I don’t want to get dinner, because I’m trying not to drink.
Rainy Tuesday//her phlegm on the subway floor//discrete to who//saliva coddling the linoleum//me, I’m nauseous//eyes weary//bladder full of starburst//scooch to the pole//patent leather raincoat//next stop President Street.
The sheets are damp with the nights sweat//We drink glasses of water on the kitchen floor, the tiles are cool and keep us grounded//Euca had been away for three weeks and will be away for 6 more//After the hit and run, she started spending the summers with my Aunt, baby-sitting her youngest and helping with the daily//July has never been so hot//We ran out of eggs yesterday, I am poor and Ron has little money//We decided to hit all the stops//Starting with the Credit Union, where free coffee is offered to members//Ron has a checking account and I a savings, Euca set it up for me when I was born//The bank tellers are all women, varying in age and size, but all hold the same future that white women in upstate New York succumb to//They immediately recognize our mission, to see us has become a ritual in their daily lives, just as it has become apart of ours//Ron strides up to the oldest teller, her hair is died platinum blonde, but her dark brown roots are starting to peak through//He smiles with his eyes, following wishful tooth smile, she lets out a small giggle and I head towards the espresso machine// By the time he’s checked his bank account, all three women are glowing//I stand back, holding the two cups of coffee//One cup of Hazelnut with two creamers and a packet sugar for myself//Ron takes his coffee with black with a dab of milk//
