heat_madness kerry in the summer of i think 2010 i learned that heat causes people to go a little mad. in dark bars and at the pizza place after work, sweating and chain smoking, we told stories about armed robberies, burglaries, car jackings, kidnappings and worse. a girl i knew from college was nabbed from a parking lot behind mary’s and left purseless on the side of the road after having her checking account emptied at a gas station atm. one afternoon when i got home from a lunch shift i stepped out of my car and a man approached me demanding a ride to the mall. now it’s not even june and i already sense the heat pulling me away from reality a bit. my mind feels emptier, quiet, like the awkward silence following a bad joke. the old italian ladies are hiding inside instead of chattering like birds on their porches in the mornings and their barbie pink hibiscuses are all shriveled up. at the playground children shriek in the fountain. louie ambles along the pavement like he’s aged five years, sniffing listlessly. i had a gum graft and realized as i left the office and toddled down broad street that i should’ve asked for a ride home. the periodontist put me on a soft food diet and said not to run any marathons and for the past few days i’ve eaten only oatmeal, scrambled eggs, smoothies, tofu, and ice cream. it will be like this for two weeks. this does not improve my mental condition. alex’s coworker put in her two weeks’ notice and i suggested we go celebrate. it wasn’t hard to convince him because he despises her, though he won’t admit it. under cover of darkness we walked down to melrose diner. our waitress was clearly new; she asked our order in a whisper and brought us straws twice. he got a grilled cheese with tomato as usual and i got a chocolate shake with whipped cream. “do you remember the milkshake song?” i said. it was suddenly stuck in my head. this was when i realized what the heat is doing to my brain. “what are you talking about?” i stared down at my shake. “you know, it brings all the boys to the yard.” this song came out when i was in high school. we all sang and spoke the lyrics constantly, argued about the meaning: what is the milkshake? i told alex this. “it’s about boobs,” he said matter-of-factly. “nonsense,” i said. “it’s about blowjobs,” i countered. “because she’d teach you but she’d have to charge.” he scoffed. “it’s about nothing.” i got out my phone, saying we’d settle this for good. “google says the song is about a girl’s sensual energy.” “see, it’s about nothing.” he looked triumphant. it still sticks to me, spinning like a queasy carousel, and when i wake up in the morning feeling like i’ve been punched in the face it’s still there, he’s right, it’s about nothing. so my head is still empty. and it’s hotter than ever. 220521 ... kerry it was about to thunder supposedly but i’d made plans to see “everything everywhere all at once” at the bourse with p & p and i couldn’t flake. alex had already seen it but liked it enough to go again. at the snyder street station the platform was nearly empty; we’d just missed the train. a man came down the stairs and went to the edge of the platform, peering down to look. the toes of his shoes hung over the edge. he leaned and i took a sharp breath, but he just lit a cigarette. then he crouched and hopped down, right onto the tracks. we were silent, watching, and suddenly it all seemed inevitable, that one day i’d see someone do something this stupid. he was poking around in the muck where the rain drips down from the ceiling and coal-colored rats scurry about. he was collecting soaked cigarette buts and muttering. alex called out, “yo, man! get outta there, you’re gonna get yourself killed!” “don’t talk to him,” i said, taking several steps back (later i felt bad about that, but it was the image of this guy reaching up and pulling alex in with him–as if someone that unhinged… the unpredictability scared me). but the man just kept walking and talking to himself, passing right by us. there was the howl of an oncoming train and i turned away, feeling queasy, but it was a southbound train and we were going north. alex went over to him, to the edge, and asked if he needed help getting out. i couldn’t hear much. he was holding a half-empty water bottle, grumbling, and had a look on his face like we were a couple of idiots for even bothering him. he climbed out easily, picked up another butt under a metal bench, and ambled down the platform away from everyone. a kid who must’ve been late teens or early twenties watched it all dispassionately. he sat near us on the train and i noticed a smooth bump on his forearm that looked an awful lot like the gunshot wounds jack’s neighbor proudly lifted his shirt to show me at one of their monthly house parties. “people are fucking crazy,” alex said. “he’d risk his life for a half empty bottle of water.” “It’s the wet cigarette butts that get me,” i said. we were quiet for a moment. the train rocked side to side like a cradle, pulled into the tasker-morris station. i imagined the man setting the butts in a row on a paper towel to dry in the sun. “maybe he wasn’t risking all that much,” alex said. 220522 ... epitome of incomprehensibility (I love the images here. I'm bracketing this because I don't have stuff to add, narratively, but I sympathize with heat sluggishness, at least: too-hot temperatures rob my sleep at night and gift me with drowsiness when I don't want it (except dozing in the sun sometimes is nice)) 220523 ... kerry the windows were open to let in some fresh morning air before the day became boiling hot. a couple houses down a woman opened her front door and hollered, “does anyone want some free suboxone?” and then slammed the door shut. for the next two hours there was shouting and shrieking. i’d heard it before from this couple but nothing quite like this. the door opened and closed, opened and closed; she screamed into the street like a wild animal. i imagined her throat stripped raw from the effort. he wasn’t quite as loud, quite as responsive. “2500 dollars you owe me for the tv” “fuck you, i don’t have nothing” “i don’t care, i don’t care, you’re a bully, get the fuck out of here” “you’re a fucking psycho” “you destroy my house, now i have to buy a new fucking doorknob” and so on and so on. she pretends to call the cops, clearly an idle threat. “get out of my house,” over and over. he and i have a similar schedule. I see him nearly every morning around 10am, smoking on their stoop. the a halo of butts on the sidewalk continues to spread. i nodded at him once, but got no response, just a dead stare. no one else on this block is really like that, even the witch on the corner. so now i just walk on by awkwardly. the other day i saw him playing football with a little boy in the street. a cute kid. i’ve only seen him a couple times. “i don’t care, i work two jobs, i never sleep and all you do is cost me money” and “i put up with your shit because you’re my kid’s father but this is not healthy! get out of my house” finally the cops did come. i peeked out the window and saw the guy leaning against his car in a white t-shirt, answering the officer’s questions. he and the officer both got in their cars and left, but a couple hours later he was back and the whole circus started up again. 220530 ... kerry louie was carefully selecting a tree to mark when a tiny woman approached me. she had a waxy-looking face with no eyebrows and sparse black hair that looked like feathers. she wore black leggings and black house slippers. “it’s a lot of work taking them out,” she squawked, gesturing to my dog. her eyes were tiny as buttons and i could see the gaps between her teeth. “it’s not so bad–” “how much you take him out in the day?” it took me a moment to process her question. i hadn’t had any coffee yet; it was still brewing at home. “uh, maybe three or four times.” “that’s what i hear.” she nodded. I imagined her cruising the neighborhood, conducting a survey with all the dog owners. “it keeps me active, though.” “yeh, yeh.” she squinted at me, seeming skeptical, and toddled away. 220530 ... kerry louie seems to attract the weirdos. we were walking back from a stroll around marconi plaza where he’d run in frantic circles, trying to catch squirrels. In front of a corner store across the street, at 15th and porter, a man was yelling. “wawa? wawa?” there isn’t a wawa around here, only 7-11, i thought to myself. and then i thought, i wouldn’t mind a hoagie from wawa. goddamn this gum graft! when we got to the crosswalk i realized he was yelling at us. “chihuahua? that a chihuahua?” he’s not a chihuahua. or maybe he is, i don’t know. he’s some kind of mix. but to simplify things i confirmed that yes, he’s a chihuahua. “cute little guy. i had one. he died.” then he got in his car and drove off. 220530 ... kerry an old man used to live in the house across the street and suddenly he didn't, and the house didn't go up for sale, it is just being renovated, updated, improved (i suppose). i only saw him a couple of times going in and out of his house and once when i was shoveling snow. my guess is he died and someone inherited the house and they'll move in or flip it. it's almost a cute house. it's pink, but not a springy cheery pink. more like tongue-colored pink. the tops of the windows have white stone trim. the door is white. every day there is construction, appliances coming out and going in, plywood leaned against the front of the house, but it's not as bad as it was in point breeze and the truck doesn't even block the narrow road. but i guess one of my least favorite neighbors has gotten sick of it. i cringe when i see him. he's perfectly round with tiny little legs, usually wearing a white or gray undershirt. he lives with a woman who's clearly a tweaker and always on her phone, always walking around looking frantic, just toasted. i've heard them yelling at each other and my theory is they're both coming down at the same time, regressing, becoming feral together, trapped like rats. so this guy is tired of the construction and tired of the van that takes up what is already very precious parking. he starts yelling at some of the guys working on the house, going on and on about parking permits, and then one of them says, "dude, shut up." and he totally loses it. he starts yelling about i'll shut you up, you asshole, etc. etc., and i'm walking down the block at this point. he goes up to the two worker dudes and one of them picks up a pipe and starts holding it like a baseball bat, rocking it a little like he's waiting for the pitch. i stop, suck in my breath, thinking i'm about to watch these guys throw down right there in front of my house. my disgusting neighbor is yelling now about "you pull a pipe on me i'll pull a gun on you, i'll shoot you," and he kind of wobbles over to his door, and i hear the guy without the bat saying, "it's not worth it, man. it's not worth it." my neighbor says he's gonna make them disappear, he's gonna disappear them. then he says he's going to call the cops, and he does. one of the workers smirks at me when i finally pass by. i grimace. i think we're on the same page. the cops show up. they talk to both parties, then they leave. the cops show up for nonsense like this but when people are shooting into a crowd of hundreds on south street like they were on saturday night, when eleven people are wounded and three people are dead and there's brawl in the middle of the street, the cops just stand there next to their bicycles and watch. they watch everybody scurry around and scream and then when the news crew shows up they tell them all about what happened as if they had even bothered to do a thing about it. 220607 what's it to you? who go blather from