(b.o.l.b., vol. 6) -syphilis-

7/27/2019 (b.o.l.b., vol. 6) -syphilis-

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borough of lost boys, vol. vi

-syphilis-

*by someone who learns the hard way*

(frankie leone, just a man)


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3/27

another pause. winking, she proceeds, going to get breakfast with mebaby?

hell no, my vocal chords vibrate through a smile, youretalking smack about my clich.

the cursive covered napkins are tacked to the low cross-beams of my bedroom ceiling. i often bump my head into this

obnoxious lumber.

brushing her fingers over the flimsy papers she whispers,yeah, but its a wonderful clich.

stay put for a second, i say picking up keys and startingtowards the door, ill be back in a few.

theres an over hyped brunch spot on the corner of north5th street and bedford avenue. two orders of eggs, bacon, and

hash brown are almost twenty dollars. the to-go containers are

nice. maybe thats what im paying for.*

*

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4/27

-jew-

*by a dego*


*

*her grandparents are ukrainian jews but that hasntstopped her from not knowing shit about the ukraine or judaism.

she grew up in windsor terrace, brooklyn. most of herchildhood friends are offspring of anglo park slope yuppies.

rents cheaper in prospect park south- the hood. its where she

lives these days. we watch rented movies and sin together there.

she defines the idea of a nice american girl. every timewere together her normalcy dynamites my mind. my friends are

shocked shes into me.

most mornings i tell her, you look gorgeous, youre sopretty, or, god damn youre beautiful. usually her response is

nervous laughter, stop trying to flatter me, or silence wearing

an uncomfortable expression.

i think i understand.*

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5/27

*

*she lies in bed half asleep. her nighties light pink. brownlined plaids mixed into the fabric. its hems pulled up her

slender waist. a lots showing. like leagues of pale legs that are

always shaved. shes not wearing underwear either.

her landing strip looks like my kind of trouble. the long brown hair falling around her shoulders was cutyesterday. i didnt notice at first. she mentioned it and pointed

out i hadnt. this let grains of guilt into my shell. theres a chance

my insides are irritated because i know i act like an asshole.

theres a better chance they are because she knows i act likean asshole.

her bedrooms quiet. i cant stop looking at her and want torip myself from guilty thoughts. it feels seedy watching her. i

decide to wake her by getting into trouble.

two pigeons with one bb.*

*

v

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6/27

*afterwards she lights a parliament light and glidestowards the bedroom window.

she smokes in a plush-upholstered chair. a trash day find.the deep red fabric cushioning her body vibrates into my eyes.

she opens a lap top resting on the side-table. i concoct a

compliment and resume my gaze.

your new hair helps keep your spot as the prettiest jewishgirl i know, i say smiling.

she fires a quick glare before shifting her eyes to the screen.theres no response and its plain shes avoiding eye contact.

whats wrong? her wounded voice responds, why would you think thatsa compliment?

what? i dont want to talk anymore. be quiet.

humid tension hangs in the air while confusion soaks myconsciousness.

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7/27

why? youre insulted? tears vine down her cheeks. overwhelmed, i press her. whats wrong? is it because i said something about beingjewish?

she doesnt respond. panicking, i insist, baby? yes. her voice is soggy with tears.

im so sorry. i dont understand though. why does thathurt your feelings? didnt you grow up around jews? arent you

proud of your roots? we live in brooklyn after all.

im sorry too. im overreacting, her words sigh, i didntgrow up jewish. my family didnt go to temple and i hung

around christian kids.

and they gave you shit for being jewish? no. no one knew unless they heard my last name or asked.my whole childhood i still heard, he jewed me down, or that

dudes got a jew nose, though. it made me think jews are cheap

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8/27

and ugly. it made me feel like i was. being a jew didnt do me a

lot of favors outside a jewish community. even in brooklyn.

people just dont like us.

damn. wish wed had this conversation before. i really amsorry, i repeat softly as possible.

its ok. no way you couldve known about my complex.sorry to get all neurotic on you.

she wipes her face and continues, you dumb wop. a grin overpowers tear stained skin. i shine one back at her. its all good baby. you wouldnt be an authentic jew if youwerent neurotic. just like i wouldnt be a real italian if my

family didnt get me used to dramatic behavior.

i see her shoulders relax before she says, glad were on thesame page.

damn right we are. and next time we eat on 7th ave imstaring extra disdainfully at blue-eyed yuppies discussing

furniture.*

-hypocrite-

viii

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9/27

*by someone who isnt well read*


*

*the corner of n6th and bedfords his. the neighborhoodstreet vendors know it. his voice, tempered with a bronx accent,

will fill them in if they dont.

if someone pushes the issue hell inform them with a fist.**

*hes almost fifty and a former teacher. once i asked whyhes not teaching anymore.

a guy like me doesnt last in academia. im from thestreets. not westchester or connecticut. someones not telling me

what i can and cant say because they paid eight years worth of

tuition. fuck em. ive lived in the real world for free my whole

life. on my corner no one tells me what to do.

when he finished his explanation i decided to like him.*

*

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10/27

*therere moments he comes off heavy handed but hes nota thug. the product he pushes isnt sensational.

books. he knows what the neighborhood wants- bukowski,kerouac, sedaris, marukami, blah blah blah. if you ask about the

titles on his tables hell express contempt.

these people dont read. they follow trends. if i didnt haverent to pay id dump most of this garbage in the east river.

he wont be talked down on his prices. not ever. burningblue eyes set in a sun-soaked face will blast young hagglers

before responding, price is on the cover money bags. better call

home.*

*

*its wednesday morning. his tables out early and thestreets arent fully awake. only a few people are heading into (or

away from) their days on bedford avenue. the skys cloudless. its

blues forgiving.

last night i punched a guy in front of a bar. the place is ablock from his corner. most have heard the streets talk but

therere many who think they dont say anything worth hearing.

x

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11/27

hes the kind of man who knows they do. he knows how and

when to listen.

i walk towards him to banter before heading into my grind. after our hey how you doins he says, heard you smackedsomebody in front of the charleston yestaday.

you heard right, i answer. his face is stern. gonna tell me why youre hittin people on a crowdedblock? why youd risk getting locked up?

i like him enough to answer. guy was my friend and did me dirty. i felt those punchesway before he did.

he grins. a woman? yeah.

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12/27

he shakes his head while saying, bad fuckin form. id beproud of you if itd gone down over money.

sorry to disappoint you. his hands raise in an offended gesture. his face scrunches. dont get fresh. did you love her? no. he looks confused.

why was she worth hitting a friend then? didnt have anything to do with her. had to do with him.loved him like a brother.

his face relaxes. he nods.

betrayal. got it. sorry you did it? i knew hed get it. my tones remained soft.

i regret it. not sorry though.

xii

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13/27

sounds about right. i mightve done the same. think heknows he deserved it?

no. says im unstable, i respond. old money rich boy? yeah. he laughs. makes sense. they usually dont get others pain. theyvenever felt it. listen to me- known you for a while now. this

worlds knocked you around enough to put some hardness into

ya.

ive seen a little bit on these streets. i know hard men arealso gentle men. im not talking about tough guys. theyre fulla

shit. im talking about hard men. we understand what its like.

youre not any crazier than any of these slippery bastardsout here thinking theyre civilized. dont let anyone tell you that.

youve just got too much passion for your own good, he

finishes.

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14/27

i let a few seconds of silence help me understand. then ispeak.

thanks. i mean it. youre a good man. he looks embarrassed for the first time. i dont know about all that. i do. you just dont like yourself. i dont dig myself either.get over it for a sec and accept the compliment, i say barbing

my voice.

his smile pulls stronger. thanks kid. hope you know youre a stand up guy too. i have a moment here and there. dont be a fuckin hypocrite, he growls.*

*

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15/27

-dice-

*by someone losing the strength

to lift them*


*

*he walks out of the water. his clothes drip. close-fitting jeans, wife-beater, hole-filledshoes, and a bandanna folded thick over his brow. i recognize

them- theyre all mine.

after he sits down on the bench next to mei look into hisblind eyes. the irises and pupils are missing. they make him

impossible to trust. i breathe, youre late. thats your opinion, he replies in a familiar voice. itsalmost a whisper but impossible to not recognize. ive felt its

vibrations my whole life.

xv

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16/27

where were you, i ask. with another gambling man in manhattan, he shufflesthe topic, your threads are pretty casual for the occasion arent

they?

his face has no expression. itlooks a lot like mine.ivenever liked it.

how was the last guy dressed? a lot like himself, he answers.

i press forward. are we going to talk fashion until sunrise? no pleasantries? not one drink or dance first? this a business relationship. we cant dance anymore. a smirk breaks through his unpretty features. sure about that?

xvi

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17/27

theres never music in east river park this time of nightregardless.

the music plays when i tell it too, he shoots back. thats your opinion, i respond. tense quiet soaks into us before he picks up again. isnt the first time youve skipped foreplay. its yourprerogative if you want to try barreling right in.

opening his bag he gestures towards the skylineandcontinues, sublime isnt it? always makes a special kind ofpromise from brooklyn. a dangerous one.

or tells a special kind of lie. a sexy one, i contradict.

ive heard them say that too, he says drawing out a fadedcanvas pouch.

three dice spill from it and thud onto the ground. theyretoo big and heavy to be casino dice. a gambler would need two

hands to roll all three. the corroded metal theyre cast out ofprobably isnt regulation either.

xvii

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18/27

leaning forward i notice where dots should be are tips of .45 caliber bullets and caps of 25g syringes. i read the letters

etched on the dies upward faces- colt automatic model and

microlance hypodermic needles.

an impressive attempt to ruffle me off my game. now i get why you didnt take the l train. he winks a sightless eye and grins. needed a dip to clear my head anyways. found thematerials next to crab traps. shame you didnt keep them. you

dont mask your fear as honestly these days.

i breathe deep and reply, couldnt afford them anymore.youd know. you were my running partner while i spent

everything in me.

what makes you think you can afford the veils you havenow?

i dont answer. can you afford tonights stakes?

xviii

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19/27

he isnt asking out of consideration. ignoring the question i proceed, find a craps table at thebottom of the river too?

you know cee-los my game. this might be the burg, butits technically brooklyn.

we start pitching.**

*its a long night. they always are. whether im waiting forhim or we actually play. i cant recall the last time i wasnt doing

one or the other.

tonights games finished. i only rolled four-five-sixes andtheres no double or nothing in games like ours. for the first time

he has nothing to say. its been quiet over a minute.

this shouts hes enraged. im enjoying the silence but ruin it to whisper, bring mywinnings?

his teeth are clamped in fury. i see his jaw muscles bulging.

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20/27

they pry apart long enough to say, howd you win? evenyou know the dice are always loaded. you practically shave them

for me.

did you bring my winnings, i repeat. howd you win? i doubt hell pay out until i answer. i stopped caring if you beat me, i tell him. despair dominates his movements.he raises his tattooedarms and the moonlight shows we have the same taste in artists

and designs.his hands cup my ear. the pots delivered at a softer volume than his normalbantering.

you dont have to play anymore. you never did. after he draws away i see tears coursing down his face. ilean back to watch him.

i dont want to forget the night i made the devil cry.*

xx

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21/27

*

xxi

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22/27

-syphilis-

*by someone who learns the hard way*


*

*be gentle with razors. use enough shaving cream and moisturizer too.*

*

*it isnt working out. she knows it. i know it. weve talkedand set boundaries.

tires of surrender which could carry us to romanticprogress are nestled in a rut conversation cant level. wheneverwe move forward they blow out in post midnight pot holes of

loneliness, fear, or drunkenness.

a.m. text messages help us find comfort in each othersbodies. the day afters never easy. new york isnt a city where

people line up to help strangers with car trouble.

xxii

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23/27

like every night our minds drive on this streettonight feelsdifferent. shes calling. itd be soothing to hear her voice. ithink.pressing the phone to my eari resolve to not spend a weekstranded along a west side highway of regret.

you filthy son of a bitch. if i have herpes ill fucking endyou.

her tone sounds unhappy.**

*im sitting on my buildings roof feeling sorry formyselfwhen she calls. now im doing it even more effectively.panic gives self pity an accelerated edge. i unbutton my levis to

examine the accused.

after minutes of scrutinysomething presents itself. enlisting internet help seems logical. i walk downstairs tomy crime scene and stare at photos of lesions, warts, and

chancres on my laptops screen. there are resemblances in every

photo illustrating every ailment acquired through fun mistakes.

xxiii

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24/27

terror.

a viral game over blankets my consciousness. flowery notesfollowed by dives from roofs flicker in my brain. rational

thought calls me a drama queen.

i opt for a trip to the emergency room.**

*i was born in the east villages beth israel hospital. in thewaiting room i feel odd this is the first return i remember.

two well-dressed gay men and a morbidly obese jamaicanwoman keep me company. we dont speak but the woman breaks

our silence with intermittent screaming. this doesnt bother me.

will smiths hancock plays on a television. its fastened ina cage high on the wall. the entire film, with commercials,

finishes before im called back to be seen.*

*

*the nurses arms are thick. they look strong. i unbutton

my jeans again. her eyes scan with simultaneous disinterest and

thoroughness.

xxiv

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25/27

she gives a diagnosis in a firm voice. isnt genital warts. thered be more of em. isnt herpeseither. youd have screamed in pain when i touched it. if

anything its a syphilis chancre.

thank the fucking lord, i exclaim. i try to hug her but she slaps away my arms with twoefficient strikes. they sting.

hands off, she warns and continues, labs backed up. wewont have blood results to know for sure til next week. want

the penicillin shot now anyway?

god yes. its a huge syringe filled with a glue-like substance.another nursell inject it into your glutes. itll hurt. were short-

staffed tonight so youll be waiting a few more minutes, she

states with the detachment of a butcher repeating an order.

thank you so much, i say. she turns toward the door.

xxv

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26/27

use protection kid. therere sicker people in this hospitalthan you.

with a soft click it closes behind her.**

*a half hour later a male nurse gives the shot. he wants toget better acquainted while administering it.

do you work out at a ymca or an equinox sort of place? neither, i answer. our conversation doesnt go further. after finishing he asks, want a second opinion on yourchancre?

ok. i unbutton one last time. he looks and laughs. i dontappreciate this.

whats funny, i demand.

xxvi

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27/27

thats a razor bump dude.**

xxvii

Documents

(b.o.l.b., vol. 6) -syphilis-