Partiers inside explained that Indian dude was ‘coming on to girls too strong,’ so ex-roomie bro had stepped in.

Told him he was ‘making girls uncomfortable.’

That he ‘had to cool off.’

At which point…

Heard yelling out front.

Plus needed to smoke.

So went out front.

Sat on the top step.

T had Indian dude in a headlock.

Was going “Chill! Chill!”

Ex-roomie bro was on the ground also, hugging Indian dude’s legs together like a koala on a tree.

“What. In. The,” I said.

Lit my cig.

Unable to not laugh.

“I know! I’m sorry about my ancestors! I hate myself for my ancestors!” T yelled. “Now stop resisting!”

“You white motherfuckers,” Indian dude kept yelling. “Murdered my people!”

“Dudes,” I said. “What are y’all doing? Bro is clearly blackout and needs to get home, all there is to it—”

“Not now, dude!” said white girl from earlier.

I put my hands up and zipped it.

But she seemed to hear me.

“You guys, I’m calling him an Uber,” she said. “Let him stand!”

“You gonna chill?” T said.

Indian dude wriggled, then stayed still.

“OK,” T said. “I’m letting you go now.”

T and ex-roomie bro backed off slowly.

Indian dude stood, swaying a sec.

White girl approached.

“Just gimme your address, K?” she said in a baby voice.

Indian dude looked around like he’d just been teleported here and was gathering his bearings.

Before looking around horrified suddenly.

Like this was the wrong teleportation stop.

“Look,” white girl said. “I just need—”

Indian dude swiped the phone out of her hand. Sent it bouncing down the walkway, out the yard, to the sidewalk.

Then flung her back, over the row of potted plants, against the chain link fence.

Like a rag doll.

“Bro!” ex-roomie bro and T yelled, tackling him.

“Gonna be some medical bill,” ex-roomie bro said.

“What other choice did we have?” T said.

He gave a thumbs-up to the ambulance driver as he pulled away, lights flashing but siren off.

“I had a bad feeling about tripping tonight,” ex-roomie bro said.

“Yeah, me too,” T said, rubbing his forehead.

3

SHAWN

January 2018

Went out to my stoop to smoke.

To stimulate the stimulants I’d just railed.

Parka’d up.

Clear night.

Cold as shit, still.

But clear.

Moon full.

Second of the month.

The first was on the first.

This happened infrequently, I’d read.

Something in the air.

Had a round of edits on my Walk Book manuscript from editor bae to get to, but first had to figure out what my name was.

I had too many names.

‘Sean Conroe’ my American legal.

‘Sean Thor Conroe,’ full American legal.

Either worked, with the middle adding a tad of writerly pretension.

But so Anglo.

All Anglo.

Ignored the yellow half.

Its passport—the Japanese, birth country’s—read ‘Sho Kamura.’

Could take the first or last.

People did that, I was pretty sure.