Sick City

He sat down at one of my tables, on a Thursday afternoon, across from some guy wearing a bolt of cologne and he was talking about something serious. Stevie on the jukebox singing about sunshine and suddenly James Earl Jones is looking up at me, asking for a coffee. I asked him how he takes it. He says he takes it black.

James Earl Jones doesn’t have to wait for coffee.

For the next forty-five minutes he and this guy arguing over script changes. And James Earl Jones doesn’t take no for an answer.

He takes a couple bites of the sandwich, and he drinks a lotta coffee, I think I refilled his cup three times.

And then he stands up, throws some cash down, and as he’s leaving he says,

“THANK YOU”

I spent the day picking blackberries with Grandpa but now we're back home but now my home has prisoners on the inside. Villains and criminals there because there’s no room left at the jail. There’s a black man in a cage beside the washer and dryer, and there’s a Southern lunatic in the linen closet. They smile at me with bad smiles and I try not to look at them, I try not to get close to the men behind the bars, and I try not to look at them. Why do I have to go down to the basement? The grownups needed pickles, or a pickle jar (?) and so I had to go. Down to the basement, where the light bulb is burnt, and I hate going down these stairs because I know they’re down there. I can hear them laughing and talking as I make my way down but when they hear my footsteps they get quiet so I won’t know where they are. I started to talk to them so they would know I was there: “How’s everything! How’s everything going down here!” But they're silent now with their arms in the bars and it’s so dark down here I can’t see anything in front of me. There are stacks of old newspapers from I don’t know why and old machines from before I was born and I can hear the prisoners breathing in the dark, telling stories they don’t think I can hear. And I walked past the laundry basket to the shelf on the wall and looked up and down for pickles no pickles and the prisoners started to make noises and spit from their cages and where was the pickles they needed? I tried to stand strong and stay in my place but the prisoners were shouting and laughing real mean and the basement smelled of darkness and old and then I felt a hand come out from the bars and grab my ankle so I couldn’t run but I ran and I kicked and it was so loud that I heard them and they were laughing and trying to capture me but I got to the stairs and ran up as hard as I could and shut the door behind me I’m never going down in the basement again. Never again never never again I’m never going down in the basement again.

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My Favorite Adult Magazines

A Moment With James Earl Jones

Nightmare (3)