not just a drugstore but a family

A Harpooned Whale 1845 by Joseph Mallord William Turner 1775-1851

—Morning.

—Hey man.

—Muggy today

—Sure is. Fall’s coming though. When it collapses it collapses on me.

—You are a big one for self-reprehension.

—You are the spider that lives in my driver’s side mirror.

—You are the pale mutant god that steers the world.

I extended my hand in the gentlest way I knew, making a pincer of forefinger and thumb.

He extended a leg.

redshotWe didn’t fit together. I left my hand a few microns from him and he tapped me. I think we both had some cultural ideas about the relative hygiene of the other.

—Pete.

—Charlemagne.

—Charlemagne, huh.

—Yeah my mom was a medievalist. Which you know in hindsight maybe a medievalist would go for a less obvious name from that chapter of the world’s diary.

—I dunno at a certain remove significance dries up and crumbles. Only the really big bland sturdy meanings survive history’s malignant neglect.

—I don’t disagree. And there is some context for Charlemagne as a family name. But it just never felt like me, you know. Something percussive and more Anglo-Saxon like Scott would have suited me. I dunno. I’m not mad about it. Why stress over it? I’m gonna be here for a lifetime, my version of infinity, long enough to drop my baggage off.

—I hear that. Well I’m headed to the coffee place, do you want anything?

—Can you bring me some fruit flies?