Good Stuff

Twin blocks adjacent to each other separated by a four way street designed for feet accommodate brothers of split relation as they both involve the shelves of bodega madness. Our shops differ a few aspects; itemization, clothing style, special order specification, and the presence of us.

"I feel as though if we were able to trade a few assortments this would attract more customers."

"After we trade they will become accustomed to the assortment as variety."

"Then we will be able to pair the same; thus we will be twins for the divide!"

"After which?"

"Mass distribution..."

"The origin of mass will therefore be each their own."

"Thus the trade will end."

"We will all begin again..."

Inside our own world of stacks to bundles of imports is the loss of time; both store keepers removed the clocks from the wall as our memory transfigured the moment of open to close. Love of business is the awareness of hatred; the only competition these two spots of accentuated eccentricity of concern is a skateboard and a bike.

"Uncle Moe I am going to put this sheet inside that man's newspaper...."

Over a pair of thin rectangular frames he peers into a drawing of a lawyer we greeted as protection wearing the Statue of Liberty attire with a pair of scales in her right hand while the torch is weighed against the mapped depiction of the United States.

"What is in her left hand?"

"A scroll..."

"I see but what does it say?"

"We're not sure yet..."

"Where does the scroll come from?"

"We believe the origin to be Egypt..."

"How do you know about it?"

"We heard you talking about it with one of the dark angels."

"You two are something else you know that..."

He neither agrees or disagrees with the idea; I slip the drawing inside on top the Wall Street sample. Forgetful of the oncoming morning I venture into the afternoon's serenity without the worry for a night of full moons possessing the faces of many neighbors. Werewolves exist inside the beards of marijuana smokers, vampires explore the red light district hidden in pink illumination sporting mohawks with chain wallets, virgins splendor the curious intellect of dilapidated coffee shops, the two of us must fall somewhere in between the chaos while we step back from a definitive line crossing into the next category, the legendary cultivation of watchers.

"The sun is not you..."

"Red bricks never my solitude of strength as you."

"Fire in the sky does not fill me with energy or loyalty as you."

"Nothing will replace my memory of you even if deceived I will remain with you always."

Placing sunglasses on each other's ears to the bridge of a nose joining the reigns of the boxing ring into championship we embrace for remembrance. Returning to unlocked doors earlier than expectation we mutably experience our new found family restful of this immigration state of mind; the spirit of opportunity must of closed the suspicious eye as I notice the thick newspaper on the counter is sold.

Lunch is not hungry this cycle of planets as moments pass into another phase of shutting down for the world to come again; we meet for the Dragon's Cave and the Lion's Den stand alone. Knock on the iron rod gate summons silence as we mute the video we made of all the people we know; pausing the introduction we edited at our muse's studio our bodies lift the latches to invite our guest which we know to be Lady Liberty. All of us quiet there is a guest sleeper in the room by the walled window; the view is one of Central Park's cemeteries. When the sun comes again we find a note taped to the television set; she watched the entire film the whole night.

Draco & Leo,

The men which purchase the newspapers are my husband. I live a double life.

Interrupting the initial sentence we shock to realize both lawyers we visited were the same woman. Vaguely remembering his worry he vaguely remembers mine as we both attempt to cause forgetfulness of such we may of dulled our senses to recognize her at both locations as she ran from one block to the other.

Both financed a loss which put me through school. I failed to understand debt. Both courted me during my early years at the University. I was involved in my studies so much I never realized the details of our relationship. I agreed to marry. I do not have romantic feelings for either. I am afraid I do not know them well enough to be a wife but I witnessed their actions many an occasion to understand their business is not wholesome. We never did walk down the aisle. I made many excuses. You are like my nephews and I want you to know how much you mean to me. You should know by now, everybody else does. I enclosed directions to my office where I go when I am deep in thought. Meet me there when the shop closes.

"A monkey is my Uncle!"

"No that's not how they say it..."

"Do tell comrade..."

"I'll be a monkey's uncle, I believe is the phrase of sorts...."

"He is my Uncle..."

"This is true..."

"What does that imply?"

"Shock..."

"Thus I used such in proper context."

Voice intercom chimes for the penthouse of a renovated complex consisting of privately owned level townhouses; this did not surprise us at all, we were well aware of her stylish demeanor.

"Okay so it's not my office..."

"This is your house."

"Yes it is your dwelling of solicitude."

"I want to tell you boys straight up that those two are after the stores."

"Why??"

"Your Uncles partner a trade with groups of interest for their intentions."

"What are their intentions?"

"They want them to go out of business."

"What shall we do?"

"Blind them..."

"How do we do that?"

"With a triangle..."

Pulling out an even three sides into a point crystal she gently places the pyramid in a light stream from a sky window; the rainbow emits a spectrum which fills the entire abode with colors the leprechaun wished a cereal or bag of circle candies could host for a pot of gold.