Sit on couch in TV-room to fill out an a pplication for the Office of Disabled Services, so I can go to school.
Pat sits on the other couch with blond French poodle hair, and smokes, every so often turning her head to the side and back, like a chicken.
Oh boy, here we go: ETHNIC GROUP. They don't even ask name first. Two boxes--one for white, one for black. Draw my own box, up and to the left, and check it.
Pat snores. Cigarette in mouth burning.
"PAT."
Nothing.
"PAT!"
"Huh? What?
"Your cigarette."
"Thank you." She taps off the ash, turns her head, and puffs.
Second question-Age. Write fast and legible, 40.
Third question-Describe how your disability prevents you from working? You're asking me? Ask the doctors; they have file cabinets full. It's hard to put in words. I think and think. Crumple paper in ball, and throw in basket. Nice shot. JORDAN! Step out for air. The guys are smoking. Davey is squatted down with his back against the side of the house. He can stay like that comfortably for a long time, because he's skinny. If I tried, my legs would snap. A rollie burns between his blackened fingers, he spits mucus on the blacktop between his legs. Isn't he disgusted? Spit to the side, numb nuts. Burt has a long handlebar mustache and bushy black hair. He smiles and says, "What's up, man?" He talks funny.
Tall strong Dennis offers me a Red Pyramid 100.
"Thanks Dude. I don't buy cigarettes. It helps me cut down."
It tastes awful, cheap, and mostly cardboard.
Chubby cheeks Nate says, "He just mooches off of other people." Burt and Pretty Tony laugh.
Burt hesitates when he talks,"I … got … fie women … in Canton … Ohio." He has trouble pronouncing certain sounds.
Pretty Tony raps, "I can get you ho's." His camel face drools, when he laughs and grins. Nate chuckles, and Davey guffaws.
Nate and Tony stop, but Davey is still belly laughing. He is a boyish forty. His voice is slow, pleasant, and rhythmic, "God bless you, Fox."
"How are you, Dave?"
"Oh, fine. Fine. Fine."
"What you up to?"
"Vivian kicked me in the butt."
"I see. You shaved."
"Trimmed Miss Martha's bushes yesterday." His face brightens, "Oh, Miss Martha is a pretty girl." He giggles and mumbles unintelligible syllables as he brings his face into my face. I back up. Don't spit in my face. "She gave me five dollars."