35...

Frank was remembering the night before, standing in front of a movie theater on Van Ness with his hands pushed down into his pockets against the damp cold. The street was near deserted of both car and person, and you could occasionally hear somebody nearby, loudly making a point.
Mike had that soft grin that spoke of intoxication. His hands were in his pockets as well, and he shifted from one foot to the other as if he were doing a little shuffle, a little jig on that sidewalk.
“There are special places in the world, Frankie,” he said with a sly grin, referring to a line from the film they had just seen. He gently nudged Frank with his shoulder, attempting to knock him off balance.
“Yeah, one of them is my ass,” Frank said with a dry, sardonic tone.
Mike began laughing in the weezy sort of way he had when he smoked too much.
“Hey! Let’s go get a quick last call!” Mike’s exuberance bounced off the plate glass windows of the car showroom-cum-movie house they stood in front of.
“I think we missed last call, brother,” Frank said, checking his watch. “Yup, it’s 2:12. The movie didn’t start till like 12:30.”
“Damn it!”
Mike looked legitimately crushed, almost near tears, but it was just a quickly moving cloud in an otherwise unmarred sky.
“How you gettin’ home? Did you drive?” He asked with that soft grin once again in place.
“Naw, cabbin’ it.”
Mike looked around this little stretch of the city with that irrepressible smile just shining out there to the empty streets.
“You know what Frankie?” He asked with a pronounced drawl that didn’t show up under normal circumstances.
“Nope.”
“Purple,” he said. Just as if the word justified itself and needed no further information.
“Purple?”
“Purple is somehow cold, even with all that royalty by association, and all those reds. Purple’s the color of the final jump off spot, the last thing before the end. It’s somehow passions coalescing before winking out… Maybe becoming something else? You know?”
Frank laughed, assuming that Mike was just drunk.
“No,” he said.
Mike nodded, he had a thoughtful look on his face. He gave Frank a hug, none of that typical guy, pat three times on the back hug, but a steady, strong and warm one. He released him, looked at Frank with that same thoughtful expression, then quickly turned and walked away towards the water.

34...

There was a damp chill outside, as if the pieces of air were made of cold and would only be tricked into warming for bare moments, but would always fall loosely back into their chilled states.
To Frank it felt magnificent, it felt metallic. It was a blessing on his overheated flesh. Frank felt feverish, like his blood was too thick. Frank felt the onset of plague, and real or imagined, it didn’t typically matter.
The park was usually fairly deserted at this time of day during the week, and today was no exception. There was a thin, half-naked guy doing yoga positions on a blanket. There were two guys throwing a Frisbee around. Occasionally a runner or bike rider would pass him on the path, and that was it.
Frank sat down on a bench usually reserved for one of the many homeless people who would not-so-surreptitiously sleep on them at all hours of the day. He stared down at his near blown-out shoes and began thinking of the crazy homeless guy from earlier in the morning.
How the hell had the guy gotten into the house to begin with? The folks in the other rooms of the house were usually so good about not letting just anyone in through the locked front door. And seriously, the guy didn’t try to take anything, he wasn’t hunkered down looking for a place to stop and fix, he just walked in and started rambling. How many people out there in the world were just plain crazy?
A biked buzzed as it passed in front of him with speed.
Frank looked up and noticed one of the Frisbee guys quickly looking away. Had he been talking out loud? He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand feeling an uncomfortable heat.
And that sex in the club’s restroom story, he was sure that Jeffery’s friend Shawn had told him a remarkably similar one. They had laughed at the ridiculous lengths Shawn would take the story, what with the parrot, and then a waitress with a wooden leg. Frank remembered that night, how they had sat around that filthy kitchen table, drinking Jack and Cokes and laughing till they cried.
So what? So Shawn had told this story to Chuck what’s-his-name and old Chuckles had sold it as his own to Wank. But something…
Frank felt those tickling fingers that signaled someone watching him. He raised his eyes up to look at the Frisbee players without moving his head. Sure enough, that same guy seemed to be looking at him again.
Raising his head up to face the Frisbee guy fully, Frank saw him quickly jerk his head away. Frank looked at the other one, but he was too busy trying to catch the Frisbee between his legs. Frank watched the first guy for a minute or so to see if would look over again, but he seemed fully engaged in his tossing a plastic disc back and forth.
Something was tugging inside of Frank’s head, trying to get him to remember something. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He could hear snatches of voices bouncing around in his memory; people he had known made incomprehensible noises back there. Mike’s voice popped up, nearly saying an actual word, and Frank sat up suddenly.
A guy in dayglo yellow crackled before him on a speeding bike.
Something Mike had said the night before, what was it? Frank was almost certain that’s what his mind was trying to remind him of. Something about…

33 1/3...

Bright pastels, but tasteful, mixed with earth tones.
An announcer you couldn’t see, but you could imagine him somehow all round with an unfaltering smile and a voice that was excited, yet somehow low and soothing.
A nice stately man, with an earnest face and a little age just beginning to show.
A young woman, built like a doll and with similar colors.
These two would never insult you, would never say anything remotely off color that would make you feel icky or think about things that aren’t nice; things that would really just ruin your whole day.
They were sharing a joke these two, a nice and carefully crafted joke, as pleasant as cheddar cheese. They were sharing a laugh that was not too loud, but would go really well with a nice cup of tea.
They began talking to a screen that showed the immaculate face of a handsome young man that was currently drawing a large amount of people to spend a large amount of money funding film production companies.
The three of them spoke of some deed the handsome young man had performed. Apparently it was something to be celebrated, emulated, something that he should perhaps be canonized for.
Bryan was smiling. He wasn’t necessarily watching, but was attempting to peel away at the corners.
He could see the glint of sexual depravity in the eyes of the older, stately man. He could see the look that spoke of dark and sweaty fantasies of sodomizing his co-host while strangling her with one of his wives handkerchiefs.
He could see the sneer that lay trembling just below the dollish woman’s vacuous smile. A sneer that spoke volumes about rending the flesh of every underling near this stage with her own teeth if they dared even look at her, of vomiting that flesh up – both to keep up her socially perfect waistline and as further insult to those mewling minions.
He could hear between the lines of the actor’s well prepared interview: how well he was able to spout his public relations person’s words, how he didn’t give a fuck for the poor people he had helped and did it as it was good for his reputation, how he had no personality and was forced into an endless hell of reading other people’s words to make him seem like someone, like anyone, how if he didn’t believe his own hype, he would end up swallowing a gun.
He could hear the shrewish laughter of the studio audience, and could almost make out the desperate screams somewhere in there.
Bryan laughed.

33...

“Don’t worry about it,” Bryan looked a little uncomfortable, a little ashamed. “I don’t take you seriously.”
Frank let out a short, dry laugh. He finished putting on his shoes and stood up.
“Thanks man.”
“If you’re tired, why don’t you crash out for awhile? I mean you’re not going to work today are you?” Bryan was taking on his tender, motherly tones.
Frank, who hated Bryan’s tender, motherly tones, curled his fingers into his palms and squeezed. He did not want to jump all over Bryan again, none of this was Bryan’s issue, so he squeezed until he felt pain, until he could calmly respond.
“I feel like I need to get for a little bit, try to clear my head,” Frank nearly whispered. “I’ll probably just go down to the park and wander for a little bit.”
“Do you want me to come down with you?” Bryan asked.
Frank felt a fingernail puncture the skin in his palm.
“No,” he sighed, and then softly, “I just want to be alone for a bit. Thank you though.”
Frank began walking towards the front door of the apartment. He could feel Bryan following languidly behind him. He could also feel the last of his patience rushing out in an impossible torrent through a tiny pin prick hole in his forehead. Frank began to hold his breath in hopes of passing out before he punched Bryan right in the face. He reached the door and spun around slowly, letting his breath out in a low gust. Bryan looked at him with worried eyes. He nodded firmly and turned towards the television set. Frank felt a small pang of guilt sucker punch him in the stomach.
“Are you heading into the coffee shop today?”
Bryan was stretching out on the couch with still only a towel around his waist. He was beginning to fiddle with the televisions remote.
“Yeah, later this afternoon,” Bryan flipped through a few channels and then focused on Frank again. “We can talk for a bit, later, if you want.”
“Thanks man. Look, I’m sorry…”
Bryan waved him off with remote in hand and Frank opened the door to leave. He walked slowly down the stairs, suddenly feeling dizzy at being outside the apartment. His brain was fighting itself; arguing over things to tell Bryan and over things not tell him, arguing over what to do next with the Alexis debacle and what not to do, arguing over whether or not that stupid, fucking cheesy porn story was actually something he had heard before.
“Seriously,” Frank whispered to himself. “Janitor with the pet parrot and all.”
He was certain that he did not know a Chuck Peevesly, and was fairly sure he remembered who had told him a story so remarkably similar… But his memories were mixing with stories and becoming hybrids that no longer belonged to him. And if his own history no longer belonged to him, was in fact changing in his mind with every stair he took down through this decrepit Victorian house, who was he now with his very foundation of being unrecognizable?
“C’mon,” he harshly whispered to himself as he threw the front door open and stepped into bright, morning sunlight.