Seven of Wands

On The Front Lines—NIGHT

I am dressed in my army colonel’s uniform, standing in a tent looking over some maps with several other officers by lamplight. Some impending explosions can be heard getting closer. The General, at length, looks up from the plans on his small field desk and pulls of his reading glasses. He sums.

“Well, there you have it, gentlemen. We’re making for Tehran at dawn. You all know what to do. Dismissed.”

The officers mill around, chatting with an air of finality. I am more relieved than anything. I cross the floor and leave the officer’s tent. One man, the Sailor, also in a colonel’s uniform follows.

I walk briskly from the officer’s tent, the Sailor still follows. A lot of Christmas decorations have been set around. There are strings of lights everywhere and despite the shelling, and some of the men can be heard singing “Silent Night” somewhere in camp.

“Frank! Wait up! Where are you going?” the Sailor huffs as he catches up.

“I am going back to my men. They are having such a grand time. I hate to interrupt to tell them that we will be moving into battle at dawn. But what else is there to do?”

“And how are you?”

“Me? I am going to stall the bad news by heading off the trail to piss.”

And I do so, heading into some bushes behind a snowman cut out of plywood, leaving the Sailor shaking his head. In the brush, I find a pretty, local girl smoking a cigarette. She startles me as I urinate and then smiles. Embarrassed, I zip up and head back to the Sailor, saying “Good night, Miss. Merry Christmas.”

“Who’s that?” Sailor Lou puff on my return.

“Some girl in the bushes. Probably a prostitute working on the men’s holiday cheer. Leave her be.”

Lou puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re still distraught over the fallout with Andrea.”

“I joined the army for this invasion. We go at dawn.” I turn sadly away. The explosions are much closer. I pull a letter out of my back pocket.

“She wrote me. But, I received the letter in a building being shelled in Khorramabad.”

Ten of Pentacles

Our Rooming House—EVENING

Andrea is a cold fish. She complains about how small a space we live in and how physically warm we are.

“Hot and crowded!” She considers out loud, “It’s so lowbrow!”

Yet, with the whole living room available, she sits closely at my side of me. It’s a bit irritating. We both come from nothing. We aren’t doing all too poorly.

“Andrea, if you are so hot, why do you cling to me? It’s so effete. Effete. That’s what it is.” I get up to leave. As I go I bump the board game on the coffee table still set up from her earlier round with Miss Maggie. I see the game pieces, different color cubes and little duck-shaped pawns, spill on the carpet. Apparently, I am told, the game is harder than I would have guessed for something with the word “Quack” in the title.

I carry the cat litter box outside and down the drive to the trash cans.

After, I take to the porch and gaze upon the City skyline. Our next apartment will be there. Further downtown in a richer neighborhood. After a smoke I head to the dining room, where the boarders are assembling to see what Maggie has wrought for dinner.

I request some hash browns but Sailor Lou looks at me like I am a wealthy pig.

I don’t pursue the request. Instead, we all chat politely, sports, weather, and those who haven’t shown up for the meal. Including Andrea, as is often the case.

Maggie seems proud but concerned as usual. She nudges Sailor Lou and he asks me if I would help go over their finances with her. Before I can say yes or no, he produces a box of bills and a binder with checks, signed, from his personal account. He more or less shoves it at me.

“You’re good with money, right?”

I shrug and try to tell Lou I am not so comfortable about this, but he is on to the next topic.

They are showing a pornographic biopic at a nearby theater; it is about one of the artists that lived on this street back in the heyday of its artsy commune days. In the non-hardcore, “boring scenes” (as Lou puts it), he says we should be able to recognize the surroundings. It was filmed on location in this neighborhood and even our little boarding house.

I return to our room, where Andrea is still puttering with her game. Now with a maze that ball bearings run through. I bump the table again and knock one ball out of the maze, it heads towards the door and I chase it. Andrea’s cat follows but I brush him back inside and shut the door.

Sailor Lou comes over and says he will take me to meet a reclusive woman writer who has just moved in upstairs. He takes me up to the second story. She has run and hidden. I look in at all the boxes of things and the work area she has left. They have also put a drafting table in the hall and I trip over a desk lamp as I pass it. I pause to set it back on the table.

“She must be rich.” Sailor Lou whispers. I sigh. More envy. The woman peeps from the closet.

“Have you gotten him the rum I wanted?”

“I have several placed in my stash in the garage,” he says, “Frank, feel free to hit the stash as well.”

Of course, I was going to do that anyway.

I do not pry, but the sensation of her watching me from her hiding spot is too much to bear. I run out and down the stairs, leaping over the banister, then out the door.

It is nightfall. Women are now traveling between the bars and clubs. They turn their noses up at me.

Spike calls me from a spot in the bushes.

“Frank, have you heard?” he whispers, “They’ve declared martial law. I’ve told the gang to assemble here. They’ll have to evade the armed squads like I did. We’ll all go off to hide in the woods until the war is over.”

He says to pack, get what I’ll need. I am indifferent to giving up everything. Perhaps some change even sounds nice.

“Also,” Spike adds, “I’ve managed to acquire acquired a printing press.” He hands me a stack of manuscripts, some my own. “We will use the press to mass-produce and distribute these.”

A cop is coming down the street and Spike sneaks back into his bush to hide.

I take up the gear Spike left under the rose arbor: A camera and a machete. And head back inside.

King of Pentacles

A Flophouse—NIGHT

The elevator is on the fritz. It takes me to the top, where the fuses blow and the lights go out. The doors open and a redheaded girl is diving for the fuse box and telling me she will fix everything quickly.

Back downstairs, I find Andrea in the hall; she is kneeling, going through her backpack and crying. I ask what is wrong. She wipes away tears.

“Today is the day my mother will die.” Her mother is terminally ill and slipping away, she must call for an update and is looking for her cell phone. I offer change for the one in the hall and she says she needs no help. Always stoic.

I grab her and she hesitates then lets me hold her tightly, sobbing. I feel sorry she must smell my green sweat shirt that smells of sweat and motor oil. Then after she seems to stop crying, I let her make the call and tell her I will step away for privacy, but will be close for support. I step into the lobby and the desk clerk asks me if I know anything about the wonky power, and I explain.

“There’s a girl on the top floor. She is taking care of it.”

“No, you have to go to the very top to ask.” He responds mixing metaphor and reality. I respond.

“I went as far as I could without climbing the antennas on the roof.”

He protests again, and then gets the joke. Meanwhile some black guys are splicing together some rap music on a strange reel tape recorder. I think it is no wonder that there is so little originality in music now.

Five of Wands

The Coffee Shop—DAY

As Andrea talks in her red dress and pillbox hat, she shakes her coffee across the table at me. The hot liquid splashes all over me.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I demand to know.

But she continues telling a story. About what, I am not sure anymore. It is largely in French and I am too miserable to dedicate a neuron to the translation.

It is probably about the bunny rabbit she had as a girl back in France.

It is usually about the bunny rabbit she had as a girl back in France.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I ask again as she drones. But she does not tell me what she is doing or even acknowledge the question. Besides we both know the question isn’t about the splashing coffee but everything. Anyway, she thinks it’s funny and orders a second blue mug which wholeheartedly throws in my face.

I am scalded. I jump up and shake her by the shoulders.

“Why the hell are you doing it?!”

Nine of Swords [Reversed]

On The Front Lines—MORNING

I duck behind a wooden crate when the shooting starts. Many do also. But, there is little cover in the tiny garage being used as a makeshift motor pool. I am shot several times in the legs by the semi-automatic. Others are not so lucky. I jump into a jeep prepared to take out into the city after the culprit, leaving the less wounded at my back.

A corpsman, caught without his gear grabs me as I try to lift a damaged leg over into the jeep.

“Don’t worry about me,” I try to shrug him away, “Tend to the others. I am going after the bastard.”

“I am afraid you may be bleeding out through your femoral artery,” he pleads, “But I’ve got nothing to put over the wounds. Wait, maybe this will stabilize it.” The medic snatches a bagel from one of the mechanics’ breakfast tray. He shoves it over the most severe gunshot wound. I wince with pain and mutter.

“Stabilize it.” I repeat, “Stable. Bagel. Stable. Bagel. Stabilize. Bagelize?”

Now it’s the corpsman turn to shrug; during the delay, a few of my men have meanwhile jumped into the jeep and I turn the key and motor off, waiting till I am around the corner before tossing the bloody bagel into the bushes.

We find the tiny cripple, a local partisan, obviously deranged, hiding in a tree in an otherwise homey, shaded neighborhood. We yank him down and radio for the local civilian police to come get him. Before we can hand him over to he soon escapes again on foot.

No matter. I have been watching the movements of the insurgents over the past few weeks that I’ve been in-country, and know that they secret themselves in a small earthen den by the levee. I re-group my squad, now a posse, well-armed to smoke him out. We won’t make the mistake of calling the local police again.

There is much confusion trying to relay the location of this underground network, but M16’s, in hand, we manage to sneak up and down the banks of the levee until we find an entrance to the hideaway. We press inside single file until we find a larger chamber. They have left some battered sneakers and some empty tins of food, but there is otherwise not much else in his little hovel. Someone in the back shouts.

Fuck.

It’s a trap.

Five of Cups [Reversed]

The City—EVENING

The Sailor and I whip through the down the highway through town. I don’t trust my brakes in the pouring rain and fading light, so I am switching lanes to avoid cars, mostly trucks towing fishing boats down to the shore or river. The trucks and boats have sparked the Sailor’s memory as to something he’d read in the newspaper, and so is telling me about a tragic accident involving one of them. As we approach the bridge, he ends the tale solemnly.

“They say He was already dead when he hit the water.”

XIII. Death. [Reversed]

A FARM—MORNING

Iris and I are kissing as the sun rises. My hands are running over her tiny, tattooed back, as I find we are at the farm compound.

Again.

I try to say “We should really get back to the survey,” though it is muffled by her kisses.

Iris mutters, “Uh-huh, back to work.” But we are kissing again anyway.

It is nice getting cozy with Iris again, but then, as we come up for air, she pushes me away a bit and suggests she has a friend to introduce me to. She says this mystery girl and I would make a great couple.

I say, “Let me guess. She’s fat.”

“No,” Iris says, “No.”

“But she is. Plain looking and boring too.”

Iris bites her lip. Silent. Caught.

Neither of us makes a move, aside from Iris twisting a toe in the dirt which is maddeningly sexy and I squeeze my fists to my temples.

But this sudden episode is soon mercifully broken, when Iris reaches again for me. I open my eyes to notice part of a human skull lying nearby in the grass.

“Jesus!” I pull away from Iris and point, “Look!”

“Shit!” She looks around and points. “There’s more!”

There is a lot of dumped debris and trash mixed in with our back dirt near the place we had been digging the soil before we started digging on each other. Though we typically run the soil through the sieve, there was enough slag and garbage that we had just been piling it near the hole. Now I take a second look and I am not surprised to see a piece of bone in what was my last scoop of dirt.

While Iris watches, I shovel some of our spoil pile into one end of the large screen resting on two saw horses. I dig a few shovelfulls of fresh dirt from the hole and add them to the other end of the screen for comparison. Poking around in the screen, I find what looks like burned bone fragments in the spoil pile. Not much help. On the other end, I spot what I think looks suspiciously like a piece of the occipital bone from a human skull. I hold off digging more, deciding what to do.

“I know you will want to bring in the Boss to make the decision. But I am quite sure the bone is human,” I try to say judiciously, “And I also know that the Boss will disagree just to be petty and contrary. If that happens, if she declares these finds to be just deer remains, or something perhaps some heinous murder will go unsolved—or worse.”

“Perhaps,” Iris is just as judicious in return, “What do you recommend?”

“I start the next test. And we see what we see.”

In the first shovel: Articulated human cervical vertebra and a cranium that had been sawed into quarters, as if by a medical bone saw in some horrible operation.

“The Boss cannot argue about this!” I laugh, but Iris doesn’t hear. She’s grabbed a sleeve of pin flags and is inspecting the ground for bones, flagging them as she goes.

Iris and I follow the trail of human skeletal remains back to a nearby dilapidated barn. A quick survey of the rest of the property reveals more skeletons scattered about. We peek into the barn, wondering whether to follow the path of bones inside.

“Well,” Iris announces, “I’m going back to the van to call the Boss and see what she sez to do.”

As she disappears, I half-heartedly call after, “Wait! So, I guess our truce is broken?” I don’t like Iris going above my head to the hated Boss. I kick at some bones in the dust, angrily pacing and waiting for the verdict. As I do so, I come across the Farmer working at a large oven in the back of the barn.

“Can I help you?” he asks matter-of-factly.

I clear my throat. “Uh, we were just surveying this property, you know, for the development. And—”

“And you saw the bones outside?”

“Yea.”

The Farmer shoves a lumpy canvas sack into the fiery oven. “Well, weren’t you informed that the place is still operating as a crematory?”

I shake my head.

“Well, it is. And what don’t burn is tossed out there for fertilizer.”

“Oh, well, I guess that explains at least the presence of human remains on the lot, and their scattering about.”

I stagger back into the blinding sunlight as Iris returns.

“Back to the van!’ she says “We’re gonna go meet the Boss back at the village and tell her what’s up, so she can come handle this situation.”

“But—!”

King of Cups [Reversed]

A Flophouse-MORNING

I have been still stealing away nights and leaving gifts by Andrea’s door back at Our Rooming House. But she is gone. Totally gone. And the game is over. Now I sit in my seedy hotel room considering my next move. I repeatedly jab the pointed end of some complimentary plastic fruit through the complimentary hanging wall calendar and into the wall.

Now I am receiving presents by my hotel door. They are all suited to my personality. This morning it is a novelty pack of red licorice. The package tells of some serial killer who was traced by this type of candy left at a crime scene. Kitschy but off-putting too.

However, I have asked the Sailor to pick me and the other crew up here at the hotel mornings to travel into the Mountains for survey. It is more or less a central point in the City for everyone to meet at.

As we assemble in the lobby this morning waiting for Sailor Lou to turn up, I begin to tell the crew about the licorice and other gifts. After all, they are only folks who know I am here and one of them may be responsible. But, the clerk tells me I have a phone call, and I take it there at the front desk.

It is the Boss.

Of course, she is the other person who knows I am here.

“Status report?’ she barks over the line.

I am not ashamed, but probably should be, to say over the phone in front to the crew that “The project, crew, and everything is a disaster and I can’t wait for this project to be over.”

When I hang up, Iris steps forward.

“We’re a disaster?”

“For what you did to me, you are the most disastrous of all.”

“Don’t you know I have been leaving those gifts to make up for it? I like you.”

I am taken aback. “How was I supposed to know that? What signs did you show me other than almost getting me fired?”

“I gave you signs. Like that time you were drawing a map and you had a half-drawn arrow that I finished for you.”

“You drew half an arrow?! That was how you showed you liked me!”

“I drew it like a heart.”

“But you were clearly avoiding me.”

“It wasn’t you. I hate Sailor Lou. He’s so negative and petty.”

“Because he’s around you said nothing to me and I got in trouble?”

I am exasperated, though I had hoped for this moment; this is so annoying that I want to die. “Well, he’s not here now. So what do you say?”

XII. The Hanged Man. [Reversed]

The City—EVENING

The same, later.

The next thing I know, I am trudging groggily through the neighborhood, trudging because Spike has bound my legs together. Groggily because Spike has given me quite a black eye. Or so it feels. When I go to untie my legs, I only find Spike has also slung the shotgun over my back and has bound my hands to it like a scarecrow. A cop car passes, and instinctively I want to run, but think that maybe they will untie me and drive me home.

The patrol car’s lights come on and it slows to stop. my relief turns again to panic as I remember the gun he is holding in the air.

“Help! Help!” I call out while thinking to myself that I hope they will not shoot first and ask questions later!

Two officers emerge from the car with pistols drawn.

Four of Swords

Our Rooming House—DAY

Mary comes over to see if I am all right here alone with Andrea gone. “No, she hasn’t come back yet.” I say returning to my drink.

Mary says she is surprised to hear that. But looks secretly delighted. I groan and drink deeply.

“So what do you want from me.”

She is grinning and shy as usual but is now inching away from my slumped and depressed form. She wants a man but has no idea what to do now that a desperate one is presented to her. Backing up, she bangs into the hall closet than trips over a sex toy that falls out. I leap up see that she’s Okay and get her to her feet. Sex toy? I am too drunk to remember that precisely. I quickly scoop the thing back into the closet saying “I’m soooo sorry.”

“It’s Okay. I know about those, um, fleshy things,” She replies demurely trying to be understanding about my misery, “But just keep it away from me.”

Seven of Pentacles

The City—EVENING

I have chosen to follow a fenced farm field away from the place this time. Night has fallen.

I have soon made it into a more residential area. There are trees and grass, but all is shabby and covered in litter. A black truck passes, slows and makes a u-turn on a side street ahead of me. It looks like Spike’s truck.

It is.

I turn to head the other way. It passes.

Wait. It is only a lawn maintenance truck with lawn mowers in the back.

“Whew! Maybe I am getting way to jumpy—” I think turning again to find Spike is there bearing down on me with a shotgun.

“Where is she?”

“I honestly don’t know where she is,” I answer honestly, “What do you want?”

“I want,” he grins, evilly, “Husbandly stuff.”

I look for an escape route.

Three of Pentacles [Reversed]

A Farm—DUSK

I get across the field from the hospital and make it to the farm compound. It is abandoned, unlocked. I am terrified that I have been followed, and as soon as I am reasonably sure that I am alone, I set about making sure the doors and windows in the kitchen are shut tight. I am certainly not satisfied with this level of protection. After all, as I secure all doors and windows one-by-one from the inside, the thing would have had plenty of time to also circle the outside of the house and try all these possible entrances before I got to them.

That is to say, there is no guarantee I haven’t, in the end, locked myself inside with it. There is creaking and rustling everywhere and I jump at each sound.

To take my mind off of things I take up a sketchbook and art supplies that I find left on the kitchen table. My mind wanders—thinking of work, of a proffered guest lecture at the local university, of independent film, of landing a teaching job somewhere, of leaving the City—as I sketch a fat little creature with charcoal, and then color it in purple with a chuckle. It is not so scary.

But, as I continue to draw the creature it de-evolves more and more into something of a face-less blob. I darken and smudge my sketch as appropriate to keep up with the transformation.

I should probably go.

Eight of Pentacles

My Office—NOON

My hatred for Spike erupts when he, barges into My Office and tries to sit down for lunch with me in the break room. My nemesis tries to talk to me like old times. Like things are water under the bridge. Things have changed, but not much. I demean him in a snide, clever way.

“Fuck you, Spike.”

And excuse myself. He chases after me in near faux tears.

“Why do you hate me, Frank?”

I take pity. After all, perhaps all he has in life is tormenting me. Perhaps, I feel some responsibility to this nemesis-victim relationship. A Stockholm syndrome of sorts.

“It’s nothing. Just fucking with you, Spike.” But he persists.

“I have always been a friend to you even when you falsely accused me of harassing Andrea.”

“Harassing her? You fucked her!" I am furious. Why would he ever bring that up? Now I really do hate him.

As I storm off I can hear him telling others that I am childish and must have been brooding over Andrea for ten years.

So I skip the next lunch meeting. And use the time to browse the newsstand in the lobby, which has grown immensely. If there are some good books I can expense them out at work.

At length, I grudgingly take the elevator back up to our offices. No one is there. Perhaps they all ran in terror from the intruding Spike. Or perhaps Spike killed and ate everybody. Perhaps everyone is avoiding me. These are all equal possibilities.

I head back to my office and flip on the computer and get back to work on designing marketing materials for our work in the Village. I decide to put photos of some of the participants with balloon quotes as headers on some pages. This was one of Andrea’s suggestions I recall and am dragged out into misery again.

But my grief is disturbed by the crew who are dribbling in from fieldwork and nagging me incessantly. They want to see an early report of mine, and I insist I do not have it saved on this computer or any of the CDs I am holding.

“If you guys aren’t going to help,” I finally bellow, “Then I am going home to work. I am serious.” I grab what I desperately need and stuff it into my pockets, and clip my CD player on my belt. The Boss stops me in the doorway as I try to go.

“I am sorry the company is losing you again.”

“Not yet. But I am at the end of my rope,” I tell her, “I think a government job will suit me well.”

"You just want an easy ride, huh?”

“Unlike some,” I indicate the lazy Sailor Lou dozing in his cubicle, “I appreciate a day’s work for a day’s pay.”

I march out of the office and down the back stairs. The terrain out back of our building is very hilly and I cannot keep the CD player snapped on and shut or the stuff from riding out of my pockets.

As I trudge around to the parking deck, I spot Spike following me again. He must have been terrified being left to his own devices since I blew him off at lunch.

“Frank, Frank!” Spike is calling after soon, “Slow down so I can catch up! I need a ride!”

I keep on walking largely ignoring him. They are paving the parking garage and there are some kids having more fun sliding downhill on the slick new asphalt of the entrance ramp. Of course, I can do it much better, skiing with my smooth soled Chuck Taylor’s. I zip into the garage.

Spike yells, “Listen jack, we’re doing crack off the back of an axe!”

Ten of Swords

In The Hospital—DAY

When I come to, several doctors and surgeons, most notably my two old mortician friends, are hovering over my body on a table in an operating theater.

My head has been severed from my body.

Although I am groggy and it is unclear what they are doing, it is at least clear that the head surgeon is suturing something up on me while humming to himself.

“Head surgeon.” Ha.

I can see several camera monitors about the OR and I watch on the camera’s monitor as the micro-surgeons reattach blood vessels and nerves. This reinforces the thought that not one but several reconstructive surgeries being under taken on me, as does a series of metal pans containing various anatomical tidbits, reminiscent of what I saw earlier in the morgue. Soon I will be whole again. A nurse wipes the sweat from the surgeon’s brow as he addresses the younger doctors.

“So, you see, with all the advancements in modern medicine, all most anything is possible. All you need is patience.”

There is some muted laughter that flusters the doctor.

“Oh! Forgive my pun! Yes, and patients, of course.”

Soon I am being wheeled down the corridor by this entourage of doctors. Slowly, I wake more fully as the ceiling tiles whiz by.

I smile, “Well, doc, that’s step one. Now, how are you going to reattach a disconnected soul?”

With that I fall back into twilight till I am wheeled into a patient room. I sit up in the hospital bed, finding myself overseen by some nurses who seem to be doing their best to ignore me. I lay back down. When they leave, I hop painfully out of the hospital bed. As the blankets fall away a multitude of fresh stitches reveal a multitude of major surgeries and reattached limbs. Ugh. No time or use to consider what they’ve done right now. I move as quickly as possible to the door.

When the coast is clear, I stealthily move down the hall. I steal a scrub suit from a laundry bin and throw it on as quickly as I can. I take a roundabout way, even passing a large woman with curlers and a muumuu, and a large barrel-chested sailor type who can be seen yelling and waving arms down one corridor. Sailor Lou? Miss Maggie? No time. I shrug and head towards an exit.

Outside, the sun drags on, refusing to die, but the day is almost over. I trudge along the endless, faceless, acres posted as HOSPITAL PROPERTY. Thankfully, a car pulls up and Andrea is there, rolling down her window.

“How are you, my Piteux?”

“Do you know how horrible the hospital is? Look at its grim, overbearing shape! And mine!”

“Your what, Piteux?”

I hang my head, “My grim, overbearing shape...”

But, Andrea parks the car and gets out. She takes me by the arm, and leads me back inside. I’ve walked so long trying to leave the property, yet here I am still by the entrance.

Andrea practically drags me in the door then waves her arms at the bustling hospital staff.

“The doctors and nurses don’t look so bad to me, Piteux.”

“I am unconvinced. And, you look more concerned with avoiding Spike than helping me...”

I turn. But, she has disappeared. I head back outside before the staff notices I am back.

Ten of Cups

The City-DAY

Sailor Lou and I are driving down town in my black Impala to go pick up and take out Mary which will be nice since I have been told she has been sick for so long. She is strutting down the street looking surprisingly very sexy in a low cut top. I try to find a parking space at the school to pick her up. But I have a bottle of brandy in my bag and need to hide so Lou and Mary don’t see it in my car.

But I hop in the back as I park as close as I can find, telling Lou that he can drive. I know Sailor Lou will enjoy appearing to be her date even though we are all just friends.

And all of us are married. Sort of.

Anyway, I figure it makes more sense to be the cool loner and find myself my own girl, not just pretend.

“Let’s dress up and go to the club like old times. They just remodeled.” Mary decides. Lou nods.

“I am depressed to go to the Whale club again, and my foot hurts. It’s wounded.”

“Fine we can take you home.”

“It’s my car.” There is no answer. We three sit silently in the car. “Although I did hear at the new Belly of the Whale club, you can buy drinks for people who aren’t there and get a voucher so they can drink them another day.”

“So?” Mary frowns.

“So, you should go there and buys me some drinks. I’ll go alone and get them another day.” I explain, “In fact, I’ll buy a bunch for myself and say some Sunday or holiday I will come in and have free drinks like someone cared to buy me some.”

“That is typical and depressing of you. As always.”

“My foot hurts!” I whine. It does. It has since the war. I take off my shoes to reveal bloody toes. Lou knows the score, he changes the subject.

“Iris will be there. The redhead?” Mary adds.

“This is great. I’ll text Andrea too. Maybe we can find more girls that I have been in love with to join us.”

“Fuck you.”

“I am in misery.”

“Zero and Spike said they had gambling at the new Whale too.” Sailor Lou chimes in, “Hi Lo. You roll a ball across numbered tiles on the bar. The tiles are playing cards. It is like roulette in that you can bet a 50/50 shot, like betting black or red, as to whether the next number will be high or low. But you can also bet a specific number.

“I will bet all the three of spades. For us three friends. Slowly digging our own graves.” I say. “You’ll lose.” Sailor Lou opines, First we will be beaten by three clubs.”

With that Lou puts the car in gear and heads off. I do not ask where, but sure enough, we are soon outside of the Whale. There is a long line assembling before a bouncer. How dreadful. I’d so rather be alone. We queue up. I hate it.

“It’s the weekend. Let’s go hit a regular bar. Who’ll go to a regular bar with me?”

“We’re going inside the club.” Mary insists.

“But my foot! I can’t make a club. It’s not a club foot.”

“Find some other friends to take you.”

While waiting I step aside into the alley to smoke, not worried about losing my place. But I left my trusty zippo in the car. I spot a guy a vaguely met on the previous night.

“Hey, chief, got a light?”

“Oh, it's you. Sorry for trying to kiss you in the last time.”

“Here?” I remember this a little as he says it. We haven’t been to the Whale in a bit and we were all very drunk last time. “No matter. It’s forgiven. Got a light?”

“I’m not gay. Just confused.”

I nod. “The light?”

“I am for your forgiveness. But I’ll never drink again.”

“Uh-huh.” I am searching my shoulder bag for some matches. I pull out a brandy bottle.

“I am a hard-core drinker, too” he nods at my brandy, “I find bottles around too.”

“Not me,” I assure him, “Well, Okay, maybe I am. But not for the reason you think.

I decide to not to ask the guy for a light any longer, nor ask him if he wanted to check out a regular bar. Now he is doing some sort of isometric exercise in the alley. I suspect he’s drunk again, no matter what he says, since he has stripped off his clothes and is hanging there naked from a fire escape, ignorant of the other people filtering into the alley.

It seems a decent party was shaping up after all.

I head farther down the alley and find myself a different shorter line for a side entrance. I am soon at the front. When the side door bouncer asks how many in my party, a man in a cheap suit steps in front of me taking my place. Although I wasn’t supposed to be in line, and don’t really even want to be in the club, I am upset the man passed me up. I get in his face.

“Hey, I was next!” he returns in kind.

“My business is more important than yours.” That may be true. He is red and furious with self-importance. “Don’t make me take you outside and teach you a lesson.”

“Dude,” I slap him in the cheek, gently, in a sad, pitiable way, “We are already outside.”

His face flushes from angry red to embarrassed red.

Come to think of it. It isn’t much of a change.

Lou and Mary have caught on to the disruption and come to my side.

“I’m surprised at your bravado.” Mary beams.

“It happens to the best of us,” I say rubbing my sore foot against my good leg.

“Let’s grab him and drag him outside.” Lou says.

“Dude.” I say, “We are already outside.”