He speaks twice tonight

//The two Negro's on the metro turn to a young white broad:

Charlie Parker, wouldn't play another note, if they were to let him kill ten whites. //

If I were to draw a self-portrait, preferably with black ink, and a steady hand, YOU would throw up your hands and declare it the physical manifestation of a depraved mind. 

You would throw me glances of distaste, as I lay on your couch, precariously vulturing on my existence and half a dozen others. Stupendously unstable, and prone to convulsive, abrupt eruptions of laughter and melancholic troughs, unheard of in your circles. 

Yet here I am, at your doorstep. Both of us neurotic and suspicious. 

Let me in, I bring company. We'll feast on pictures of old, saturate ourselves in droning guitars and maybe venture out into the night. 

Ancaster via Toronto--

On The Nod - Segment One

He sat in front of me, beady eyes glaring through thick, dark, half-rimmed glasses.

The gutters were running with blood outside.

He sat his book down on the top shelf, kneeling down beside me. Picked up my head, in one hand and stared deeply into my eyes, as I lay on his Persian, hand-woven rug.

Look here mister,

Don’t be a sap

You’re done.

This place is rigged like an Indian Casino.

You wait long enough and the heat’s on you

Play it good, pack it in. Go to your old lady and sing her the tune she’s waiting to hear.

-Johnny enters the room.

Boss I got the wire.

We take him to the old garage on the water?

 -He turns to me

You going to end up a drifter?

Revenge is for suckers.

Lay on the meet, and I’ll see to it that the Spade takes the fall.

That negro is on the nod, like a lush.

-I stare at him blankly through my black eye

-He lifts up the receiver

Should I put down the hype with George, or you rather hear me calling up the Pigeon?

Its your turn.