On summer days, sometimes you could see something, like the blank space of the world was bending slowly up from the ground. We’d be so hot, not wanting to even touch the ground on our knees (the way children often do to examine an insect). You knew that it would be a lousy bit of luck if someone pushed you into one of those overgrown juniper hedges—somehow the scratching and their smell goes hand-in-hand with those hot days. If you’ve ever smelled a hot juniper you’ll know what I mean. I’ll always think of juniper as an unbearable torture for the flesh of a sunstruck day.

One day, we’re all chasing the odd jobs truck. We assume someone needed a fence fixed or something like that. His truck stops and he gets out, he heads into the house—doesn’t ring the doorbell or even knock. We were surprised because it wasn’t his house. It was Mrs. Kary’s. She was Junk’s mom but Junk wasn’t with us that day. Usually he’d be chasing the odd jobs truck just like the rest of us. Anyway, we waited for a few minutes. Since the odd jobs man didn’t come back to his truck quickly, we assumed he had a more difficult job on-hand.

We were curious enough to tunnel through the juniper in front of the Karys’ house. We managed, under cover of prickly juniper, to close the gap between the road and the side window of the house. After getting close enough, we craned our necks to peer inside. We saw the odd jobs man standing in front of Mrs. Kary and Junk. Mrs. Kary seemed to be holding Junk. Junk had what looked like a big hole in his right cheek. It wasn’t bleeding or anything like that, it was just a clean hole.

The odd jobs man licked Junk’s right cheek. He kept licking, over and over, while we watched. After a quarter hour or so, the odd jobs man moved aside and we all saw, Junk didn’t have that hole anymore. His cheek looked normal. Junk, trembling, looked like he kept silent. The odd jobs man seemed satisfied with his work, winked at Mrs. Kary, and stepped around Junk to her direction. She kept still. Methodically, the odd jobs man sat down at the piano and started playing. We couldn’t hear but Junk smiled, so it must’ve been good. Then he picked up his box of tools and left the Kary house.”

Junk’s gaping eyes traced sky-wiring, the sort that’s strung December 25th style across the regurgitated woods man makes. Women make them too (and he insisted on the superior taste of women). He knew it involved communication, the wires, but on what surface would that thought scratch? That being his problem to avoid, he veered off the highway in time to stop at a cafe.

The Cup O Joe $.60 cafe had not heard the old fashioned rule, survival of the fittest. Its figure had gone long without any metabolic conditioning; still, permanence fumes floated outward from every leak in the roof and walls. Junk walked to the door and swung it wide. He walked in, one heal determined to contact the floor. The heal scuffed with a sound that could almost be considered distinguished. ‘Course for such a sound to be distinguished the shoes would have to cost more, shine brightly, and be hitting marble rather than linoleum. A man bent over a bar stool, turned slightly to face Junk,

Hey, watcha carryin’?

To himself, Junk thought, “one helluva rumour” but only slipped a half smile saying “My pet, she’s no good for me.” Junk absently summoned his arm into the air and tossed an imaginary something to the man. The man dramatized a catch and let the invisible ball splat against his chest, signaling heartbreak. The man probably thought it was a ball but Junk viewed it more on the terms of a bomb (of the type that seem simple but still fuck you up, were it to go off).

Junk took a seat next to the man and asked the waitress to bring him a meal similar to the man’s. It could’ve been a good way to continue communication, but Junk didn’t actually care to talk. The man sat with a grin on his open mouth, his stool still steered in Junk’s direction. Junk pretended to concentrate on his food at first but then turned to face the man thinking that there would have to be a few more words spoken before he could relax. Had he voluntarily sat beside the man, a show of good-will and puppets in mumble-combat could’ve sated anything. A bit of spittle erupted (accident but not altogether abnormal) like liquefied and undeveloped film from the man’s mouth. A brief and wet signal yes, but mostly this pleasure (stutter on the “p” please) afforded by the man’s mouth prepared the genesis of further dullness.

So I got a little hot, and more than bothered, yaknow, so I was pacin’ back and forth and, so I thought to myself… got to get outta here.

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Junk said, almost slurring to the man.

Sometimes you just get hot. Real hot. One time I was wearing this brand new pair of shoes, I mean to say that I’d just bought them that day. It was so hot that I walked right out of my house and you know the funny thing is that I came here, right here–dang!

Uh-huh.

Ever since then, I kept coming here. Mostly I come here when it’s hot though. I guess I’m usually pretty hot.

I don’t like the heat much, myself.

Hahaha, yaknow what else? Today’s a cold day! Today I bought a new pair of shoes but I’m not wearing them now. They’re mine though, n’ I like ‘em. Whew, think I’ll have some more coffee.

Junk looked down feigning admiration of the man’s shoes though he knew they weren’t the new pair. Noticing the untied laces had staunchly undergone their share of mud groping, he returned his attention to his own cup of coffee and swallowed a resigned dose. It was enough for the moment that he’d admired the man’s shoes, which seemed to sum up their conversation. Alas, the safety to eat.

The man ate noisily with his mouth open, a fork in his right hand, and a napkin in his left. The left hand made two or three trips to the man’s lips and vicinity every other mouthful of food. A very quick process that could go undetected in a dream were the dream not Junk’s.

Junk finished the meal on his plate then started with his cup of coffee, taking a deep inhale of the yawning vapors. Coffee was probably his favorite part. Akin to the color brown, a simple cup of coffee possessed all of nature’s warm-hearted intelligentsia, not to mention its cold-outside-but-I’m-gazing-at-the-fireplace quality. So abundant are the drink’s attributes. Junk thought about hitting the road.