A Dead Man Is Hard to Find

look at this bar, he says, huffing.

he shows me the gunshot scar on his right hand and asks what hospital i was born in. in LA the jails are no fun, he says. i nod. he is seeking yao… and spastic.

aren’t there any stripper poles or stages in there? i’m joining the marines, of course, deferred deployment, of course, tonight i’m looking for blow coke yao ming.

look at this bar, he says, it looks like shit. this whole city looks like shit, he says as lilies spring from his chest and his arms cross beneath them. i barely knew him, but officer he was wearing tan workman’s boots, clean, not too used, black jeans and a carhartt jacket. he talked about jail a lot. last saw him hitch hiking down westcott st without putting up a thumb.