Dangerous Compassions

new night

“I have muscle soreness,” Ming told me.

“Is that a narcolepsy thing?” I asked.  “Cata-something?  Neuroplexy…?  Cataplexy!”

“Yeah, cataplexy.  When the cats..”

“When the cats have their own apartment complex.  What do you call it when the two houses are stuck together?”

“Duplex,” Ming said.

“I thought those were blocks.  Plastic blocks for kids who are too little for Lego.”

“That’s Dip-lo!”

“Dip-lo?  No, I think it’s Duplo!”

“No, it’s Dip-lo!”

I googled it.  “No, see?  Duplo!”

“That makes no sense!” he said.  “Dip-lo is diplomatic, and Duplo would be duplicitous!”

I looked at him in awe.  “That’s some world-class wordplay,” I said.  “I’m admiring you.”

Some people arrived.  My friend at the door asked for a hug.  I gave her a big hug and some zines.  She tried to give me money.  I said no, reminding her that she gave us t-shirts, cds, stickers.  She’s a musician.

“I never have cash,” she said.  She gave me five dollars.

Our friend R got locked out of his truck.  He came here to break into his room to get the extra key.  I didn’t know his room had its own key.  It makes me wonder what the hell he has in there, so valuable.

My first thought is drugs, of course.  But I don’t think he likes drugs a lot.

“Firearms,” Ming suggested.  R is a peace activist–I’m doubting it.  But I guess that would be quite a scandal.

“Later, Laura-Marie!” my friend yelled outside.  She wants to move to New York.

I’m not sleeping right, and my stomach is not functioning so great either.  But every night is a new night.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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