Leo Jon Otho was upset. It was another day of the same thing. Out of work again, he started to know what the day of the week was when he remembered what he watched the night before of TV.

Leo did not like this sign of redundancy from the employment rolls. He did maintain a proper sleep schedule, the same time 7 days a week, going to sleep and waking up on schedule.

Leo walked around town most of the time, weather permitting. He was surprised and upset by a sign advertising apartments in town with one-bedroom apartments starting at $4100. Being across the river from a metropolis the high cost of living was somewhat expected.

In Leo’s case, it was all in the timing. He moved to town about 40 years ago. The entire town was different. There was an arts vibe, with artists, musicians, actors, writers, film directors, and the like. It was only a matter of time before the lure of the metropolis drew young people who may have overheard Leo saying it was a great place to live.

Maybe it was destiny. When Leo and his crowd were running all over town, the economy subtly improved. Where that crowd saw the beauty of decay, other interests, some born and raised and some speculators from elsewhere saw things to be torn down and replaced by bright and shiny buildings.

Mom and Pop stores, and funky boutiques were to be overtaken by stores that people were comfortable with in the suburbs and brought to town as commercial creature comforts. The cash-in of the Gold Coast proved to be inevitable.

The way things used to be when people got married, if they had kids they would usually move to the suburbs and raise their children in a free range environment. Loyang Marthe and ET Jams Ramos did that, married, had kids, moved to the suburbs, and then came back to the delight of everyone.

ET Jams Ramos had a resurgence in the cultured field he had plowed for so long. It seemed like there was always a gentleman farmer, always busy, always contributing, always creating.

Leo did not see Loyang Marthe that often. They both enjoy each other’s company but circumstances and going through their lives limited their encounters.

Leo kept himself occupied as much as possible. Sometimes he succeeded and sometimes his arm got tired. So many streaming services compete for Leo’s attention and Leo watches his own creature comforts of TV shows he watched when he was growing up.

The neighbors in Leo’s building were nice. Not very loud and not very noticeable. Non-descript would be an apt word to describe them, Leo thought. He didn’t mean it as an insult but rather a description of people who really don’t interact with other building dwellers.

Leo was drawing from memories of the building’s tenants who were friends, if not friendly. But that was the 20th century and here Leo Jon Otho was in the 21st century, at wit’s end.
Or perhaps, better yet, wit’s beginning.

It’s been a week since Barry McLarry dumped me. I will spare you the details since I wrote about it last week. The closet queen from Manila in exile, Lita Semana rules her roost once again, her Filipino underlings at her beck and call while Shamalama Khan tried to tell people that Lita has no power over these Pinoy pussies.

When Shamalama Khan told me that I chortled in his face. Minutes later Lita Semana waltzes in, says something in Tagalog, and the Manila miscreants spring to attention like an activated butt plug that was planted in each rectum sprung to electrical life simultaneously.

That was near Burroughsian if you ask me. Or as the kids today say, ‘If you ax me’. A former fool of a supervisor had that gutter Brooklyn accent when axing questions.

I heard from Daisy who is sitting at what used to be my desk. She told me a pair of sneakers were left behind. I asked that she donate them to the homeless, put them in a bag, and place them in a clothing drop box, which I am sure she passes in her travels to and from work.

I remarked even in my down and out spirit, I look out for those who have less than me. More christian than most christians as Bill has said about me in the past. Daisy seemed to agree. Then again this was all via text and she was at work so who really knows?

I was able to give some cigar swag away that I have had for years and never did anything with it. A nice cigar ashtray and a cigar humidor. I have been chatting online with a dude named Mike Handy who works nearby at the Jersey City/Hoboken border. We finally met this afternoon. A good dude it seems, a good connection and friendship will ensue I hope. He certainly is a handsome man and quite sexy.

I’ve been maintaining my step count each day. I used to do that at my break time in Tribeca in the afternoons, but that ain’t happening no mo’. It’s a relief to not deal with Tribeca and the boredom in me that it created. Of course, if I was asked back to work in that area again, I wouldn’t say no. Since no one is asking, the answer remains no.

And Michael Palin seems to have written when the spirit moved him. I can’t say I am moved by the spirit to write, but rather by the compulsion to write.

I spoke with my sister over the weekend, and I expressed a ‘worry’ about how relatives will take the news of my recurring unemployment. I posted a meme a few weeks ago on the social medias that said partly if you have a day job to get by, you’re still an artist.

It may have been one of the first times I brought up that I am an artist to my sister, but having written that, I remember talking about how Bobby Risotto (a former supervisor to me & the ax lady) didn’t appreciate my photos, and what did he know?

I was an artist. And I still am.