanied me to my room

We fucked, no; we fucked a lot
She screamed a lot
You know, god...  Oh god...
Then she flew out the window

I told the cops, “she was looking
for the pavement”

She created another work of art
Primarily red cottage cheese on cement
Cracked a bit at the seams
One leg to the right slightly bent
Wearing a white silk slip
She looked beautiful
She looked surprised
Maybe it wasn’t what she expected    

The cops asked questions,
"yeah, sure, ok

One cop said, “She looks like one of the paintings.
You know, from the lobby don’t ya think?”   

I said, “Yeah.”

Victor the Junkie

He sat in the living room, his eyes and head droopy.  It was a temporary
cure for pain he carried from somewhere; I didn’t care.  

From his mouth came long and curvy words like a slow train coming
around a wide curve, “Yo man, what’s on the tube, man?”  

I said, “It’s the Yankee game and I’m not changing it for you.  Open
your eyes bro.”  In a low breath I said, “Fucking junkie.”  

He was in his twenties but after taking that fix, I knew he didn’t have any
strength.  He started drooling.  “Hey man.  I told you not to do that shit
here.  If mom finds out she's gonna get pissed.”  So he got up, opened
the door and walked out.  

I thought of the last time he shot up at our house.  Mom was in the
kitchen cooking and listening to her Spanish radio program as we sat in
the living room watching television together.  He seemed a little agitated
and a few moments later got up to use the bathroom.  He was taking a
long time so I thought I should check on him.  You can’t trust junkies;
they will steal you blind.  The bathroom light was on but the door wasn’t
completely shut so I went to close it and I heard a piece of metal fall to
the floor.  He dropped his cooking spoon and cotton swab.  He had shot
up in the bathroom and the horse had already taken him for a ride.  I had
to lead him out of the house before my mother saw him; she would have
freaked.  I took him downstairs, walked him to Crotona Park, and left
him there on a bench.  Later that night I found him and convinced him to
go home.          

Here he was doing it again and I was sick of his bullshit.  I followed him
into the hallway and he was sitting on the staircase with his head between
his legs.  “Hey Victor, you can’t just lay on the stairs man, people have
to walk up to their apartments.”  

“Fuck you”, he said.  He rose and took a swing at me so I punched him
in the face and he bled from his nose.  

“I told you not to pull this shit in the house again.  Just because you’re
family doesn’t mean you can come here and fuck around in my moms’
house.”  He staggered forward and swung again and I ducked and
twisted him around.  “Do it again and I’ll kick your fucking ass.”  He
threw another punch and I punched him in the face a few times and
kicked him in his chest.  

The next day I overheard my mother and his talking about how someone
gave Victor a vicious beating.  They asked me if I knew what happened
to him and I said, “Victor is a junkie, ask him.”  Victor didn’t remember
a thing, only that he woke up on the street.  A few days later, I told him
what happened.  “Man I kicked your ass and I’m only fourteen.  You
better leave that shit alone”  

He didn’t believe me and kept using for two more years.    

In 1973, Victor was undergoing treatment for his addiction.  He was
taking a stronger and more addicting drug, supplied by the government,
called methadone.  On a warm spring day of that year, he and his girl
friend sat on the stoop of his mothers’ apartment building.  They lived on
Prospect Avenue.  It was a dangerous place to live.  An old friend and
heroin addict approached them.  “Hey man, you got any?”  

Victor said, “No, I’m tryin to get that shit off my back.”  

He had the itch and scratched his arms and chest.  “Why you lying man.  
I know you got some.  I’m hurtin bad.  This shit is crawling under my
skin brother.  Now let me have some.”  

Victor said, “I told you I’m not using anymore!”  

Before Victor could get up, he quickly pulled out a knife and stabbed
him in the neck.  Victor put his hands up in defense but couldn’t stop
him.  His girlfriend screamed as the guy continued to stab him in the chest
and neck repeatedly.  Muffled sounds of pleading came from Victor’s
mouth as it filled with blood that splat all over the stoop.  Then he slowly
slumped to the ground and it was over.  The girl continued to screamed
and people began to take notice, the junkie quickly looked through
Victor’s pockets and then ran.  

Several days later, I went to his funeral.  I looked in the coffin and Victor
looked good.  You couldn’t see the stab wounds and he looked as he
did when he was alive.  He was a good-looking guy and they didn’t use
much makeup.  Victor had very white skin and silky black hair.  
Everything seemed in place except that his once beautiful green eyes
were shut.  He was only twenty-three years old.

About Adam

Adam, name the animals  

Who me?   

Yes you  

Eve honey, will you name the animals for me  

Ok

Adam till the soil  

Me?  

Yes you, you don’t expect me to do it, do you?  

Yes sir, no, no sir, I’ll do it.   

Ten minutes later

Oh Eve, will you till the soil please, I’m really busy

Busy, doing what!  

I am making a new club to play whack a mole Eve.

Adam I getting tired of doing everything around
here, this isn’t fair.  I have to till the soil, name the
animals, fetch water from the river, cook the food,
and even clean the cave and you’re just sitting on
your fat ass all day playing whack a mole.  Leave
those damn moles alone already.  I don’t think they
like playing with you anyway.  Adam quit behaving
like a child and grow up  

Eve, what’s a child?  

It’s going to be a long time before you find out.  

Eve thinking, He’ s not getting it, anytime soon.      

Screw this, Adam!  I’m going to the snakes den.

Ok, honey   
Copyright 2007 Red Pulp Underground
Red Pulp Underground