Mark was sitting having coffee at his kitchen table in his modern styled 3rd floor flat. He looked tired yet still managed a smile.

His Asian girlfriend answered the door, allowing me entrance.

“My apologies for dropping by so early.” I spoke while I approached him. He checked his watch.

“No problem. It’s after 9. How did you sleep?”

“I’m guessing about as good as you.”

“Al was in rare fine form last night… I only hear it if I sit here. In the bedroom; nothing.”

“Lucky you. I could hear it just fine from 3a.m. on… none of my business, but you guys don’t talk?”

“He’s my father. Nothing more. He left when I was 4. Me and my Mom and my little sister. He sold his part of his auto body business for $750,000.00 and showed up here 25 years later… broke and needing a place to stay. I’m not gonna see him homeless; but I don’t have much time for his brand of bullshit.”

“I get it… I don’t know if I can deal with Al for another day. I need sleep. I have to go to work. I’m just beat for sleep.”

After my work shift, I returned to find Al watching television. He seemed glad to see me.

“I’m going to bed. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Strange bed.” Al offered.

“Yeah, that’s it.” I answered and slept through to Sunday morning without incident.

Al was home, and after I showered, I decided to go digging.

“So you and your son Mark don’t get along?

At first, there was just silence and a distant glare. Then he confessed. It appeared that it had been some time since Al had anyone to talk to…

“I was fucking the babysitter when Mark’s mother came home unexpectedly… She was 14 and sweet! She hit me over the head with a cast iron frying pan. I saw fucking stars man! It was just like in the cartoons!”

I sat in silence, unable to contain my grin. Al continued with no persuasion.

“She was the only woman I couldn’t control.” He shook his head. “I loved that woman.”

Later in the afternoon, Mark filled in the rest of the story…

Candice called herself Candy. She was blonde and slightly plump, 30, I guessed. Candy dragged her eyes from Al and smiled my way.

“I’m not interested in Al.” She purred, leaning over, whispering in my ear. “I know all about Al. You? I know nothing about.”

I introduced myself and bought Candice a drink. I began weighing Al’s mood as no one came his way.

The bouncer known as Tiny Tim made his way to our table and looked us all over. Tim was about 6’4″ and weighed roughly 300 pounds. He exchanged pleasantries with Al and glanced at Candice and then me. I guessed that I was the unknown that he was trying to guage.

After he left, Candice asked. “Do you think he’s tough?”

I answered honestly. “Haven’t a clue. Looks tough enough. “

“I went to his place once. He lives with his parents in the house he grew up in. In the bedroom he grew up in… He still has the wallpaper from when he was a boy; cowboys and Indians. His bed is still a single bed from when he was a boy! I couldn’t fucking believe it! Both his legs from his knees down are like jelly. Some kind of weird disease I don’t know. If you touched him in the shins, he would just crumble… He’s not tough at all… do you think you might like to fuck me.”

“Sure. If you don’t think Al or Tim would mind.”

“Let’s go to my place. I’m close.”

I looked at Al. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Either here or at the house…”

                            *******

I made my way back to Al’s before midnight and went to bed. I heard strange noises. It was a little after 3. I peaked out the bedroom door, and Al was standing in his underwear in the kitchen. He had a quart bottle of rum clutched in his right hand. He was half talking, half screaming with a guttural sound that came from his throat. He was staring at his ceiling. I would later find out that on the other side of his ceiling was the floor of the area where his son Mark sat listening to his father. Al kept repeating the same drunken mantra over and over and over again:

“I brought you into this world… and I can take you out… I will rip your throat out with my bare teeth…”

Then he would pound his fist with his left fist and repeat after swigging from his bottle.

“I brought you into this world… and I can take you out… I will rip your throat out with my bare teeth…”

I tried to go back to sleep with little success. I heard that mantra until sunrise.

It was a Friday somewhere in a 1980s, murky, distant past-darkness. I was 28.

I met Al’s son Mark through an ad in the paper. We agreed on rental terms for an apartment he was renting. However, it wouldn’t be ready before Monday.

I said, “It’s probably not going to work. I need a place now.”

Mark was a young and ambitious 28 year old man with a medium build and 5’8″ tall. He was one of those who seemed to have a solution for anything and everything.

He smiled. “Not  a problem. My father has a spare bedroom, and I’m sure he’ll rent it out for a couple of days until your unit is available. “

We went to his triplex, another of Mark’s properties. He lived on the 3rd floor. Al lived on the 2nd floor, and I didn’t know it at the time, but the 1st floor was empty and available.

Al and I agreed on terms, and he invited me out for a beer at some local dive down at Lansdowne and Bloor.

Al was from Malta, and he was about 60 and barrel chested. He told me he was once one of the most powerful men who ever lived. That was before all his teeth fell out with gum disease a couple of years previously.

“A month was all it took for them to all fall out… I’ve never really recovered. My once great looks gone like that.” Al snapped his chubby short fingers and took a swig from a bottle. He grimaced for a second and then smiled. “You’re still young and good-looking… We could make a great team, you and I.  The women will come over to see you, and I’ll just take the leftovers.”

I was having a difficult time keeping a straight face. So I decided to just go with it.

“So, I’m like the bait?”

“Exactly!”

Al’s smile seemed genuine this time. Not reptilian, like before. I couldn’t believe that he thought that I was going to be ok with this arrangement . Never had I met a man so full of himself; and so in love with his past. I began to weigh the possible dangers and inconveniences of such an arrangement against the potential entertainment value. I decided that it would be only 2 days when the first of the bar-flys came to the table and sat down and introduced herself to me. I could see Al smile through my perifrial.

“This is my roommate, Al.” I smiled…

Two men in their 30’s are talking. Actually, one is talking, and the other is listening:

“What are all the little dogs about? I mean, I can understand if you want a pit bull or a Rottweiler or a German Sheppard for protection… but these little lap dogs… I think they are replacing babies for this generation… this country is fucked man. This place is going in the shitter in a big way. “

When men feel stress, they process.

When women feel stress, they talk.

Generally speaking, women feel uncomfortable with the men’s process because it happens in silence.

For a man to talk when he’s stressed only increases his stress.

I’ll just leave this here and go away for a while and write…

Talk among yourselves

OR

Process by yourself.

I was rolling in the darkness.

The winter turns to spring.

Not much more than plenty.

I guess I didn’t need a thing.

I see her growth in real time.

Sometimes, I witness all.

Take it in and keep in stride.

And just pray I don’t appall.

The light is on horizon.

I am almost out of bed.

There are reasons to be hopeful.

For less reasons than you said…

Taserface was sleeping in the bedroom on a quilt.

Free from all her suffering and all the pains of shame and guilt.

Her fur was soft and matted from the garden and the birds.

And the shit and dust and blood and mud and things that don’t have words.

Taserface is sleeping, and she twitches like a cat.

We feed and need her lust for greed, but that’s not where it’s at.

In the darkness, she will awaken, and once more, she will roam.

We are moving, and poor Taserface is searching elsewhere for a home.

We dined on tea and oranges.

On the sand down by the sea.

There were possible storm warnings.

That escaped both you and me.

The dingy left the harbor.

The sail snapped by noon.

The winds grew dark and heavy.

Under far too soon, typhoon.

They’ll be no more tea and oranges.

Or walks down at the park.

The dreamers dream is heavy now.

And faint hopes are growing dark.