I remember one time we were driving back to his house, I think he wanted pizza, I think it had mushrooms on it and he picked the mushrooms off. We were driving back to his house and he took my CD collection, all of them, all my years, my heart, my investment and threw them out the window of a moving car. "Jesus doesn't like when you listen to that junk." Jesus didn't like Queen, everyone likes Queen.
When he got his credit card bill each month he looked like a deflated balloon. I knew he wanted me to offer to help and sometimes I regret not having offered to help but I knew he would never pay me back. "Jesus will make a way" he said. And he lead you right to the unemployment line.
He loved cheese. One time we were at that gourmet food store, he knows the one, the one with the giant mâché strawberry on the roof. He said "lets try to make our own Saganaki tonight" so he picked out the cheese and he picked out the brandy and found the biggest, juiciest lemon he could find and then we went to the cash register and then he waited for me to get my wallet out. Perhaps Jesus did make a way for him.
I always told him to never quit, to be the best at whatever he chose to do although he chose to do nothing but feel sorry for himself and he was the very best at it. He always thought Jesus had dealt him a bad hand, a 2/7 offsuit. His parents were stingy, he got bad professors, no one recognized his talents, the interest rate was too high and the starting pay was too low.
He said "I love you" for the first time on the phone, we were dating for a little over a month and the girl he thought he got pregnant was still in love with him.
Still I miss the city, the way the light posts looked like floating orbs on a snowy night and the local pizzeria that made 'the special special' and the two yippie dogs and the way his dad helped his mom bring the groceries in. I think he used to love me, I think he tried the best he could and the best he could was a Chinese buffet on Valentines day and the emotional connection of Bukowski and eventually I stopped reading so much Bukowski, a writer like that isn't a role model but my Jesus how he helped.