17. I Am Still Unsure Drew Gerken I left my spirit at the bus stop. The man I once was and will never be again is stuck there, glued in rotting gum, bum-sweat and strangled by stagnate air. He sat there, wiped blood from his mouth with his sleeve; it was a catch-all handkerchief. Three splats of his essence, infected garnets, gilded the worn brick sidewalk. I drank from my Nalgene. His dessert-cracked lips quivered as my water sloshed through his eyes. I hate him for how I feel now—spiritless I guess. I took the bus to help the environment (and save on gas). Why did I have to be so trendy? So artificially green? I am fully aware that he was fully aware. His mucus-crusted pity-trance bore into my chest and ripped out my spirit with the dirtiest fingernails imaginable. I broke his gaze with clear-blue Lexan and blue-clear liquid. Ice rattled and mocked him. Ice rattled and mocked him through the echoing overpass. It was louder than I would have liked. I am still unsure if it was a parched moan of desire or a dried-blood wheeze but I have thought about it these last twelve minutes. I am still unsure but this is my stop and I need fresh air. I choke on the stagnate air. Quit
18. Stories John Edgar Wideman A man walking in the rain eating a banana. Where is he coming from. Where is he going. Why is he eating a banana. How hard is the rain falling. Where did he get the banana. What is the banana’s name. How fast is the man walking. Does he mind the rain. What does he have on his mind. Who is asking all these questions. Who is supposed to answer them. Why. Does it matter. How many questions about a man walking in the rain eating a banana are there. Is the previous question one of them or is it another kind of question, not about the man or the walking or the rain. If not, what’s it a question about. Does each question raise another question. If so, what’s the point. If not, what will the final question be. Does the man know any of the answers. Does he enjoy bananas. Walking in the rain. Can the man feel the weight of eyes on him, the weight of questions. Why does the banana’s bright yellow seem the only color, the last possible color remaining in a gray world with a gray scrim of rain turning everything grayer. I know question after question after question. The only answer I know is this: all the stories I could make from this man walking in the rain eating a banana would be sad, unless I’m behind a window with you looking out at him. Quit