A-Minor

BY WILLIAM J FEDIGAN

Jimmy throws yesterday’s news into fireplace but it comes back as ashes that float up, around and down on head, eyes, face. Down to holes in shoes, socks. Down to cold, ice. Down to dying.

Jimmy’s outta time. He knows it. Flower knows it.

-I hate this fucking place, Jimmy tells Flower.

Flower gives Jimmy a fresh butt. They walk together, smoke.

-It’s just for couple of days, maybe a week, Flower says.

-I hate this fucking place.

Junkies, Crazies, Freaks come in, go out, clothes in plastic bags. Bones for bodies, tattoos for skin, gums for teeth. Shrunken heads for sale. 40 beds, no waiting.

-Got extra smoke, boss, Junkie asks Jimmy.

-Get lost, Jimmy says.

Junkie finds old nicotine patch on sidewalk. Rolls it, lights it, sucks it, gags, spits it out, looks for another one.

-JesusFUCKINGChrist, Jimmy says. I hate this fucking place.

Couple weeks ago, Jimmy stops meds, hits bottom like cement. Lays face down. Tries to dig deeper, under grass, under ground. Down.

-I knew you were in trouble when you stopped getting fucked-up, shit-faced, stopped everything. Flower says. That’s not like you, Jimmy. Flower laughs.

Jimmy sleeps 20 hrs day. Black hole sucks Jimmy down. Down.

Jimmy’s Lady Friend up Jimmy’s ass.

-All you do is sleep, Jimmy. We don’t make love anymore. You don’t even touch me anymore. Know how that makes me feel, Jimmy? Like shit, Jimmy, like shit.

-Leave me alone, Jimmy says. Leave me the fuck alone.

-You’re a sick fuck, Jimmy. Go back to the hospital. You like it better than here. Go back to the fucking hospital.

Jimmy and Flower walk. Jimmy can’t breathe. Jimmy’s outta time. Jimmy’s can’t breathe.

-I hate this fucking place, Jimmy says.

-We’re almost there, Jimmy. Just keep walking, Flower says.

-Spare a buck for coffee, boss. Crazie asks Jimmy. Crazie’s eyes wild, head shakes. Turns to Flower. It’s cold out here, Crazie says. Spare a buck, boss?

Flower gives Crazie buck. Crazie runs to roach-coach. Buys coffee, gulps it, spills it on self, burns self, jumps around, drinks the rest.

-JesusFUCKINGChrist, Jimmy says. I hate this fucking place.

-We’re almost there, Jimmy. Just keep walking.

Jimmy sucks last butt dry, flicks it against wall. Butt explodes in sparks, dies. Ashes float toward Jimmy.

Jimmy’s outta time. Jimmy knows it. Flower knows it.

Flower opens door.

Jimmy walks in.

Jimmy wipes ashes off.

***

William J Fedigan’s latest work appears in Black Heart Magazine, Kerouac’s Dog, Metal Scratches, WEIRDYEAR, Muscle & Blood, The Writing Disorder, Heavy Hands Ink, Warwick, Burning Wood. He can be contacted at wfedigan@aol.com.