“OK. Sure. But that was before the storm. We all got our plans to keep the water out. But when that shit hits it hits. Nature don’t give no fucks about no mfkn expedited day rate bruh.”

All our shit was drenched.

We’d been pounding metal beams into the ground, in place of the temporary stakes, with these beam-pounders that resembled like civil war–era artillery.

IN A NONSTOP FULL-ON DOWNPOUR.

ALL MFKN MORNING.

Removing the beams, digging out big-ass rocks and starting over whenever a beam got stopped by one and didn’t sink deep enough.

The third day, Sunday, it stopped raining and got blasted out again.

We’d finished the beams right at sundown the night before.

S and K had moved me from the couch to their guest/computer room.

Legs and arms doing this wild thing where, when I scratched them, a goddamn blizzard of skin flakes flaked off.

The floor was covered with them.

Like cherry blossoms on sidewalks in spring.

Like shed snake scales.

Skin’s external barrier utterly compromised.

We were laying out and assembling the curved-V crossbeams.

Carrying them out into the mud-field, to where they’d be erected tomorrow, with the help of S’s tractor’s crane-type attachment, and drilling them together.

The moment I awoke, in a beach of my own skin, I knew it was all over.

But had heard E and heeded what he’d said on the way to Walmart.

Plus felt like shit for spraying out skin flakes like I had in S and K’s guest room, lodging a good couple thousand irrevocably into the cracks of their hardwood floor probably.

So lathered, gauzed up, railed some Advils, and hit it.

Worked silently, efficiently, and angrily.

Got about four-fifths of the day’s work done by midday, before wobbling, realizing I was done, and, without a word, beelining it for the house.

Took an ice-cold shower before passing tf out in the guest bed.

Awoke around 8 p.m. to E shaking me.

I was lying on my back, just boxers on, no sheet covering me.

“Dude,” he said. “You alright?”

“I mean,” I said.

“Didn’t realize it was that bad.” He looked at my ankles/feet. They were so fkng swollen and cracked, they looked unnatural. Like elephantiasis combined with some infection.

I heard laughter and clinking from the living/dining room. Y, E’s fiancée, had arrived.

“Got you some extra-strength Tylenol,” E said. “Here.”

I swallowed two.

“And a Greyhound back to Philly, first thing tomorrow.”

“What about the greenhouse?” I said, sitting up.

“It’s cool, Y’s here. We can handle it. You need to go see a doctor.”

3

HETERO BRO

August 2018: Week Two

The ma still wasn’t back from Japan when I got back from Vermont.

New roomie bae’s pops was though.

Visiting from the ATL burbs.

Scoping his lil girl’s new digs.

Like Bruh—this spot is pretty sketch.