A Matter of Love in da Bronx by Paul Argentini Read Free Book Online Page B

him on a regular basis. At first, it was outside of work hours, on his own time; after all, didn't he use it himself? From the first request, Sam refused. He didn't know why, as a youngster; but the picture became clearer as time moved on. It was a matter of pride: --I may not rate myself too highly, but I'm not altogether devoid of some worth! He just didn't do toilets. One day, whether Sol likes it or not, he'd hire the Tidy Toilet Man--or whoever--and get it done. He was back working on the blue-on-blue when his thought pattern slipped a notch coming in view to the pretty girl that morning. He couldn't ever let that happen to him again. It was inexcusable. He didn't think out his situation, didn't do the right thing by himself. But, he would now. The shop's door was locked, that was one answer. Another was to do something he wouldn’t have thought possible, and had never done in all his years at the Sanitary Upholstery Shop. He was going to actually leave the premises during working hours! There was no reason for him to appear, as he was whatever the excuse! Sol was right about that. What really made him decide was when he turned back to the curved needle pulling tight on the blue nylon to take another bite to lay in a tuck on the side of the chair. His mind simply focused on food. So far this was a no-breakfast, no-lunch day. It was long past two o'clock, suddenly. He'd swap loaves and fishes for jelly donuts, salty peanuts, potato chips, pizza, hot Italian sausage, and Love Us Lord! Wednesday Prince Macaroni Day! Water in the mouth, pangs in the belly! Aches in the esophagus! Victualsly vacant! He'd adjust matters to this unusual day. The moment was humanly abnormal. Sol's behavior abnormal. The scenario with the pretty girl was abnormal. The day was abnormal. His life was abnormal! Enough was enough. He was impotent facing the past; he was omnipotent facing the future.
    He shuddered as he pushed into the stickycooldamp rungout raincoat, flipped the cap atop, and then gathered the rest of his clothes. No matter how hungry he was, his first duty was to look the part of a whole human person. With the ball of clothes tucked into his arm, he took to the no-rain street, a fullback on full go for yardage charging around puddles, two people, one pooch; off the curb, around shiny bumper, up the curb, past the deli; shoes slapsplashing; open coat sailing; hand hatholding; finally hardbreathing wheezing making dry harbor, the Laundromat. One other client, big moustache, lawyer type, carefully folding a jockstrap. Same moved to the end claiming the first dryer. In went the temporary pigskin--shirt, sweater, socks; then hat, pants and underwear. Klunk! Klunk! Klunk! Whoomshust! Whoomshust! Whoomshust! He put his shoes to broast over the exhaust vent. Then he sat, joyful with being completely nude under the coat, smiling secretly at recalled cartoons of old men revealing themselves; his conspiracy of one a stillborn rebellion enjoying rather a private excitement of pushing his hands through the slits in the coat's pockets, feeling his fleshy belly then playing with his limp penis and massaging his balls. The lawyer-type gave him his best intimidating glare; Sam returned his best butterball smile. More fun if the pretty pissy missy from this morning walked in and tried not to notice him! Hot jockey shorts! Ah! Warm! Welcoming! The pants, the socks; quick the undershirt, then shirt, sweater; undoff the cap, then insticken the raincoat. By the time the coat was completely dry, he'd found a large piece of plastic, enough to cover his socks to insulate them against the stilldamp shoes. Coat on, feeling at least something like a whole person again, leaving passed a matronly mamma with a lambleggy, runnynosed rug rat. Lady, if you only knew what you just missed.
    --What's good? What's not good? Words in the deli. I suggest big, bulky roll, three pounds on it nice, fresh, Kosher ham--that'll be the day!--pound and half imported