no chance

   
Randolph surveyed the destruction of his apartment with the pride of a man who knows he has produced something truly spectacular.  But was it art?  He was an artist, and like all good artists he knew that what others see and call art was merely the residual, the aftermath. Real art existed only in the moment in which it was created, entirely experiential, it could never be shared or recorded outside of the event.  He however admired what he had accomplished as testimonial to the potency of his artistic release.  The overturned ashtrays, empty beer cans, dirty dishes, and soiled clothing placed with perfect geometrical precision through the long expanse of his shotgun apartment brought him a great feeling of satisfaction, he was content, and that was enough. 

He was drifting off, he needed to focus.  He was supposed to be being productive.  Randolph sat hunkered over his type writer, naked, except for the sunglasses he had found to keep out the painful light of day and two mismatched argyle socks he had put on to keep warm.  Randolph liked writing naked, it made him feel visceral, primal, like a great jungle beast hunting down the words, stalking them, and finally pouncing upon them.  He felt that it gave a flavor and a texture to his writing that no clothed man could duplicate.  But he was not a writer, not today at least, it had all gone to far for that, well past the point of needing to record anything.  Today should be more about interpretive dance.  With this in mind, he jumped up and began, flailing and gesticulating as he staggered about in some kind of arrhythmic frenzy, stomping his feet whooping and moaning.  It was not as satisfying as he had thought it might be.  He grasped his penis and began to wave it about the room as though he were some wild eyed pagan God descended from on high blessing his creation with his mighty phallus.  This was much more satisfying on some infantile level that he found difficult to explain even to himself. 

  Randolph sat down and basked for a moment in his own since of accomplishment, watching the sun streak through the makeshift curtains and cast strange shadows over his artistic landscape.  He knew that others did not consider him an artist. The themes and nuances of his art were too elusive for many; others simply lacked the sense of style to get the feel of what he was doing.  It did not bother him that he was misunderstood. Randolph had faith that what he was doing was true and noble, life itself was his art, experience his medium and his own brain and body the tools with which he created his masterpieces.  And Randolph was good at what he did. 

He stood and began to once again move, breaking his silent reverie.  His hair stuck out in all directions like he had put a fork into a cartoon electric socket, his skinny arms wind milling in gross excitement, his features locked in a grin that was a mockery of human emotion. He appeared savage and dangerous like a beast that might at any moment need to be destroyed.  His eyes, however, were the most disturbing of all, they had a sheen to them that reflected light in weird ways, they seemed almost to glow with an inner light. They were the kind of eyes that you would expect a serial killer or mass murder to have but so often did not.  They were the kind of eyes that made most people pretend like they could not see him.  When he was in public people would move away, uncomfortable to be within range of whatever it was he was about to do, cops would puff up like blowfish ready to do their duty and put this freak down, justifiable use of force, for the good of society.             

         “Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up!!” Randolph screamed in the direction of the bulbous mound on his couch.

         He got only a slight snort and some restless shifting in response as if his efforts were beneath the notice of his intended victim.

         “Up and at ‘em sunshine, it’s a brand new day.” He said in a husky whisper as he leaned in close.

When this elicited no more of a response he grabbed a broken umbrella off the top of a bookshelf and began poking repeatedly at the unresponsive lump.

“Wakie, Wakie, pud’n head.”

“I am not turning over or opening my eyes until you put on some clothes Randolph.”

“If you haven’t turned over and opened your eyes how do you know that I haven’t got any clothes on?” Randolph asked in his most innocent voice.

“I just know, alright.” came the muffled response from under the blanket “Fool me once… and all that crap.”

“Fine I’ll put on some clothes if that will make you feel better but in my book the human form is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I quite agree, but you sir are impossible to deal with when you are naked.  Do you remember Christmas?  I still have nightmares.”

“That my friend was a combination, the nudity and the tequila.”

“Either way I want you dressed.”

“Fine” Randolph said with an air of resignation.

Randolph looked around for his pants for several minuets until he realized that they
were on his bed, he had apparently used them for a pillow the night before.  As he was putting them on Alex cautiously poked his dark round face out from under the blanket to make sure Randolph was doing as he promised he would.  When he was sure that Randolph had at least partially complied Alex sat up and slowly surveyed his surroundings.     

         “Did we do this?” he asked in a horse whisper, a look of fear and revulsion apparent on his face. 

         “That we did my friend.” Randolph said with a slick television grin that seemed
terribly out of place with his disheveled lunatic appearance “You weren’t a mouse last night were you?”

         Alex had dark wavy hair and a soft coca brown complexion, his face was handsome to a point of femininity, he looked like an angel descended to earth.  He had a soft voice and shy mannerisms, and was ruthlessly mothered by all women wherever he went.  Alex was almost pathologically passive at times, not seeming to care what happened to him, because of this he had for many years been known as Alexander The Mouse or simply Mouse.

         “What is that on your chest?” Alex said accusatorially.

         “What is what?” Randolph responded as he tried looking down at himself.  He managed only in taking a step back and stumbling on an overturned chair taking a truly ungraceful spill and landing in a pile of trash.  He righted the chair and himself and took a seat to more closely examine his chest.

         “Well it appears to be a phone number written in blood… no wait, lipstick.”   

         “Well done Sherlock but when and how did it get written on your chest?”

         “That will reveal it self in due course mouse.  For now we should simply record it in a more permanent form.”

         Randolph began scrambling around looking for something to write with, digging through piles of crap happily singing off key to himself.  Alex stared at him wondering if anyone would notice if he choked Randolph to death and left him here to rot in his own filth.

         “Aha”

         Randolph had found the broken stub of a pencil and a napkin turning over the plastic cup it had been sitting under and spilling the watery brown mess that had probably once been a rum and coke onto the cluttered coffee table.  He seemed not to notice. 

         “Now read the number to me mouse” He said as he stuck his chest out at Alex.

         “Read it your fucking self, I’m not interested” Alex said this as he pulled the blanket back over his head and lay down.

         “Mouse come on now don’t be like that”

         “I think I’m going to die randy leave me alone”

         “Look all you need is something to eat and a drink, a bloody marry or a screwdriver, no beer, and you’ll be just fine.” Randolph was trying to use his most reassuring voice “How much money do you have?”

         “About seventeen dollars” Alex had learned after many years of association to never tell Randolph exactly how much money he really had left.

         “Good I have a little bit of money too that should get us buy just fine” Randolph new better than to tell Alex when he was broke it only made him worry.

         “Now how about you read me that number”

         Alex poked his head out and read off the number.

         “486-2840”

         “Now go wash that shit off so we can get the fuck out of here if were going, the smell in this place is killing me”

         “Don’t be so testy mouse were going to have a great adventure today I can feel it.  Besides I like the smell it lets me know I’m alive.”

         “Fuck you and your adventure” Alex mumbled under the blanket.

         But Randolph didn’t here him he was already picking his way towards the back of the house, leaving Alex momentarily to wallow in his own self-pity.  Alex wondered how he could possibly have sunk so low.  His head hurt, his eyes were swollen, there was some nasty film from God knew what coating his tongue and lips and the room was doing a slow nauseating spin.  Here he was living on Randolph’s couch of all places, he hadn’t changed his close or showered in two days and he wasn’t likely too until he could find someplace else to do it given the condition of the bathroom.  He couldn’t imagine how Randolph could live here.  He wondered how it was Randolph even paid rent since he had no visible source of income and, as far as he knew, never had.  He quickly reconsidered, he probably did not want to know whatever it was Randolph did to make money.  For all he knew they were just squatting in some hovel, that by bureaucratic over site, the city had never shut the off the utilities to.  He had no job, no car and nowhere else to go.  Tears rose unbidden to his eyes as he clenched and unclenched his fists in an attempt to get his hands to stop shaking.  What was he doing here in this God forsaken town?  He had wasted years of his life here for what, what was he getting out of it. New Orleans was draining the life out of him and he didn’t even know if he cared anymore.  He wished to God that this city had been sucked down into the fetid swamp it had risen out of long before he had ever even heard of it, he hated this place and hated himself for not being able to escape.  He couldn’t even remember the last time he had spent an entire day sober, it was pathetic. 
But most of all he hated Randolph.  Happy go lucky Randolph, always excited, always content.  Nothing seemed to faze him; nothing ever seemed to get to him.  Worst of all he always seemed to avoid the fate that any sane person would assume was in store for someone so absolutely oblivious of the world he lived in.  In fact he usually did better than most conventional hard working people, including of course Mouse himself.

Mouse had lost everything in a matter of weeks.  He had been successful, he had a woman, a job, an apartment, and now it was all gone and Randolph couldn’t even understand why he was so upset.  What had happened?  Maybe he was going insane, or even had been insane for some time.  Could you even tell if you were insane while you were in the midst of it, what did it even matter anymore?  He would just wait here under this blanket until a meteor hit the house, erasing his shame and ending his torment.

         “Mouse get out from under that blanket. We have things to do, the universe needs us.” Randolph was quite found of putting things in the most dire and exciting terms he could think of.  But he also really believed that the universe required his participation in order to properly function, and perhaps it did.

         “Come on mouse I have just the thing that is going to fix you up.” 

         “What is it?” mouse asked with no little amount of suspicion, though he did poke his head back out from under the blanket.

         “It’s a joint my little cupcake and if this doesn’t help you out then I think you probably will die.”

         “Oh thank God, at least something is going right.” Alex said with an audible sigh of relief.

“Light it up quick.”

         Alex pulled a pack of bar matches out of his pocket and did just that.  Puffing away like a fat cat with a Cuban cigar at the board meeting before passing it to Alex.  Alex almost dropped it because his hands were shaking so badly but he get a firm grip and hit it with so much gusto that he went into an immediate coughing fit.  It didn’t matter.  Alex felt immensely better, no doubt about it.

         “I was right Alex just look at you that is exactly what you needed.” Randolph sounded far away, talking through a gray haze that Alex couldn’t tell was in the room or in his head, either way he liked it.

         Randolph was right Alex was feeling much better.  He had been to hard on his old friend.  Here Randolph was giving him a place to stay and sharing what he had with him and he couldn’t even be grateful.  Things were not as bad as they appeared; he just needed to get his head straight.  He just needed to take it easy tonight and go to bed early and then he could get up on Wednesday and look for a job, everything would be fine, if he could just relax and let go.  So what if Sarah had left him she never treated him right anyway, he needed a woman who respected him, who trusted him, not some nagging bitch who wouldn’t let him live. 

         “Don’t zone out on me now buddy, we have things to do”

         “Right lets put that thing out and go get something to eat I’m starving”

         “Alright but first I want you to do something for me, it could be very important.” Alex said this as he put out the joint and took a camel from the pack sitting with Alex’s keys and Wallet next to the couch and lit it up.

         “Sure Randy. What it is it?” Alex was feeling quite magnanimous at this point.

         “ I want you to wear this hat I have a feeling it could make all the difference in how we do today” Alex refrained from asking Alex what he thought they were supposed to be doing, he knew he couldn’t get a straight answer.  So he simply accepted the hat and read what was printed on the front.  It was a beauty alright, it was floppy and dirty with the words “American by birth….southern by the grace of God” stitched in big red white and blue lettering across the front.  He flipped it around and saw a giant Dixie flag on the back.  It was perfect. 

         “Sure why not, there’s nothing sexier than a nigger in a redneck hat, I reckon.” Alex said this in his best southern drawl and plopped the hat on his head in a fit of giggling.

         And with that they were out the door in a flash.  Alex and Randolph had an almost preternatural understanding of when it was time to leave any given place.  All it took was a glance in each other’s direction and they knew that they no longer belonged where they were.  They did not so much leave, as flee, as quickly as posible, and usually with no explanation.  This quirk of their friendship, while a great source of aggravation to others, had always served them well.  It never failed that they always left just before the trouble and always arrived at the most opportune moment, usually when ever something free was about to happen.  They had never spoken of it, they had never had to, it was simply the way things had been longer than either one of them could remember.       

      Randolph loved to walk in New Orleans it was the best way to move around in this town, it let you get the feel of it in your lungs.  It hit him like a drug; filling his brain with ideas that would hit him so fast it would leave him dizzy and short of breath. Randolph was born here but he never ceased to be amazed by this place.  It was cold outside but it had barley slowed the constant attack of green and growing things on the infrastructure of the city.  The sidewalk buckled and the streets caved-in as the blind roots groped in the subterranean darkness, trying to pull the city back into the swamp it had never really ceased being.  The smell of decay and death hung in the air no matter what time of year it happened to be, it was inescapable.  Living here let you feel your own mortality, everything here existed at the whim of fate and she took a firm hand in letting everyone know it.  The people who stay in new Orleans grow comfortable with this idea, life without consequences, every day the last of all days, every moment had better be the best, the most fun the most exciting the most extravagant moment you can possibly make it.  Only now matters, no future, no past only an endlessly decadent present rich with possibility.  This was not always the reality, people still had to work, still had to function, still had to perform the expected rituals but you could feel the depravity in the air.  Randolph knew it as well as he knew his own body, the way he could feel the blood pumping in his veins and he thrived on it.

         “Where do you want to eat?”

         Randolph snapped out of his reflection and considered the question seriously as only a Neworleanian could.  He did not want to eat just anywhere. They had to be able to get a drink, a stiff drink, and a mountain of food and they had to be able to get it cheap.  A bar would probably be best, preferably a bar where they knew somebody, somebody who liked them and might have some understanding for their state of poverty.  This required some careful consideration on his part not only did he need a sympathetic server, but a place where he had not tried to pull off the same routine to recently.  Suddenly he knew the right place.

         “Turn here mouse were going to jump on the street car.”

         “The street car, come on lets just eat around here.”

         “Don’t whine mouse it isn’t very becoming you know”

         “Besides you don’t have very much money do you and neither do I and I know where we can get everything we want for the money we have.”

         “What do you mean we have?” Alex mumbled under his breath but Randolph pretended not to hear him.             

         They turned onto a side street and walked the couple of blocks out to Canal.  The got their just in time to wait with what seemed like a thousand young kids getting out of the mid-city schools heading back towards Broad street, or Elysian Fields.  The Kids stood shivering in their crappy polyester school uniforms looking pissed off.  They ruthlessly and loudly heckled each other and any one else who happened to wonder by, flirting and talking, and listening to music on their headphones pleased to be out of school but in no hurry to get home.  One kid with dark black skin played sad slow notes on a trumpet until a girl stuck something in the end and it made a sputtering wet sound followed by the curses of the would be Satchamo. 

         Alex was uncomfortable as he always was around black people in large groups, especially kids; he always had vague feelings of guilt for not feeling like one of them.  He could not crack coarse jokes, and talk trash, he didn’t know any thing about basketball or rap music, he was to white and to out of touch for these kids to want to talk to him, so he pretended not to care and hoped they would just ignore him.

         Randolph, however, was having a great time.  He listened to the kids, laughing at their jokes and enjoying the rhythm of their conversations.  He had a grin on his face and a far away look in his eyes, as if this reminded him of something he had meant to never forget, but somehow had.

         The streetcar pulled up and every one piled in all at once, the kids jostling and pushing to try and get seats.  Alex and Randolph got on last and had to stand awkwardly holding on to the overhead rail. 

         “ What the fuck is that supposed to mean” A freckled face light skinned kid who looked to be about fourteen asked in an abrasive tone of voice, pointing at the hat Alex had on despite his best attempts to be invisible.

         “That nigga’s in the Klu Klux Klan and shit bra’.”

         “Wat’s a matta’ oreo don’t you know you’s black?”

         This brought a round of general laughter from the kids.  Alex did his best to disappear but the kids took no notice, letting fly with one insult after another.  Randolph figured he had better take matters into his own hands before things got out of control. He yanked on the wire to tell the driver to stop, and grabbed Alex by the arm dragging him towards the front of the streetcar.  As soon as the door opened they jumped out, as catcalls and general insults rained down on them both.

         “Great fucking idea Randolph, wear the hat, it’s important, the universe demands it.” Alex said in his most extremely sarcastic voice. “You almost got me killed you fucking moron.”                     

        “Alex those kids were just having fun, your fine quit worrying about it so much.”

         “Easy for you to say you weren’t the one those little thug’s were getting ready to fuck up”
         
“Look let’s just eat, you’ll forget about it soon, it wasn’t even that big a deal.”
         
“Fine, where are we going anyway?”

         “You’ll see lets get back on the street car and keep heading down town, will get there soon enough.”

         “Alright but you keep the hat for a while.”

         “No problem, I’ll just stick it in my pocket.”

         The got back on the streetcar and finished their downtown journey without further incident though Alex stayed suspicious and wary for the rest of the ride.  They got off at the carondallet stop and walked around the corner.

         “Come on Randolph where the hell are we going?”

         “Remember what I said about whining mouse?  Randolph said in his best parental tone “ Were going to the hogs breath saloon, if you’ve got to know.”

         “ That place is disgusting, everybody in there is cracked out, the only women are prostitutes, they don’t even serve food why the fuck would we be going there?”

         “ Has anybody ever told you that you have a potty mouth mouse?  Were going to get everything your little heart could desire, you just have to trust me.”

         No set of words had ever left mouse with a more awful feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He just wanted to eat, he had not thought that it was too much to ask. But somehow he seemed destined to be denied even this simple request. 

         They turned a corner and there it was, the nastiest and most notorious bar on the south side of the Quarter, Hogs breath.  Alex didn’t care anymore, he would go anywhere, do anything as long as he got something eat. 
 

                                          *    *    *    *

         “I don’t mean dat life ain’t got no point, I just think the point ain’t wat most people think it is, dat’s all.  I mean it ain’t like you can change the werld you was born into.  I mean if ya is born in some poorer dan shit place where you ain’t got nut’n and you ain’t ne’er gonna have nut’n then there ain’t nut’n ya can do ‘bout it. And if you is born here where shit is the way it is; wit e’rybody, ya know, trying to get as many blowjob’s and Big Mac’s as they can get and fuck e’ery uther mother fucker, then dat’s the way it is and ain’t nut’n gonna change no matta wat ya do. I see people all the time wast’n der lives trying to change shit dat just ain’t gonna change.  Because people is people and der gonna fuck each uter e’ry chance dey get. Dat shit ain’t pretty but dats the way it is.  Ya just gotta live, keep on do’in yer shit man.  I don’t mean you ain’t still gotta do da right thang, ya know, ya can’t be livin like no animal who don’t give a fuck about nut’n. But dey got enuf people out der hurtin’ wit out ya ain’t gotta go out and look for dat shit.  I mean ya just gotta relax man, or you gonna spend your whole life fix’n shit dat just ain’t gonna get fixed. Ya ain’t gotta look for ways to suffer, da world’s gonna do dat for ya.  Ya ain’t gotta be no do gooder all da time like sum uptight church mama, ya just gotta live.  Take me for example, I don’t hurt nobudy, if I gots the means, I help anybudy who asks, but I ain’t gotta get all bent out a shape think’n dat enjoy’n myself is some kinda sin.  I was born to drink, I like it, and am good at it, so I don’t feel no need to change nut’n.  I don’t go stik’n my nose in nobody elses business, I just do what I do best, da only way I know how, and keep to myself, cause ain’t any fuck’n thing gonna change any motherfuck’n way.”

“ That’s just a God damned cop out and you know it”

Sandy threw down the crossword puzzle she was trying to do onto the bar in frustration.  She glared at Old King Joe with the look only a bartender who has just had to listen to the same damn drunken speech for the hundredth time from a customer who doesn’t tip can manage.  She had been trying to ignore Old King Joe up until her out burst but she just wasn’t in the mood, it wasn’t even five O’clock.

“You could do better with your life than sit in this bar and get drunk and chase cheap pussy all the time. You used to be a reverend for Christ’s sake!”

Joe gave her a cool sidelong glance and took a long pull off his beer before responding.

“Look ya do da same shit, I see ya.  Drink’n and party’n and fuck’n, but then you feel guilt about it like ya shouldn’t a done it, and den ya get depressed and bitchy ’bout uter people do’n da same mother fucking thang you is. I just cut out all dat guilt bull shit and have a lot mo’ fun with a lot mo’ style.” Joe cracked an insolent grin, crinkling up the corners of his mouth and revealing two shiny gold teeth. It was supposed to be charming but the effect was less than soothing on Sandy.

“Fuck you. Take your drink and get the fuck out Joe. I have had enough of your shit for today.”

She punctuated everything she said by jabbing the stubby pencil she was still clutching in her fist at Joe like a weapon. 

“Look baby I just…..”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!!!!”

“You better go man, she might kill you.”

Old King Joe grabbed his cane, his hat and his beer and tried to leave with the dignity that he believed a man of his age should conduct himself with, especially a royal personage such as himself. Slowly pouring his beer into a plastic cup and adjusting himself as if he had suddenly remembered something he was supposed to do somewhere else.  Sandy turned and began washing out ashtrays and pint glasses so she would not have to witness his performance.  Just when it seemed that things might end on a relatively peaceful note Joe turned and took off his hat, planning on delivering a stinging coup de gras. But Sandy was ready for him. Before the first word was out of Old King Joes mouth she let sail with a beautiful over hand arc that sent a ceramic ashtray sailing through the bar towards where Joe was standing with the door half open.  Now Joe was in fact actually an old man, the nomenclature was not just for show.  But he had not lied about his chosen vocation, a bar for Joe was like a fish in water.  Joe had been pissing off keyed up bartenders since long before sandy had ever set foot in a bar.  He effortlessly ducked his head to the left with the grace of a prizefighter.  The ashtray continued true on its course however, smacking the young man who was walking through the door holding a large brown paper bag, squarely in the face.  Old King Joe took the high road and slipped off down the street with out another word. 

“Look mouse are food is here.” 

         Randolph jumped up off his stool and headed for the door and the chaotic scene that was unfolding.  Mouse picked his head up off the bar where it had been slumped in defeat for about the last twenty minuets and let out a grunt that meant he would only believe food was actually present when he was stuffing it with both hands in his mouth and then allowed his whole body to go once again limp, collapsing in a boneless puddle back to it’s resting place.  His hand still clutched around a sweaty wad of money, a beer untouched and growing warm sitting in front of him. 
         
“Oh God, Oh God, I am so sorry.  I didn’t see you.  Are you okay? I didn’t mean it, Jesus are you bleeding?” Sandy’s voice trailed off into a worried sort of croon or hum as she came around the bar.  It was supposed to be expressing concern but made her sound more like some sort of defective house hold appliance.   

         Randolph exchanged a damp rag he grabbed off the bar for the bag that the now prostrate delivery guy was still determinedly clutching.  He gave it up with a sort of shocked indifference that one wouldn’t usually expect from some one who made there living exchanging what was entrusted to them for cash that they were then responsible for coming up with at the end of the day. 

         Sandy took the rag from the victim of her tantrum and began to bathe his face wiping up the blood and telling him to look up to stop the nosebleed.  The whole thing was beginning to look like a scene form an old World War I melodrama where the wounded American infantryman dies in the arms of his beloved French nurse.  Randolph averted his eyes and took the bag to the back corner of the bar and began tearing apart the innards to reveal its hidden bounty.           

         The smell of the food roused mouse from his stupor and he slid into the booth across from Randolph, greedily grabbing at the oblong sandwiches wrapped in white paper.  The Verdi Mart delivery guy who had brought the food was up and sitting at the bar drinking a beer as sandy grabbed his bike from out side. Having gotten over his initial shock he was obviously starting to enjoy the attention.  The blood all over his sweaty white shirt would give him enough of an excuse to not be back for a while so he was making himself comfortable his eyes trailing up and down sandy, lingering on her breasts hanging halfway out of her low cut shirt despite the chill outside.

Mouse greedily began tearing into his roast beef poboy, gravy dripping down his chin and washing it down with the warm drink he had disdained to drink up until that moment. Randolph grabbed the clump of money that mouse had been resolutely clinging to while waiting for the food off the table where Mouse had let it drop as he  began gorging himself.  Randolph then strolled nonchalantly over to the bar letting his own food wait as he slapped the money down in front of the delivery guy. 

         “Lets have a shot sandy, nothing like a little blood to make a man thirsty”

         “Sure Randy I’ll get it. It’s the least I could do, after breaking this guy’s nose”

         As sandy turned to make the shots Randolph turned and tried to make small talk with the delivery guy who was staring at the part of Sandy’s back that was visible between her jeans and her shirt where the top of a thong was clearly visible. 

         “You all right man? That was a rough way to start your night”

         “Fuck it I ‘m getting off in an hour. I’ve been riding all day and made pretty good money for a Monday.  Besides if it helps me get a piece of that ass then it’ll all be worth it… look at that shit.”  He added the last in a husky sort of stage whisper that made Randolph feel a little dirty. 

         Fortunately he was saved from having to respond by Sandy’s timely return.

          “I hope you don’t mind Jager? It’s too early for me to be doing whiskey”

         “Come on sandy you know I’ll drink whatever you give me” Randolph raised his glass and looked over at the delivery guy “Here’s to.. I am sorry man what’s your name man?”

         “Dave” 

         “Here’s to Dave for taking one for the team.”

         They all raised their glasses, klink, and down it went, burning with the sharp taste of liquorish.  Randolph’s eyes watered and twinkled and his face turned a little red.  All and all it was shaping up to be a damn fine Monday.
         
Randolph thanked Sandy for the drink as he headed back to the table and his food but she was already to busy talking to Dave to notice.

         “Isn’t that nice mouse, things worked out for everybody and we didn’t even have to pay for our drinks which is good cause we are out of money.”

         Mouse was too busy spooning potato salad out of a plastic tub with a spork to want to respond just then.  So Randolph started eating his poboy in contemplative silence.

             The Verdi mart made quite possibly the world’s best sandwich for the hung over, especially those who were not only trying to recover from the night before but fuel up for whatever abuse the city could dish out on them for another evening.  It was greasy and disgusting with no moral or socially redeemable characteristics what so ever and Randolph was quite certain that it was the most perfect food ever devised for the redemption of the soul.  He didn’t just eat, he feasted tearing into it with a gusto that many a starving man would have envied.  This was what he lived for moments in which the universe opened up for him and revealed for just a split second how sweet being human really could be.  He never took it for granted though, never believed it was his right or privilege earned, he new it was sheer luck, and a blessing designed especially for him and he was grateful and satisfied right down to the tip of his toes which he wriggled in contentment as he slouched back in his booth balling up the paper and lighting up a cigarette.   

         Randolph had never been much of a planner, he had needs, desires, and he fulfilled them the only way he knew how, with luck and charm and as little effort as he could possibly get away with. He wasn’t really aware of this.  He just floated through life doing what came naturally and somehow things always worked themselves out, good or bad Randolph dealt with whatever the world through at him with a grin and bear it perseverance that bordered on superhuman.  But the situation he was turning over in his mind as he relaxed in the warm after glow of his meal, smoking his cigarette, was quite different than what he was usually faced with.  Randolph knew that Mouse required something. That he needed something to jumpstart him, to get him going again, to remind him that he was alive, and life was really worth living and not just a chore to be dealt with.  But what? A woman, drugs, reckless disregard for his life and personal safety, jail?  Perhaps it was some combination of all of these things, or something else entirely?  What Randolph really needed was a sign, an omen that would give the right direction.  Now Randolph new a lot about the ways in which the universe revealed to people how to fulfill their momentary destiny and purpose. He was even what you might call an expert in the field, so he knew how much time people spent over looking even the most obvious of directions and then lamenting how if only they had known how different it all could have been.  Sometimes Randolph felt very sorry for other people, but he did not dwell on it, he had much better and more important things to do.  So Randolph began looking over his immediate surroundings looking for clues like a metaphysical Sherlock Holmes, nothing jumped out at him so he closed his eyes and took a long drag off his cigarette exhaling it slowly and enjoying the warm flow of the smoke as it swirled out of him.  He drifted deep into his mind, going over the events that had brought him to this moment.  He thought of Dave and Sandy and Old King Joe and while their interaction had certainly been full of synchronistic action, and strange potential it did not pertain to his current situation.  He drifted back further to the kids on the street car and the hat, certainly their was more to the hat but it’s time had not yet come, though he had no doubt it would prove important before the end of the current situation.  And then all at once he had it, of course how could he have forgotten, it was almost too obvious, but never under estimate the human need to ignore the obvious. 

         “Mouse….  Wake up Mouse, what was that phone number from this morning?”