Monday July 30 2012


Waking up at 11:17 a.m.

Plums. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

Thank God for the wind and clouds that cool this air and block the menacing heat of the sun.

Coconut Water is my best friend.

A slow afternoon for deliveries. I’m left to myself at least for an hour or so to run some errands and eat lunch.

Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

I bought a new tape adaptor from Target. While riding around delivering I crank up some nostalgic Coldplay on the stereo. I feel empowered, especially after last night’s pick-me-up. Oh yes, my ego and my center is at it’s strongest...rejuvenated...revived. Now that the distracting sexual desires are quenched it’s possible I may be able to meditate on productive things.


The day turns into night. It’s fairly slow but still steady and the tips are generally good.

Finally off work. I had been in touch with Aysena and suggested to hang out for a bit tonight. I pick her up at 25th and Baltic. Arrive at the house. Darren and Kevin accompany the conversation downstairs.

Tofu with Broccoli, Snow Peas, Onions, and Rice in Garlic Sauce.

I hand over my fortune cookie to Ays, “Here you can have my fortune. I’m all fortuned out.”

She cracks it open.

Me: “What does it say?”

She hands it over. I read it aloud, “Love is the first feeling people feel, because love is nice.” I explode into silly laughter before I even finish. “Oh my gosh! That is the most cheesiest fortune I’ve ever read. I don’t even think that’s an actual quote.”


Darren and Kevin retire to their rooms. Ays and I go for a night walk. The rain taps lightly on the ground so we bring an umbrella. Smoking a clove and traversing the Chanticleer neighborhood. Small talk – getting a glimpse behind our masks.

In her thick Russian accent she says, “You Americans so open. You could say all about you.”

Me: “I’m like that. I’m very open.”


Me: “Do you like me?”

She giggles in reaction.

Me: “Did I ask the wrong question? I like you.”

Her: “Yeah I know.”

Me: “How do you know?”

Her: “I feel it.”

Me: “Yeah you feel? Sometimes you can feel these things. It’s unspoken. You know what I mean?”

Her: “Speechless?”

Me: “These things that you feel are unspoken.”


Back inside. In my room. Sifting through some of my favorite reads on the bookshelf – quoting some Keroauc lines – entertained by a vintage book called Brush Up Your Russian – she helps me learn a few Russian phrases. We sit on the floor. I admire her long black hair, verbally. She keeps saying how shy she is most of the time. I examine the one tattoo she has on her left arm, an image of a dream catcher with a snake coiled inside. She’s a dreamer and she’s protected.


It’s getting late so I drive her back to 25th. Walking up the sidewalk in a slow lingering fashion. Spider’s webs hung from the trees blocking our movement. Hug exchange by the No Parking sign. I slip my face into her neck and smell, and then sneak a kiss on the cheek. She returns her lips into mine and it’s not just a mere peck, but a generous lather of mouth goodness. I had no expectation or plan for this, nor did I expect a lack of inhibition on her part.

Her: “Bye bye.”

Me: “Bye. I’ll see you later.”

I walk away soaking all that in. I might feel a little overloaded considering the events from the previous night. It seems too close together. It’s a strange feeling. But what can I do...but be a sensationalist and revere these life experiences by themselves.


I hop back in the car and notice my phone lighting up repetitively with calls from Margot. Really? This isn’t happening. And of course only at desperate emotional hours. I can’t answer. I just can’t. Too close together. This is a strain on my sanity and composure. But Margot’s behavior is all too predictable: just one instance of denial or absence and she becomes a persistent little bugger. There’s no doubt she’s in my neighborhood or at my house already. I safely park in another court and step inside my house without giving away my location. There are multiple voicemails.

I decide to call back and make up a story about how I had to drop my car off at the shop and walk all the way well I left my phone at home. She doesn’t buy it at first because apparently she spotted my car on the road. I start doing the dishes and there she is in the doorway of the kitchen. She had a stressful night. Who else could she run to? None other than I, the one whom she knows gives more than two shits about her. I try to be casual and comical to help alleviate the tense mood.


Upstairs, in my room.

Me: “Why did you call me in the first place?”

Her: “I called Chanello’s and they said no so I called you.”

I laugh in response, “What? You called Chanello’s and they said no so you called me?”

Her: “Yes!”

Me: “You’re ridiculous.”

Obviously, there’s more to that story. But the only way the night will end smoothly is by allowing her to spend the night. Otherwise she’d be furiously rejected. I’m way too nice. So here I am lying next to a beautiful familiar rose but thinking about a beautiful unfamiliar lotus. Also, the night before...ugh. Too close together. I said this already. Go to sleep, Robert.

[i] Ashkan Honarvar.

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