I
So it’s 7 am and I am on the F train back from Staci, the greek mafia princess’s house. It’s strange to be walking around in a daze on First Avenue and First Street as the sun rises, knowing you have to jump in a southbound car with Jesus and Mary at noon. My eyes are barely open and I can’t quite make out the DOMINO SUGAR sign as I cross the Williamsburg Bridge. The sun beats down through the faded glass windows of the train and my phone vibrates in my pocket…
“We’re already in Pennsylvania, sucker.” The screen reads to me from Jesus himself, mister Moyese the Four.
But it was all a game. I saw them sitting there at the Rabbithole, sipping coffee and putting down omelettes like the apocalypse. The scent of eggs and double espresso weighs down heavy upon my sour stomach. Mary begs me to eat some of the wet eggs, so I take several bites and claim satisfaction.
Greg walks into the bar, begs me to finish some photographs of his oils for him while he hands me a stack of twenties. The next thing little brother knows, he’s scrambling his way into the back seat of a white diesel suburban. The engine cries out as we speed across the Bridge, thirty minutes ahead of schedule…
