I’m just waiting for that boy to show up with my drugs. One might call ‘em herbs. I’m calling ‘em already wanted and not had. I’m drinking that absolute. The only two flavors which come in the sample packs are citron and Mandrin. So that’s what I’m sipping boys and girls. I know I’ve got a large female audience. None of them have said a thing about me being piss penis this pot and pussy cunt suck it bitch. I guess they know me at spirit. They see I’m a naked boy, flailing his meat whip, spitting, and wringing his heart. You can’t get on someone’s case when you come in their room and they’re doing something like that. It ain’t the same as being invaded or bumped into on the street. He’d be a totally different boy in that situation. But Bukowski never had a radio like this: a magic radio! with all the world’s albums stored spacelessly inside his typewriter! No dj but thyself, and thy own personal Gacy, who is yelled at like, “Ok Google” and “OK Gacy”.

Oh to round that sharp edge off with a little fire and a little smooth smoke, it would offer us all a bit of heaven without feeling so much goddamn blood, like you’re some pj patient up in chopper Sanchez, flying within the golden hour, to the blue scrub room where they all look at them grunts like “It’s your game caused them come in this way! You and your digital camo! Causing children to take bullets through their brains. Causing our neurosurgeons to take cat scans and go in with big old vice jacks and special electron microscope tweezers. You’re the sons of bitches paying our bills so we can pay off our schooling.”

That’s what they’re looking down on them for.

It’s like Clive said, “School’s the next step, brother!”

That’s what they’re always telling ya.

Cause they gotta feel better about themselves. Standing on credit reports. Loan letters. Lettermen lessons. little round glasses. And them caps which have unbiased logos on them. Blurred out for television just fine the way they are.

He’s on his way. Ten minutes out. “The wife’s still not in.” I say. “Should be fine to come right up. But of course, I’ll meet you at the door.”

My album is almost over. I had wanted it to be playing when Sven got here. It is such a good album. I am not feeling lucky. But I should probably hit the “I’m feeling Lucky.” button anyways. Because what else am I supposed to do? Play an album I have already heard, just to impress somebody? that would take away the magic of the album for myself. and that is unacceptable. “The ball’s in your court, Gacy.” I say. “Do not let me down, my sweet angel. What have I ever done to you? Now is not the time for nervousness. This is a first impression moment. Rarely do I let coworkers into my home. You can do it my baby. I love you.”

I have to be feeling lucky. I have to be feeling lucky. I don’t have a choice.

Turns up he doesn’t even come up.

“my friend’s waiting for me in the car.” he says.

We make the tradeoff right there on the sidewalk outside my building.

“How much do I owe You?” I ask.

Forty. He says.

I pull out my wallet. He’s holding the pot in his hand.

He says, “Ah, what a cute driver’s license picture.”

I say, “Ah, thanks.” and hand him the forty.

‘Such a good deal…’ I think. ‘Is he just being nice?’

Oh well; it is my hand.

I go back upstairs. The last song on my new favorite album is still playing. I open the bag. The stuff is densely connected to branches. It is brownish green. But it smells like the pot I remember. It’s got little crystals on it. ‘Oh Sven, please have given me the good stuff. Because I am with you, and we are ok. And we should strive for each others’ respect. And had you come up I would have shown you all my great stuff. My great music. My great bookshelf. I may have even shown you the book I wrote. “Oh, I wrote that.” I would say. Or, “Do you want to see the book I wrote.” Oh, it would have been so great. I could have won so much of your respect. If you had only seen my home. The deeper part of me. I’m a married man. My wife ain’t home yet. I do these youngster, illegal things in secret; because I’m still hip. I’m still cool Sven. “Just let me let you into my life.”