If I don’t continue along the progressive path then how can you expect me to stay alive? I’ve got to be forever vigilant and always on the case because the mystery never stops unfolding. There are clues everywhere, scattered through invisible cities: the apple in my eye in the navel of the love of my life. Musette. And don’t even get me started on Penelope, roller skating in the park,
Baldo Babikov broke Vicky Paine’s heart. Now her brother and me are going to give Baldo the smackdown for it. Randy would do anything for his sister. He’s my best friend, but he’d kill me in a heartbeat if Vicky asked him to. He’s outlined the inequalities of our friendship in perfect detail. It goes: Vicky > Pamela Anderson > Me. At least I come before his parents, but it’s non-fixed.
Last summer my friend Pablo and me were riding the Metrorail to Gabriella Sophia Rodriguez’s Quinceañera when we got into another fistfight. Pablo had me in a full nelson and was slamming my face against one of the aluminum poles, waiting for me to say he was the master of the letter S, when some old Cubano in a white guayabera pulled him off me and said, “Oye, cool it!” I told him to cool it and Pablo shoved the guy and I took that opportunity to kick Pablo in the stomach and then we were back on the filthy floor punching at each other’s ribs.
“Things like that. Things that seem sometimes possible but only at certain times, and only if you didn’t tell anyone. Because your thoughts are all you have.” – Witch Piss. 2014.
Having spent all of April and much of the previous two months mind-melding with Sam Pink’s voluminous body of work (let’s set the bar for prolific, so as to never cheapen the sentiment by lowering it again…all else of merit equal: five novels.