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.

Something’s going on this morning at Hoboken with fire trucks lined up, lights flashing, police cars lined up, lights flashing, who knows? Apartment fire on the west side of the 300 block of Hudson Street.

For February 9, 2026, a Monday, it’s certainly a Maryann Fuentes kind of day. Meaning it’s cold outside, and I am inside drinking ice water. She would be doing that, whereas I am merely hydrated. Those bloody Algerians. The last decent one was Doreen Galante, and she passed away a few years ago. She saw the way out and took it. Some rednecks claim it was the COVID-19 vaccine, but we tend to know better.

The weekend was another stroll through blase lands. I did go out on Saturday, much to my dismay. The trip to the supermarket was a difficult one. The temperatures were in the 10-degree range with a wind chill that cut right through. The leather gloves, which were a topic of my foibles last week, provided scant relief as the wind sliced through them.

I was planning on getting a cigar and shooting a video as I walked, but it was too damn cold. I also “had” to go to the dispensary, which sent me out into the dges of the wastelands of Hoboken. Where the land was barren back in the day, now it has construction, which will tax the overtaxed sewers and pipes, which were not built for more and more toilets and plumbing.

I spoke with my siblings over the weekend. My sister’s call was as expected, my brother’s call was a bit awkward. Sometimes we get in fine, other times it is like pulling teeth. I’m usually alone when I call, but I think my brother has an audience and speaks kindly to whoever is in the room at that time.

I also called my friends Connie and Jane. I last saw Connie in January 2025 before they shipped her out to California. I left her a voicemail in November for her birthday, but reports are that Connie is not doing too well, a bit of dementia, it seems.

As far as I know, Jane was doing well; she’s been taking care of her man, Duke. We last spoke a while ago, and things were shaky with regard to Duke’s well-being. I left a voicemail for Jane as well, happy to have checked off the connection boxes, though I would have preferred to have spoken directly.

Mike’s beloved flew back to the left coast yesterday. The boyfriend arrived Friday evening and left Sunday evening. I was taken aback when Mike asked if I could send his boyfriend in a ride share from the crib in Jersey City to Newark Airport. There was a plan for Mike to come over after the boyfriend left, which meant Mike would need a ride share as well.

I could not afford both and told Mike that. He said the boyfriend did not know anything about my being asked to foot the bill for a later reimbursement, but I am skeptical. I don’t know the boyfriend beyond photos and videos online, and I caught a glimpse of his left ear during a FaceTime thing on Saturday.

It turned out the boyfriend’s sibling was able to forward the cash for the ride share, and Mike did not come over anyhow, which was fine by me.

Bill is supposed to return today, so I guess within minutes of meeting again, he will proceed to drive me up the wall in a bus.

I have finished the Patti Smith book, Bread of Angels. Next up is Jelani Cobb, Three or More is a Riot. I have a crush on Jelani Cobb.