It’s a Wednesday, the second day of my second year at the fruit stand. It is also Earth Day. Last year fruit stand employees were given green t-shirts for Earth Day, this year, we aren’t getting anything it seems. I am fine with that.

Yancy just left. It was nerve-wracking as usual but most of that is built up in my head. Yancy sits on the couch doing things on his laptop. I sit at my desk, a few yards away from Yancy being busy or at least, looking busy. The two of us did have a chat and I did use the word ‘pass’ instead of ‘badge’ which threw him in a slight tizzy.

I backtracked and corrected myself after being badgered about badges and found that he does not take eye contact very well. It seemed to throw him off somewhat. I stuck with that; his unease was somewhat empowering. He’s not a bad boss as far as I can tell, but I do try to keep interactions to a minimum. And some bosses are not so bad at first (Bobby Risotto), then the abused becomes the abuser (Bob Isacco).

For some reason, I did trust him, but now it has been years since there was any connection and that was minimal due to the pandemic. Even Samantha Winter’s death could not restore any trust for him, Bathhouse Bobby. My initial encounter with Bob Isacco was 24 years ago and his power trip, now rendered impotent.

Bob did look out for me, then it all went pear-shaped. His boss, Harold would harass him and since shit rolls downhill, Bob would take his frustration and abuse me or the work that I had done. It was funny in an odd way, when Bob was leaving the Algerians behind, there was a going away dinner and I refused to go.

He was put off by this and asked me to attend. I told him I couldn’t. He had treated me so badly and it would seem hypocritical for me to attend. The dinner went on without me though my image was photoshopped in a photo taken afterward. It was tacky.

Yancy and Robert. Who else? Rafe Dais, but was he my boss? He was the guy who hired me, and I did have a modicum of respect for him. His kid, though, certainly fucked things up, and I knew I could not get between a father and his princess daughter. Shahabudeen Khan was closer by location than Rafe Dais, and he ate lots of beans and farted mere feet away from my desk while watching cricket matches on his computer. FOr some reason, he thought he was my ‘better’.

Alchemy. Richard Lloyd. Dispensary on West 18th Street. Each time I walk past the dispensary, Richard Lloyd’s song plays in my head. Brings me back to WPIX back in the day. I bought the record, and it was actually the first time I had seen Jim Mastro on an album cover.