Breadcrumb #114

ALEXANDER PETROV

“Bravado, young man. That’s what we call someone in your state. Bravado.”
“Why, sir? I was only doing what you told me I should-”
“We only say those things to make you feel better. You know that the truth is, my boy, that no one knows what the truth is.”
“Well sir, you told me it was my duty. To find - a place - to create a change...”
“Well, you can’t.”
“I did.”
“You’d better not.”
“I wouldn’t if I couldn’t.”
“But if you can disobey me and do what I saidn’t you should would you?”
“Sir, I wouldn’t disobey what you say - even if it made any sense.”
“That’s sad. You’re must be one of those solipshits”
“Sir, I genuinely hate you.”
“How can you hate me if you believe I’m not real?”
“You’re wrong.”
“You’re a wiseguy. I don’t like wiseguys. Is the hand on your face real?”
“Sir, I’m a kid. I look up to you. Why are you hitting me?”
“Oh yes, that’s right. Sorry about that. Care for a mint?”
“It would take more than a mint to take that away.”
“How about a percocet?”
“I’ll take two.”
“Scotch?”
“Make that a double.”
“Nicotine?”
“A lifetime, please.”
“What shall we talk about then?”
“You know - the piano is my favorite instrument. Its range and versatility are unmatched.”
“Mine is the saxophone. It’s got soul. The sax’s melancholy rasp makes me want to cry every time.”
“The moonlight song…”
“A blue note that sings of-
“Pain.”
“What of slavery and killing perpetual?”
“And words like ‘victuals’?”
“Rituals!”
“Ah, that’s grand.”
“A grand? May I have one or two?”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you…”
“Is money that important?”
“No. It’s more important.”
“What about what you said earlier? You know, the other stuff.”
“From what you’re asking me I can tell that you want my money.”
“That’s not even true. Didn’t you say I should want it?”
“I said you should get it. If you want to be happy.”
“What if I’m already happy?”
“How do you know you’re happy?”
“Well sir-”
“I know you are, my child. That’s why I created you. To be happy”
“Well I was the whole time. I just didn’t know it.”
“Don’t you ever feel the need to show it!”
“Never did.”
“They’ll take it from you!”
“They can’t.”
“MY CHILD HAS GONE INSANE!”
“You’ve lost your peace, my dear old man.”
“You’re wrong.”
“You have.”
“My peace is you.”

• • •

Breadcrumb #113

MARISSA BIANCO

One day we’ll live on that blue cobblestone street,
smelling of cat piss
and rotten hibiscus.
We’ll repaint one of those vacant houses
a redolent turquoise,
to match el mar salado
surrounding us.

I’ll cut the calabaza in half
and the seeds will spew all over the tiled floor.
we’ll live off of arroz y habichuelas
and I’ll dress only in white cotton.
Tus canciones will caress me to sleep
when the coquis have died
and silence sings off of
all that colonial concrete.

We’ll decorate the house
Only with guiros.
We’ll read the newspaper in Café Mallorca,
powdered sugar melting instantly on our fingertips.

The moonless steel nights, 
the frigid sidewalks,
the thick silences between our bodies,
will seem from another age,
heavy with doubt
and lacking in that sultry,
bright and soothing
warmth.

• • •