The Eye of Fortune
He introduced himself on September 11th.
“Hi, Elias. I’m Prince September.”
“cool, cool, cool.”
He’d burst through the doorway of my apartment, a complete stranger, but I was used to crazy shit.
“I’ve come to bring you a gift, Elias.”
Removing his Fedora, he pulled a ball of underwear from the hats head hole, then unwrapped it to display his treasure, still
in the underwear.
“Here. Its your father’s eye.”
“Go ahead. Try it out”.
fuck it, I thought, free eye
I lifted the patch that shields the innocent from the watery hole where my left eye used to be, and popped it in.
He replaced the Fedora.
“so how’s the view?”
“the cartoon vision is fucking amazing.”
and it was.
just like the old Disney films.
and he smiled, as if to say,
a lot of people are gonna shoot heroin,
and suck dick for heroin,
and some are going to jump from tall buildings,
and say Aaaaaaaaaaaah!
as they fly down and Splat! on the sidewalk,
but not you Elias,
you’re the man,
he threw his head back and
laughed at the ceiling.
I was fairly certain he was trying to fuck me out of something, but his hilarity was so infectious that I came down with the awfullest case of the Pillsbury Doughboys.
and we remained that way for days it seemed,
laughing our asses off, talking, and toking.
and he told me that he’d written some of the Beatles songs,
and practically every song ever,
“at least the good ones anyway.”
“cool, cool, cool”.
He’d handed me his business card:
Jack of Clubs.
Jack of Clubs? What the…?
and as I’d slowly turned it over, he placed his hand on my shoulder,
“yes, yes, yes”
“from this day forward,
your pussy’s gonna burn like a motherfucker.”