A relatively tiny fly expertly navigated some neon tubing on his way to [well let’s be honest the fly doesn’t really care where he’s going]. Still he weaved in and out of the fiery green cursive like it was nobody’s business [when, clearly, someone owned the place; someone paid for the words ‘Miami BBQ’ to be written in gaseous script]. All this fancy wingwork had little value when the legend turned the corner on a humid city night and submarined down the street – not even vaguely self-conscious – holding his bold weapon down below his waist like the protagonist in a Western or the good guy in a sci-fi or the tattooed guy in a porno.
Splat went the fly after being fried against the non-lit tubing extending to the dot in the i. The legend stepped on its remains and inhaled deeply. The night was humid but the temperature was just right. Neon green always made the legend happy, always made him feel distant in a good way. The neon green air allowed his spirit to roam around about 3 feet outside his body in all directions, and sometimes he’d tell me this in no uncertain terms: “Let me tell you man when the light is [light neon green], I feel like a machine that just got lubed up real good or just got simplified you know? I feel like I had a thousand working parts and now there’s only fifty and everything is running smoothly, no kinks, no rust, no friction you know? I feel bigger than myself, not you know fat or anything but I feel my spirit come outside of me and just roam around like I’m more flexible or something; like I’m a force outside of my body.” His eyes got so big as he spoke about the spirit escaping momentarily; I felt something just listening to him. I tried to duplicate the feeling then and there and my attention to his words wavered slightly. I tried to feel what he was talking about but we were just sitting in his kitchen and I guess both of us were pretty rusty rickety machines.
I liked the feeling of my bare elbow cocked and leaning against the shiny plaid tablecloth. He did the same with his arm as we sat there chatting. The table had been cleared and Missy came by with a sponge to pick the crumbs up and take the paper plates and the plastic forks.
“I didn’t want to lose that feeling you know? So I stopped in one of those little bars on the street – nothing fancy nothing new and artificial.”
What I took this to mean was that the bar hadn’t anticipated outdoor seating or the luxury of beautifully bracketed windows that could be removed when the weather got nice so people could look in and it’d be all upper middle class and spineless.
[happy birthday brother]
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