The Beatles, Devil in Her Heart has been playing for the past 45 minutes in my head.

Joe Lucas lived down the street from my family. He was married to Etta and Father to Richie and Susan. Joe was kind of a throwback to the 1950s, at least to my 1970s eyes.

I was closer in age to Richie, but hung out more with Susan. They lived at 26 Riverview Ave and had a pool, which made Susan very popular in the summer.

The awful Debbie Natale outed Richie and Susan as adopted one night. The Natale family were just rotten people who lived in their basement. And Debbie was the meanest person I knew. Rotten for rotten’s sake. They were cursed.

Susan was understandably upset and ran home crying. Years later, I met up with Susan, Irene, and Kathy Grant at Maxwell’s for drinks. It was nice, I hadn’t hung out with them for years, so there was a lot of catching up to do.

We met up once or twice. Susan came out as a lesbian and found herself in a bad relationship. She passed away soon after. She has been ill many times growing up, and whatever ailments she had in the past, they caught up to her.

For some reason, I thought of Joe Lucas. I am probably older than he was when I last saw him. I remember crashing my bike into the hedges by his driveway and ruining them. He was pissed off, I was Innocent and oblivious to his ire, though I did witness it.

The thermostat at the fruit stand was at 79 degrees. I sat at my desk and was sweating. Now I have opened the window, so perhaps some relief is on the way.

Mike had a plan to take Bill and me out to dinner. It’s been spoken of since December. February 21 was agreed upon, but now Mike claims his landlord is raising the rent.

Mike paid the rent the other day, and now the landlord says increase and is coming back for more. It’s all so fishy, and personally, I don’t believe it

Some of these things that come out of Mike’s mouth seem dodgy, and this is just the latest. I could compile a list, but what would that achieve?

So, in reviewing my life at some point, I decided to focus more on this job that I have right now at the fruit stand. Instead of having a good time, which is what most jobs that I have had been. I thought I should hunker down and take it seriously.

And today I tried just that, only to find I was hasty, which caused me to overlook some crucial items.
Because other people were involved, bells and whistles were going off.

Yancey stepped up and had my back. I should not be so hasty with filling fruit stand requests. A lesson learned.

Meanwhile, Facebook and Meta have maintained their silence regarding the accusation of posting sexualized images of children. I have spent the last hour arguing with Meta AI regarding this, and they, in turn, provide laughing emojis.

Racism. It’s in my bones. It’s in my DNA. How could it not be? I am a product of a racist system, surrounded by racist people, brought up in a racist school system.

Lately, communication at the fruit stand has been fleeting. Yesterday was a day when workers had to attend a volunteer effort or something. I was not told of this until after the fact, which was the reason I needed to watch the camera for the other fruit stand a few blocks away.

Today, there was a change to the schedule I sent out on Monday. Yancey, who was here this morning and works at the main hive, informed me that the main person I sent the email to was no longer with the building.

Of course, I get this message days after the fact from someone who works blocks away, and not someone who works on a floor below.

I usually dictate to the phone, but today I am texting with my thumbs. It’s going well I think but I would prefer to have used a keyboard and screen.

I came home last night, not in the best mood nor in the worst. Bill was busy cleaning up the apartment somehow, and I am sure he started doing it mere minutes before I arrived.

I asked if company was expected, and he said no, he was cleaning because he had to work tomorrow. I mentioned that I didn’t know that he was working, and he responded in a manner I found off-putting.

I was somewhat taken aback by that and shut down more or less, festering in my heartfelt miasma. It was not a good look for me. Bill seemed oblivious to it, as well as forgetting about the overhead light, which is best used if no other lighting is available.

I silently played the role of martyr. I did suggest watching the Mel Brooks documentary by Judd Apatow, which lifted the spirits in the room, some more than others.

After that, Bill was off to bed following my lackluster wishes for a good night’s sleep. Then I called Mike. Mike and his boyfriend have started a Facebook page for cigar smoking men. Mike’s boyfriend never likes my photos, despite my half-heartedly liking his.

Then again, Mike’s boyfriend is not into white guys, though he did like another white guy’s photo. Not so much a fan of Mike’s boyfriend, not that I was before, but now there’s a reason.

Mike loves him, though, so there’s that. Personally, I am ambivalent about meeting him eventually. Mike sees it as a great meeting. They are making big plans of which I am privy to. And I would rather not be.

Things are OK with Bill. Things appear to be regarding Mike. There’s nothing major for the next hour or so, but that can all change at the drop of a hat.

Mike is scheduled to come over this weekend, but we’ve heard that before, and part of me feels it would be fine if he did not.

I was just thinking about the past, a certain friend I’ve known for decades. Some friends don’t like them, but I’ve been fond of them.

And also thinking about that plan of doing vids at 503 Social Club, with Bill and Mike. But the plan fell by the wayside due to the fact that I had to get a job. But in a relatively perfect world, I would have a grant to do such projects.

But this is not a perfect world.

And I played Talking Heads Little Creatures, and it really does not hold up.