orged from forgotten knickknacks that danced thanks to solar panels, even a life-sized panther built from scrap metal an

Cyrus. I had never seen weed work so quickly, not even that potent dispensary shit from Colorado. Cyrus worked furiously, so often that I never heard him pause for sleep. He welded, glued, sewed, and

tial in it and felt I was living with a hoarder, but

ffee machine and was completely drained when I clocked out. After working the front counter all day, I could barely stand, let alon

w up on a farm, so I knew what type of cow crap my Pinto was: it was the old shit left rotting in the field

an with dementia. Gerald and me, we’d been through some rough patches, b

dance career and dropped out at eighteen - so, lo and behold, I ended up stuck in a dead-end job, a nineteen year old broke punk, barely able to afford rent, not to mention ramen. I’d adapted pretty well at making fancy ramen like bibimap level shit with ingredients from Dollar Tree. When I could afford it, I’d go to the biker dive bar at the border between Centreville and Fairfax proper and shoot pool with the old Harley riders where they never ca

parently pink pixie cuts and eyebrow piercings didn’t appeal to most empl

n mart every five blocks and a Korean megachurch every two. Besides developing an appreciation for K-Pop that Spike had fostered in me – his mother was Kore

than at the Costco down the road off Lee Highway. People of all strains liked to crowd Costco at 10:00 in the morning, eating free samples and navigating their extended famil

ot dog drink special when Gerald’s engine sputtered on the back road that led past the bland park to Bent Tree Apartments complex. I knifed

me from the Pinto’s hood. The engine whined as i

in the shade of a tulip poplar and a nest of redbuds, when the ca

gnition, “c’mon, you geezer, if Frankenstein’s

h love, Gerald

lling in a grave, and rain began to fall. They

me a ride, but I had a better, hotter option that

led C

my palette and listening to Prairie Home Companion. Sad to see Garrison Keilor gone, b

e down. Could you

r silk, out of the raw materials of nature, cellulose and starc

shitty life, I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue. Where was Green Day’s Je

ella in hand, dressed in his usual - milky skinny jeans, a snowy blazer, and shiny Docs like ice. His glacial hair s

stuck in it, at the sight of which my heart palpitated. I adored man-buns. I adored art supplies. I did

l bliss with his clone, because marriage was only for reptiles - cold-blooded ones that dress in human skin, have 2.5 children, and incubate their eggs in nurs

yelled into the glass. “Are you spinning notes of silk? Collecting in

. “Oh? Sorry. Just thinking. D

tsy Bitsy Spider go? Perhaps I could rig a Rube Goldberg machine for my gallery based on that… with a spider made of sandpaper and titanium running on

as cluttered with art supplies. A smoked joint rested in the cup holder, and several extras were already lit, maybe for aromatics, who the fuck knew. C

eet, where our shabby apartment resided. Twiste

softly. His voice was always soft. I had never heard tha

aliens, or Cy. “I think this is the end for Gerald. I’ll sell him for scrap and beg my parents for thei

then took the staircase to the third flo

erpretation of bee dances using cigarette butts I found on the sid

the living room, landing askew. I heard something snap, and my ank

ankle, which was b

s face strained. “Oh no. Oh, no no

ith your stuff. It has to go.” I sobbe

ck gingerly. “It’s not broken,” he said, his voice soft, and placed his

Cy,” I whined. “A

hh

. The swelling went down, and the pain vanish

you just d

yeah, nirvana. The ephemeral edge of everything, condensed into a poem of nonexistence by

ow it’s not. How - what

yrus gently rolled my sock back up. “If

Cy, you f

I said, your ankle was only sad. You were just shocked

y eyes. “No,

lore in my art. People’s beliefs about reality differ, and they’re challenged all the time. Reality

roke. I don’t care what you think you ‘perceived.’ It broke, a

but that’s where you humans float your boats. Er, us humans, yeah.” He smiled faintly and helped me to my feet. “I made

shoulder - an act so at odds with his gr

aid, “what d

hibition at the Fairfax Town Hall this week. I promise I’ll clean up the apartment tomorrow.” He clasped my ha

ys a gentleman, despite his mess and 420 being his favorite n

e stress of your accident. I’ll be in m

on the wall, at whose concert I had been conceived. Thin White Duke or s

auna. I ambled over to the kitchenette, fixed myself a pl