by: p. botte

He wanted a body.  I wan ted a bodyu.

He was dapper, well-coiffed and manicured.  And, in moments of weakness (of which there were few), he would blink his eyes hard against a perceived mote of dust alit upon the iris or pupil. 

Iu was never well-coiffed and narydowellto know how to talkw.

He told me that I could rule the world just as he ruled the world.  We stood upon the corner of 4th and MacDougal and watched the shirt-sleaved crowd go by, laughing, guffawing, drunken and happy.

“The world don’tu know you,” I sed.

He smiled, “All the better, my friend!”

And so we walked along, descended the stairs to a trattoria that closed in around us with fireplace conversation and endless bottles of wine and a quartet that, at turns, played songs from my companion’s childhood.

He smiled and drank very little.  I had never seen him eat and the sensation of wine or water upon his lips seemed to be a small displeasure that he endured for the sake of my company.

Comp’ny.  I laingered a whilst wihile he spack of me.  And dronker I got.

But he was always dapper and beguiling.  He beckoned for a woman to join us, nodded at me as if it was a trivial thing that he offered to me.  And I knew that I was in good hands.  The world does not know me, he repeated.  The world does not know me, he said again and mostly to his nearly-full glass of wine.

The bootles were stacking up on our table.  And itw assn’t long before the inkeep kicked me out upon mhead.

I wake now bwith teh taste of refuse in mmouth.  And a woman unbreatheing upan m’arm.

And now the billies are a’coming.  Shouting and hallerin’.  I knowed that uvv done badthings.  The world didn’t know him.  They must take me.  They cn’t take hm an’ so they must tek me.  They’ve tekked a thousand b’fore me and now they must tek me.