POV

The Derelict’s Easter

It was on Mott and Doyers, I saw the rabbits hanging inside out and staring through my widened out saucer eyes.

By The Dime-Store Casanova - jsonnenblick88@gmail.com Photos by Icarus Blake
Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

This bitch I was with at the time was buying Violets gum on East Broadway at the mall where no one speaks English. (Who buys violets gum? The nameless and the god fearing, that’s who.) We had just eaten a big meal at super noodle town. I was walking in front of her, not next to her, in front of her, down the stairs to buy a metro card. How I long for the days of tokens…

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

We got on the D. On our way to the abortion clinic, blazing heat and the wanton feeling to spit warm gin rickey breath on everyone had befallen me like titanic to ocean floor. Don’t stare. Don’t acknowledge. Jesus and I are on the outs, along with rest of humanity. I’m strangling myself with memory here, hoping to die, and let this woman become another single mother statistic of the deadbeat dad era.

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

Cantankerous to a fault, now we have arrived at the clinic. Nuns and other troglodytes gather around me. It’s effigy time. Burn me. Let me know. I’m a monster without knowing the god damn score… I can’t raise myself let alone some destroyer of existence known as son/daughter. They will surely knock me into pauperization. My mouth is dry, a forty sounds like paradise. I light up a Marlboro with extra cancer in it, I just hope for the quiet time when they lower me into my grave and there is no kid staring into his lifeless father’s dilapidated casket.

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

I will be nowhere for a long time after the deed is done. We walk into the clinic together, and the stench of human filth reeks so blatant that you could cut your own throat and bleed like a stuck pig. No one would bat a fucking eye. We put our names down and the dead eyed woman who had been working there far too long looked at me: “How will you be paying, sir?”
“Obama.” I replied.

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

There wasn’t any laughter because it wasn’t particularly funny. My concubine was nervous, a bit distraught and crying. This here isn’t a good combination. I was popping Valium like it was the rapture; the fires of hell were licking at my heels. There were women there who were talking about going to the club later that night. I’d have joined them, and I would have bought them all a round, only the good stuff.

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

They finally called her name. They finally called her name. She walked in stoic as a patriot preparing for death. Minutes went by, then hours and then more hours. It took nearly the whole day. Imagine that… It takes a microsecond to make one, but takes a whole day of worry, fear and panic to destroy it. The one upside of this whole experience is that the vending machine had fifty cent cans of Pepsi, not since the Key Food on Grand street in Williamsburg when I was a kid had I seen something like that. The cheese doodles hit the spot as well.

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

She then emerged, sobbing, snot running from all orifice’s of her face.
“We did the right thing, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“We had to, right?”
“Yup.”

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

We broke up less than a month later. She was damaged goods. You know how it is. Now I sit in super noodle town alone. The waiter approaches.
“What you have?”
“Got any rabbit?”

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

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