For now, less upper-body, side-to-side movement.

All legs.

Yelled “Yo fuck your lights!” as I ran my third red and skrt-ed right down 16th.

Loudly I think but hard to say over the Kodak blaring in my balaclava-compressed earbuds, wedged deep into my earholes.

Gassed by the time I arrived at the pizza joint.

Right at their 4 a.m. closing time.

Drunk folks huddled out front, inhaling slices off paper plates.

Mopping going on, inside.

Retrieved the package from the bada-bing bada-bang mobster types working counter.

Guzzled down the cig roach I’d stashed in my pant-leg roll, while waiting for the drop-off location to load, side-to-side shimmying to keep warm.

They didn’t tell you the drop-off till after.

How they got you.

Sneaky fucks!

Whattayagonnado.

One of the girls in the outdoor pizza-eating crew eyed me from beneath the fur of her parka, through the glitter/tears of her eyes/lashes. Chomping with her mouth open.

Or maybe not tears.

Maybe it was just cold.

I don’t know.

I looked away, but understood her gaze.

This guy.

Who tf is this guy.

Why is he here now.

Babe, I’m right there with ya!

No clue.

My whole vibe, of a sudden, seemingly: so serial killer-y.

Terrorist-y.

When did that happen.

Feel like it had to have been fairly recent.

Feel like it can’t have always been like that.

Definitely wasn’t before—

Ohp!

Drop-off.

Finally.

Just devouring data, this app.

Ayyy, West!

OK, 48th, little further than ideal.

But I’ll take it!

Took her a sec to come to the door; but she did, eventually.

In jammies.

Like she’d stayed in, couldn’t sleep, and got hungry.

Coulda sworn it woulda been a shitfaced bro.

Can’t guess em all, innit.

She was light-skinned but in a way that made me think college transplant versus intergenerational local.

Plus this block, Cedar, despite extending this far out west, was one of the whiter ones.

I worried she’d think I was considering overpowering her with my maleness, forcefully entering, and having my way with her—which I wasn’t considering, not even a bit, beyond the possibility of her thinking it—so I pulled down my balaclava, below my chin, to show my face, and removed my hat—before putting my hat back on since a bare-balaclava’d head looked weirder, I decided.

But she didn’t seem scared.

Not even a bit.

Hit me with a thanks.

A smile.

Then closed and locked the door.

I shuffled down the porch steps a step at a time, back to my bike, looking at my phone waiting for my payout to load.

Three drops of snot dripped off the tip of my nose, one after the other.

…

…

…

$6.43.

$6.43!

Plus tip!

2

SUSBOY

New Year’s Eve 2017

I pulled up early to the house I used to live in.

For the New Year’s party my ex roomies were throwing.