Separate dreams where I fought with Bill, Bob Huff, Rand, and my brother Brian. Not violent dreams but I found all four of them to be most uncooperative in four individual scenes of dreams.

Rolling through the Christopher Street path station I always hope to see a ghost from over 30 years ago. Mexican ghost in leather fringe jacket that I would sometimes make out with 33 years ago.

4:15 pm. The time that Harcourt Brace Jovanovich would be getting out on a Friday afternoon. I can still see the queue lined up to punch out at the time clock. Another world, a lifetime ago. I reckon some of those former coworkers are long gone. I looked some up a while ago.

I think of Bob Costic. He was a few years younger than me. He was sexy and had a nice bulge. We would smoke cigarettes and stare at each other. He smoked Parliaments, I smoked Marlboro. Despite his rubbing his crotch, nothing ever came of it. I never made any overtures. It went on for a few weeks, then it petered out.

Harcourt Brace Jovanovich was my first job. I’ve written about it before and thought I would write a few entries about my employment history, but was derailed by Harpy and his beer-fueled criticism that it was boring and no one would want to read it. I trusted Harpy’s opinion and I let it get the better of me. I haven’t seen Harpy in years and he no longer participated in social media, considering it to be too narcissistic.

So with that unknown friend of Bill W absent from this stage in the game, perhaps I will pick up the mantle and start my CV stories anew. Sometimes people see me as aloof and not caring about what people say, but Harpy was proof that ain’t necessarily so.

It happened with the lupine fellow who played bass in a band named Antietam. One night in the 80s, I got an LP of South African music. I was jamming along to it by myself and having a good time doing that. I worked with the lupine fellow, and the next day I mentioned what a good time I had jamming.

Mr Punk Rock or Jazz Queer (as some fine woman from Athens GA called him) told me that there was o way I cold have sounded good jamming to a South Africa record since those guys played for years and I certainly hadn’t. It was a wounding remark that curtailed any further jamming, and I never looked at the lupine fellow the same way again.

Some mutual friends were angry with the lupine fellow, and others were surprised that I allowed him into my head like that.

Now it’s Friday evening. Mike is on the couch looking at his phone, Prince is playing live, 1986, the Parade tour, and Mexican food has been ordered to be delivered.

The laundry is done and now the 48 hour drying process begins. It had been raining all day and now it has stopped. Bill is on the road, expected to be home later on tonight. Or he may be coming home tomorrow. It’s up to him I reckon and whatever extenuating circumstances that might surround him.