hiatus

a little more than a month and a half has passed since i lamented my beardless face, and it was a doozy.
three nights after i posted last i got thrown from the truck (like it was a bronco or something, seriously, wagging its ass up and down like it couldn't stand being roped by hands) when Lugs tried to avoid a possum he thought was his old lady's dog, that'd been missing for a week or so. turns out it wasn't, and turns out we didn't miss it either since the Mamajamma Clams (our truck, when we have a say) swerves like a break-dancing amputee. it looks cool but you know some pains coming afterwards. and so i hair-line fractured both my wrists after tracing an elegant arc through the half-lit 30th st. (we were around Runnymede and Dawnwood Forest and Carol Heights, though i didn't even finish out Runnymede, let alone the other two, after Gerry came begrudgingly in his car to take me to the ER) and got some weeks off of work per the doc at Carillon.
i got splinted up and stayed around home for a few days until i felt ennui growing over me like moss on any side of a ridge-line tree and decided to do something.
so i went to a bar where (it was 4 in the afternoon, so i was flirting w/ judgment there, but once i started flirting w/ the waitress) i met Nadine, about 28, pert, a bit worn, but w/ a mouth on her like stravinsky on a maple-wood xylophone: the jagged syrup she pours out is balm and burn alike, but i'm getting ahead of myself.
i was the only (conscious) guy in there and she looked bored too and when she brought peanuts over to me we started chatting, then talking, the bonding, something like a valence electron searching out an element to corrupt or adjust (depending on the perspective).
yadda courtship yadda yadda drinks yadda yadda she lives in a sweet pad decorated a la Robert Smith and the Gummybears yadda yadda family in FL and bam,
i'm convalescing on South Beach clean-shaven b/c Nadine's got a certain pull to her that indicates no moves towards whips and their sound-barrier-breaking arcs. so far.
so i spent two serene weeks there and got back a few days ago, giving me some time to ponder the vicissitudes of that vacation before the doc took off my odd air casts today.
so as it seems i'm going back to work tonight, though i've been fattened and pampered during this well-paid sinecure (injured on the job w/ a democrat in view of the washington monument? hello duffed lucre) and am trying to get myself ready for my bloodless slaughter at Bigs' hands tonight.
he somehow copped my phone number from the office and texted me insults ('to keep you one your russian ballerina's toes; those shits are mangled like your shoes had rabies') intermittently, a nice reminder of home trickling in b/n cleaning sand out of every odd crevice and cooking spartan meals in Nadine's uncle's half-abandoned apartment.
a note on it: it's nestled not far from 29th st and logistics for the beach were easier than selling umbrellas on a London sidewalk. it's small, one bedroom, a decent kitchen (under-stocked, as N averred, when she first slipped on an apron and made the best damn cookies - those kind - i'd ever had) and a balcony where we'd sit out next to the potted ferns and smoke cigarettes while she'd tell me about young life in Brooklyn ('why'd you come down to roanoke of all places?' 'there're more lassos in the city than you'd think' is all i got, for now), toking furtively in central park, the nomenclature of bums, rooftop soirees and basement shindigs, and i told her about my failed journalism stint in Orlando, familial difficulties and analyses, the way light breaks over the Blue Ridges when you know you're the only one awake for 20 miles, general stuff. when we arrived the fridge had two six packs of Sam Adams in it, a bottle of Jameson on top of it, and a note saying 'just clean up w/e happens, logical or not. love, uncle farnsworth.' she said it's not his real name, but he adopted it after his first ex-wife called him pedantic and it stuck. so that first night was glorious.
one night when we were in a bar on miami ave., some dude came up to me
ah nuts. i gotta go look at the volvo b/c it's snorthing something milky out of the tailpipe (that's fallen once since i've been back; need new screw mounts, things are rusty as medusa's sex life) and mom still refuses to take her in.
more soon.
welcome matt out