The Personal Relocation Expert

Of course the follow up dialog goes:

Man: But that's enough about my penis.
(pause)
Man: What do you think of my penis?

I'm not sure I understand boys. This is to be expected, as I didn't understand them when I was one, but experiencing them as female is ... I don't know what word fits. Maybe you can help?

So like, I spent all night packing and stuff and now it's 3am and I'm outside enjoying a well-deserved cigarette (as you do). Until just recently, it's been way too cold to even want to be outside at this time at night, but the past few nights have been nice, so I'm continuing my long-standing tradition of enjoying the night.

Now I'm just minding my own business when along comes a tall, young man walking home from the bar down the street. (All the bars are down the street.) He walks by and says, "Damn, girl, you look guud!" and asks if I own the shop connected to the alcove I'm standing in. He's cute, strong build too. I start to fumble for words then quickly recover, reasoning that nearly 50 people live in the building beside me, so anonymity is on my side. "I live here."

He then proceeds to tell me that he thinks he lives in a poor side of town (again, just down the road) but it wasn't long before I understand what he really means... he's racist! Before I can come to this conclusion, however, he notices my feet. Oh my, you have long toes! I may be green, but I can see where this is going... second man this week to talk about my toes. He tells me about this girl who can eat with her feet (mental note, get a pedicure) and next about his old girlfriend. Okay, let's have some fun... "So you like footjobs, huh?" I throw out playfully. Caught him off guard! Heehee.

I don't really know how what happened next came into motion, but he then started telling me his life story, focusing totally on the parts involving altercations with the police. First, he wires up a property owner with free cable to all the tenants. The owner pays him $50, but acts like he doesn't know this guy when he comes around next month asking for $10 from each tenant, who are now being charged an extra $20/month for cable. After a few weeks of ignoring the guy, he gets pissed and started banging on the door kind of stuff, and the police pick him up for aggravated something or other.

Next he tells me that while on probation, he's walking past a pimp in Birmingham when police swarm down on him and he gets arrested for public intoxication... gets house arrest but then gets all mouthy when a cop plants drug paraphernalia on him, so now he gets slapped a charge for intimidating a police officer!

Bizarre. I just met this man. I ask if he's still wearing the leg collar, he laughs, hikes up his pant leg and says, "no- that's finally off" (OMG, he was wearing one!) when, what was that I saw? Yup, that was a knife tucked to his ankle!

His story continues... Next he's walking home and gets mugged by four (N-bomb... yeah, he used that word on me freely) people and the police find on him - go figure - some pot so now he's in violation of parole and gets sentenced to a year in county jail when he pleas that "maybe I have a drinking problem, your honor!" Nice save. More house arrest.

And now he's here. An armed young man with anger issues. He says he's just newly arrived. He's looking to get high. Most boys like him are. Knowing Dave taught me how to take care of boys like this, and if he didn't just come from a bar I know to be smoky and - oh yeah - totally creep me out, I'd have asked him up to share a joint. Instead, he offers another cigarette and tells me of a time in sixth grade where he both got beat up and beat up a girl. Charming!

Sensing he's not going to see me again unless something changes, he offers up that he's a personal relocation expert. Ah, a mover... big strong man come help move my stuff! Okay, there's an in! But before I can say anything, he starts to tell me how he recently hurt his shoulder moving a mattress. (Mental note, get help moving the mattress.) He touches my hand to his shoulder and asks me to feel his rotator cuff. There's a sense of urgency in his action, as if he knows that I'm a healer, and that I wouldn't otherwise be touching him. After our conversation, he's probably right. I touch him anyway. Maybe I healed him... who can know such things?

I did, however, know that I was freezing. A fresh blanket of cold, heavy air swept under the wind as we were talking. I introduce myself. He gives me his name and phone number... I rememberize it and guide him home in the right direction, waiting until he turned the corner before going to my door.

What just happened? Why did he tell me all of that personal stuff? What larger forces are at work here? Can it all really be explained away by alcohol? Ah, does it matter? Queue Flower Drum Song!