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enjoy this Kyle Hemmings writing in the free April 2013 PDF file chapbook I Was Charles Bronson’s Secret Hostage				You can also order this as a 2013 6" x 9" perfect-bound paperback ISBN# book! Click on the cover spread for the book I Was Charles Bronson’s Secret Hostage

Touch This

Kyle Hemmings

It’s 6:00 a.m. brain-freeze. I’m wandering back in the left-over
fog from the slumgullion of frenzied life. Two hours I cannot
account for. The crazy Chinese guy from Club Fez follows me into
the bathroom at Port Authority, exposes himself, as if a private
part can ever be a satisfactory summation of his being. His eyes
remind me of two distracted hobos that have stopped seeing the
outside world for what it isn’t–kind. They never focus on one
place for very long. He asks ten bucks for some touch. He isn’t
even hard, soft as balled-up socks, probably homeless from the
rain. I remember the time my father used to lock me behind
closets until I said the correct password, which was usually
“Swordfish,” or “Duck Feather.” He loved doing Groucho
imitations, flicking a make-believe cigar. I’m left picking up
the ashes. To this day. So I tell the Chinese guy to wait behind
the stall because in awhile there’ll be some heavy traffic. He
obeys without looking at me. I leave the men’s room with the
door making a gentle swoosh. At the bus stop, I spot the guy,
head hung low, muttering to himself, heading to the opposite end
of no-ever, wherever. All his life, I imagine, trying to hold
someone’s ashes as if a precious spall of ore. But I did drop
him ten bucks under the stall. He can have lunch. I can sleep
until noon.

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