Joe walks down York to the East River. There is a small concrete inlet there, Manhattan visible across the way, lit brightly in the cloudy evening. It’s not dark yet, the summer sun refusing to go slowly, but the sky is purple and dark shades of blue east of that. The heat of the summer has subsided somewhat and he knows that the roof of the building to his left will be a beautiful place to be tonight, but there is an apprehension in him. He does not necessarily want Beatrice to be Beatrice. What will it mean? Was she some sort of symbol in his subconscious, and if so, then what were the visions? Why imagine himself bleeding to death in the shower?

He stands with his hands in his pockets and watches the water lap against the man-made stone, that over the years has become pocked and greasy. He cannot see the Bridge from where he is; cannot see past the building where the party is. Then from behind him he hears a cough. He turns and there is an old standing behind him in tattered clothes with bright white eyes against his dark skin. “I don’t mean to bother you, sir—I don’t beg for money, but if you could see your way to giving me some money, I could give you some advice and maybe tell you something about your future.”

Joe looks at the man: frail, roughed up; he has a large scar over his right eye. Joe can never hide his feelings and the pity on his face registers with the stranger quickly. “No, see. I’m not begging. I can offer some service, you see.”

Digging into his pocket, Joe pulls out a five and says—in as business-like fashion as he can—“What will five bucks buy me?” and smiles.

“Well, five dollars would get you both: a piece of advice and something about your future, though maybe not in that order.”

“Deal,” Joe steps towards the man and gives him the bill.

“Okay, now, you’ll have to give me a minute ta’ think.”

“Since we’re doing business, my name’s Joe. What’s yours?”

The stranger seems a little taken aback; no one’s asked him his name in some time. “My name’s Walt.”

“Okay, Walt. Do you do anything other than sell advice and future readings?”

“Oh sure, that’s just—I freelance that sort of thing. I’m a poet.”

“Ah,” Joe says with genuine interest.

“No, no, no,” says Walt and he begins to dig through his pockets, pulling out clumps of mashed up papers. He shuffles through them, making disapproving faces, letting some of the pieces of paper fall to the ground, before lifting his eyebrows in surprise and plucks on of the sheets out. “There you go,” he holds the paper out to Joe, who takes it. “Go on and read it.”

Joe obliges:

“there is a silence in the medium and a dream that says the silence is coming to us; a partner of the chaos forever betrayed to the sound of fleet drums would you, could you come to the shores of decadence the land out past repentance with a past we think not to confront then accuse anyone of making the future’s color blurred but blunt speaking of time short & in sums of ignorance would you, could you seek ideas of means though all the while I sought being here and now then and gone For your smile does not—to me— pretend to seek and in the end is just a connection would you, could you listen and hear the dream, the partner, the chaos come to us in darkness because we leave the light on for it?”

Joe looks up from the paper and Walt is staring up into the sky, the night having taken more ground in the battle with the Sun. “Wow, Walt. Wow.” He goes to hand it back to Walt, who waves his hands; almost in a panic. “No, you need to keep that man.” He bends down and starts to pick up his other papers off the ground, stuffing them into various pockets.

Joe cocks his head at the phrasing, “I need it?”

“Yeah, man, that’s gonna’ be a map.” Looking at one piece of paper, Walt rolls his eyes, crumples it and throws it into the river.

“Hey man!” Joe says, “That’s—don’t do that.”

Walt pays him no mind, now having gotten down on his knees and laid a number of pieces of paper and the five dollar bill out on the ground. He picks up the bill and tries to read it then throws it on the ground as well.

‘”Uh, look, why don’t I just pay you the five dollars for the poem.”

Walt holds one piece of paper up to the sky and Joe can see that there are a number of holes punched through the paper. Walt holds it over his toward the East and then turns it upside down and adjusts it so that it is between him and Long Island. He seems frustrated and shakes his head violently and puts it on the ground to examine it, all the while explaining to Joe, “You need the map and the money is for advice—oh!” He looks up from the ground to Joe and says, “Always take your lunchbox with you. Yeah. Yeah. You’re gonna’ need that. You’re gonna need that or otherwise you ain’t gonna have twelve parts.”

Joe begins to see the problem and start to try to divide himself from the situation, “Well, Walt, it was nice to meet you. Thanks for the—“

“I’d tell you your future, but shit, there’s no stars underground.”

Joe nods. “No, no there’ren’t, Walt. That’s true. Bad luck that. But, listen, between the poem—“

“Map.”

“Right. Between the map and the advice, you know, I think my five bucks is well spent, so, I gotta head inside, okay?” Joe starts to circle around Walt toward Jodie’s building.

“Yeah, it’s a map and there’s no stars and shit, you gotta’, you gotta’, um, shit. You gotta’—“

“Have a good night, Walt. You take care.” Joe makes his way to the ramp leading up to the door of Jodie’s building.

Walt call out after him, “You gotta’ stop burning those letters, man!”

Joe stops. He looks at the ground for a moment. Lucky guess?

Walt collects his piles of papers and stands up, clutching the mess to his chest. “Just one of them; keep one of them and the lunchbox on you all the time. You need twelve pieces.”

Joe thinks. The man has the money. He’s had enough. He keeps walking to the building and just says over his shoulder, “Got it. Thanks, Walt!”

“‘Kay, man.” Walt looks around and then begins to walk away with an aimless gait, “I’ll see you around, man!”

Joe stops and turns to look over his shoulder and watch Walt walk back up the hill, away from the river, concerned. After a minute, Walt stops beneath a street light 20 feet away and looks up at it. He yells, “I’m not talkin’ to you, bitch!” Then he continues his meandering further up York street and away from Joe.

Read the whole thread: The Hunger Engine

Characters and Places: ,