Charles
Journal
Charles
 These are the happiest times, from Thanksgiving through Christmas, culminating in the celebration of the New Year on New Year's Eve. Then it's back to "Dry January" an exercise of abstaining from alcohol for the entirety of the first month of the year. This is a time when many people take time to reflect on their life and appreciate what they have. It is also an opportunity to reset and start the year off on a positive note. And certainly, I'm feeling the effects of overindulgence. I feel as bloated as a beached whale or as if I'm three months pregnant, with no end in sight to this 'food baby' if I don't put a halt to it. One effective strategy is to set realistic goals for daily food intake and exercise a lot, ensuring you stay active throughout the holiday season. Another approach is to practice mindful eating by savoring each bite and listening to your body's hunger cues, which can help prevent overeating. Staying hydrated and getting adequate sleep are essential also for maintaining energy levels and reducing the temptation to overindulge. Reducing alcohol consumption is likely beneficial too. It's challenging to convey that to a 30-year-old man you sometimes 'know', who weighs no more than 135 pounds with no body fat, that as you age as in your case, your bones grow larger. While drinking in moderation remains important, prioritizing healthy eating habits is crucial. A balanced diet and regular exercise can help maintain a healthy weight and lower osteoporosis risk. I believe that genetics provide a solid foundation for our health as well. Therefore, it's not overly concerning if your mother weighs only 100 pounds. However, the unknown factors from your paternal side could also be relevant. Pondering whether these are really the happiest days is overwhelming. As I indulge in another serving of leftovers, free from worry, and enjoy a Twilight Zone marathon on Pluto TV, I'll let these be my final thoughts... at least for the moment.
  
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 Gazing down Howard Street, one can see Fort Hill and Bear Mountain alongside the Hudson in Peekskill, NY. Happy Thanksgiving, almost. Despite current events, the world remains delightful and continues to spin. We must let the past remain where it belongs, in the past, and seek joy in our present environment, claiming it firmly as our own, and refrain from fixating on an uncertain future or regretting what could not be. For Thanksgiving, wherever you are, gratitude allows us to appreciate the present and those with whom we share it, fostering a sense of contentment and peace. Acknowledging our blessings cultivates an outlook of abundance rather than scarcity. This practice boosts our overall well-being and strengthens our connections with others, whose blood is as red as yours and mine. PPS takes a pause in Chapter 16 after presenting SFPD Inspector Samuel Cush, a tall man of Ethiopian heritage, during a lunch at North Beach's Sotto Mare where Zeno and Abel's gazes intersect. "As the world turns, we know the bleakness of winter, the promise of spring, the fullness of summer, and the harvest of autumn—the cycle of life is complete." —Irna Phillips, creator of As the World Turns, The Guiding Light, Painted Dreams, The Right to Life, These Are My Children, Our Private World, Love Is a Many Splendored Thing.
 The Amazing Lucas I've been tuning into Amazing Lucas; his content is hilarious, insightful, and engaging, especially his takes on politics which are spot-on and always give me a good laugh. The voting patterns of Latino men in the recent election have indeed been surprising to many. It's become challenging to view them in the same light or to maintain the same level of trust. I share Lucas's perspective that the liberal grouping of diverse communities under the 'people of color' umbrella has diluted its intent and disproportionately affected the black community. When analyzing the demographics, it becomes apparent that Black men, diverging from the GOP populist trend, supported Kamala Harris alongside their Black female counterparts, resulting in one of the highest demographic turnouts in the country. Other demographics, however, did not meet expectations... thus, we now understand our standing in their perspective.    2024 Exit Poll  Under the stars in the dark at Annsville Creek  An Ocean Beach cave at low tide in San Francisco. Writing can sometimes be an exhausting endeavor. You begin to wonder if it wouldn't have been better to shine shoes in a street corner booth for instant gratification, like posting on Facebook—regardless of whether anyone likes what you post, you do it anyway like a terrible addiction. Tonight, I found a sunflower, likely the last one of the season. I had seen it the day before, standing tall and proud, but tonight, it had succumbed, its stem bent, facing the ground. So, I decided it was meant for me. My final memento of Fall 2024, I brought it home where it now stands proud and tall once more. In Chapter 15, more about Precious May was revealed—her ambitions, her sudden infatuation with Ahab, and a murder. PRECIOUS MAY As E’la Solita Storia sung by Luciano Pavarotti played over the stereo at Precious May’s living room apartment on Leavenworth Street in the Civic Center, Precious was seated at her vanity in her bedroom, applying the finishing touches to her makeup, accentuating her lustrous lips and managing her tangled red hair. She felt disheveled today, a sentiment reflected in her blue eyes that were not so electric, due to the relentless mist and rain drenching the city. While rain benefited the planet, an excess always left her feeling irritable and devoid of spirit. Although she anticipated that Ahab might disagree, the thought brought a smile to her face. Ahab was always one to embrace the rain, often dancing in the downpour with unrestrained joy and claiming it invigorated his soul. Precious found it amusing because his enthusiasm was in stark contrast to her own gloominess on such days. Imagining his carefree demeanor in the midst of the storm made her chuckle, even as she tried to tame her unruly hair. She anticipated that soon they would possess a substantial amount of money, rightfully Ahab's, which his brother, Abel, had effectively stolen by usurping Ahab's birthright to amass a greater fortune. Once they reclaimed his wealth and more, she could abandon her current profession. They could relocate to an exotic locale like Tahiti, escaping the chaos once and for all. Perhaps there, she could become the woman Ahab merited, the one he yearned to hold eternally. In Tahiti, Precious imagined a serene existence, with the island's vivid colors reflecting the joy she craved. She wouldn't mind the rainy season since it was hotter there. The idea of soaking in the sun, far from the city's gloom and incessant rain and fog, gave her a feeling of serenity. She aspired for a new beginning, to cast aside her former hardships and wholeheartedly accept the love and life she and Ahab were meant to share. The doorbell rang. With a sigh, she reluctantly closed her gown and rose to answer it. Terry stood there, presenting a rose and the cash he had borrowed, now returning it. She expressed her gratitude and invited him inside. "You look gorgeous," he said, his voice tinged with nervousness. "Looks can be deceiving," she replied. "Please, take a seat. I'll fix you a drink. And thank you for the rose and the money. You didn't have to repay me so soon." "I have just received my payment," he stated calmly. "It was important to settle this. Without prompt payment, my bi-weekly disability check would be depleted quickly." "Do you have a habit? A sick addiction?" "I freak out sometimes. I'm not perfect. Don't we all?" "No, not all of us." "Of course, I don't mean you. You're exceptional, Precious." For once, he appeared clean, bordering on attractive, yet still not quite there. Precious found herself gazing at him, a sense of dismay washing over her, questioning the reason. "Let's place your rose in water. I'll go change and return shortly. Please, take a seat, won't you?" "Yes, yes, yes," Terry said, sitting on the white sofa. "By the way," Precious added before she left the room, "you look sweet. Very nice." "Thank you, Precious. That's exactly what I was hoping to hear." "I know," she said with a smile. "You deserve it. Now relax yourself." After she left, Terry rose and faced the mirror, slicking his hair back. He retrieved a breath spray and freshened his mouth. Naturally nervous, he found comfort in the fact that Precious was a professional. His worries faded except for one... and for once, he was actually in the mood for that. Who wouldn't want Precious May and a romp in the hay? This thought made him laugh heartily. Hearing his laughter, Precious's voice came through the door, tinged with concern. He assured her he was fine and hurried back to the sofa, sitting upright and composed, as though he had been mischievous and was now caught. As Shostakovich played, Terry didn't want to waltz but felt compelled to when Precious reappeared in the doorway, the stem of a rose held in her mouth. Her sheer lace see-through black dress was a testament to her self-assuredness and comfort in her own white skin. She moved with confidence, casting an alluring look at Terry that stirred a blend of admiration and nervous anticipation in him. He was enthralled by her poise and the seamless grace of her movements. Standing up, he pondered whether this was the precipice of a life-altering moment. "How do I look?" she asked. "Stunning, although I expected something more understated." "The night is young," she said, heading to the bar. "A drink, as promised." "Did you, now?" "Absolutely," she replied, setting the rose in a glass of water before beginning to mix a cocktail for Terry, discreetly adding a bit from a small brown bottle she had stashed in a locked drawer. "I hope this does the trick. Have you seen Ahab around lately?" "Just a couple of times; he's always on the go ever since he mentioned that fortune his brother possesses." "A fortune for the three of us," Precious said, gazing into empty space as she stirred the drink she brought to Terry. As she handed him the glass, her eyes flickered with a hint of mischief. "You see, I've got plans for that fortune," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "And this drink should ensure that everything goes smoothly, with you by my side." "A fortune split in two is indeed better," Terry said, taking a big gulp of his drink. "How did you know?" Precious teased, touching his side. Terry paused, his eyes widening slightly as the unexpected bitterness hit his palate. "That's quite a kick," he remarked, trying to mask his surprise with a smile. “I just guessed,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling faint. Precious watched him intently, her eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "Finish your drink?" she urged and stroked his chest. "I'll make you another." Terry felt woozy as he heard Renee Fleming's hauntingly beautiful voice coming from the stereo. "Already?" he mumbled again. His vision started to blur, and the room appeared to sway, making it difficult to keep his balance. A cold sweat formed on his forehead as his heart pounded, each throb resounding in his ears. He attempted to focus on Precious, but her image seemed to duplicate, and he fought to hold onto reality. He collapsed back onto the sofa, imagining Precious's laughter. "Precious," he murmured, "I'm not feeling well. I can't figure out what's wrong." "It's going to be alright," Precious reassured him, kneeling and gently stroking his side. "Just recline and relax. It will pass before you know it. Here, let me help you with another drink." Terry was caught in a whirlwind of emotions, torn between the evening's excitement and the unsettling feelings within. His heart fluttered with the prospect of romance, yet his mind was clouded with uncertainty and doubt. Accepting the drink, he pondered whether his nerves were undermining what could be a defining moment in his life. For Precious, it was indeed a defining moment—driven by a desire for freedom and control over her own life that didn't include sex work for the rest of her life. She wanted to ensure that her future with Ahab was secure and unencumbered by ties to Terry Bono or others who might interfere. She was determined to create a new beginning, where she and Ahab could live comfortably and pursue their dreams without looking back while Terry, feeling immobilized, sank into the sofa. "Terry," she said, shaking him first gently, then more vigorously, but Terry remained unresponsive in his unconscious state. She lifted his eyelid; his eyeball didn't roll back, indicating he was alive. She checked his pulse—it was weak, but present; his heart was beating, indicating he was alive. Afterwards, she retrieved small plastic packets of a pink substance from a hidden box in her vanity drawer, and she brought them back to the living room. Meticulously, she lined Terry's pockets with one packet and hid two packets in his wallet between a couple of bills, the rest of bills, several c-notes, she tucked in her bosom. She smelt his breath as she opened his mouth, rubbed her nose and kissed him anyway, before applying one packet of the substance to his tongue and the inside cheeks of his mouth. She stood up, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination as she carried out her plan. A sense of urgency gripped her, knowing that this was her chance to secure her future away from the life she desperately wanted to escape. Yet, beneath the adrenaline, a pang of guilt lingered, reminding her of the consequences of her actions toward a john on the verge of an overdose. "That is how the police would perceive it," she remarked, smiling and folding her arms as she stood over Terry, who remained motionless with his startled eyes wide open.
Shostakovich: Jazz Suite No. 2: VI. Waltz II · Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
 In PPS, Union Square in San Francisco serves as one of the backdrops in Chapter X where Ahab, previously mentioned in Chapter 1, is unveiled to the audience. Ahab in dirty attire observes Abel, who is unaware of his presence, skating on the ice rink. It is here that Ahab contemplates his plan to exact revenge on Abel. Last night, I stumbled upon an unusual gathering at the entrance of Annsville Creek, inside the old Boxing First Gym. It was lively with Latinos and the rapid rhythms of Mexican-style music, evoking images of red swing dresses and swift, pointed boots... a stereotype, admittedly. It's astonishing how some can dance so swiftly to an offbeat rhythm and still make it work. A somewhat charming man with a mustache offered me a beer alongside his friend; we exchanged a few words, yet I declined the beverage as I was simply passing through and not intending to partake in the celebrations. Yet. I almost accepted his offer before remembering it would be too much of a distraction. I attempted to explain this without sounding harsh, but I fear I may have been insensitive when I asked if he spoke English to ensure he understood. Although he was speaking English, his heavy accent made it difficult to comprehend. Seeing someone try so hard yet struggle evoked a sense of sadness in me. We exchanged warm handshakes, and I proceeded on my walk, using the time to cool off and clear my thoughts. I mulled over the happenings at Zelta's 82nd birthday party in Chapter 14. I considered renaming Zelta after the character she is based on, my ex-partner's mother, Zerita E., who was named after a gypsy woman her father admired. The year I met Zerita, she, like Zelta, had just turned 82 when we lived in San Francisco. That partner has passed away from a heart attack, I have moved, and I think Zerita, as well as another son who caused so much trouble, have also passed away. These musings were put on hold until I returned home past midnight, at which point I discovered several truths about the characters that had previously escaped me. There is a particular joy in being taken by surprise when your characters dictate the story's direction, diverging from the initial outline—it's as if they are telling you how it should unfold, and you are merely transcribing their tale. CHAPTER 14: Zelta Erikson On a cold and rainy December 1st, Zelta Erikson lay in bed feeling under the weather. Nonetheless, her spirits lifted with a birthday cake, festooned with what appeared to be a thousand candles, casting a glow across the room. Abel, with his booming voice, joined by Zeno, Zaide, Nurse Wilma Hope, and Rosa, encircled her, singing 'Happy Birthday' to celebrate Zelta's 82nd year. The guests, including Abel, her second son, and his close friend Zaide Brown, seemed to take charge of the festivities. However, Zelta momentarily pondered the presence of Ahab, her eldest, and his absence when they assisted her in blowing out the candles. Zeno Eliot, a distinguished gentleman highly regarded by Abel above all others, brought youthful enthusiasm to the event. Nurse Wilma and Rosa, her reliable healthcare worker and maid respectively, offered steadfast support throughout various challenges. She favored Rosa's assistance over Nurse Wilma Hope, who often appeared too severe and regularly highlighted her errors. Despite her advanced years, she believed that the concepts of right and wrong were more ambiguous. The love and care shown at her celebration were appreciated, yet the absence of Ahab was a source of disappointment. The laughter and joy present couldn't fully bridge the void created by her eldest son's mysterious absence. Nevertheless, Zelta found comfort in the warmth and commitment of those who came together to celebrate her day. Now, they were presenting her with gifts and vying for the honor to assist her with the first one. However, it was the gift shrouded in white cloth on an easel that held her attention the most, and Wilma Hope captured her gaze before anyone else did. "She wants that one," Wilma indicated, gesturing towards the easel. "Señor Zeno's offering," Rosa remarked. "In fact, it's my present, as I was the one who commissioned it," Abel clarified, slightly tipsy from the martini he held, "Please bring it over to mother, Zeno, since it's your creation." "Zeno is an artist?" inquired Zelta. "Indeed, he is," Zaide affirmed proudly, remembering the impressive painting she had seen in the studio, which portrayed Zelta on horseback. Zeno approached with the easel, a smile gracing his features. "It was an honor to paint you, Mrs. Erikson," he said, bestowing a kiss upon her cheek—a gesture laden with heartfelt emotion. It conjured memories of his biological mother and their volatile mix of love and disdain. She was the mother who both wept and raged, who had exposed him on an island where his identity was deemed a sin. They hauled him to a fervent Holiness Pentecostal church, where congregants spoke in tongues amidst tears and prayers. A dozen hands, quivering with intent, were placed upon him to exorcise his 'demons' as his mother shrieked, "You see them! I see the demons coming out. Everyone, hold your Bibles." Matthew Rae, from the sole white family among the community of tomato farmers and shrimpers, became his beacon of hope, persuading Zeno and himself to leave Queen Esther's Island for good, driven away by the hostility of its inhabitants. Escaping to Charleston, they were adrift, homeless and troubled, until the night Zeno met another guardian, a true savior, Abel Erikson "But how could this be? I wasn't there for this," Zelta said, her gaze shifting bewilderedly from one face to another. "Using a photograph," Abel revealed. "Rosa, could you fetch the photo album from the library? There ought to be an additional copy of the photograph I gave Zeno for mother's portrait. It's on the middle shelf, under the safe. Please bring it here so I can show the inspiration to Mother." By now Wilma Hope had finally finished applying Zelta's makeup, a task she had been grappling with since the start of the party. "I'm aware you're not in the best of spirits, Ms. Erikson, but you look truly lovely today," Wilma remarked, taking pride in her work that featured a subtle touch of rouge, eyeshadow, and a pinkish hue of lipstick for Zelta’s thin lips. "Yes, she does look lovely, doesn't she, Abel?" said Zaide. Abel rolled his eyes, recalling the days when he was Zelta's favorite. Ahab had always been the golden child in their father's eyes until equilibrium was restored. Dismissing the thought, he tried to cherish the bond with Zelta as it was before, free from guilt and suspicion. However, a twinge of jealousy surfaced whenever Ahab's name was mentioned. As a child, he had longed for the same level of attention and admiration from their father that Ahab seemed to receive effortlessly. Despite reaching an understanding as adults, lingering competitiveness sometimes overshadowed his love for his brother. This continued until their father, Jacob, was heartbroken by Abel's deceit. Consequently, Jacob revised his will to exclude Ahab shortly before he passed away, unaware of the actual truth of Ahab's innocence. He shook his head, looked at Zaide, and finally said, “You look lovely, mother,” as he poured himself another martini. He sipped, remembering Zelta kept climbing into bed with him until he was 16 years old. 16 years old! That was embarrassing for him, and sometimes he hated her for it. Hated the woman who made him. He was unable to tell the others in the room what he truly thought of a mother who wanted something he couldn't give. As Rosa reentered the room, Zeno unveiled the portrait, eliciting a look of surprise on Zelta's face. Rosa approached to view the portrait herself. It depicted a younger Zelta with flowing blonde hair, seated on a horse, her form both graceful and beautiful. Rosa, impressed, gazed at Zeno, pondering whether he could capture her likeness with similar finesse. Zelta's eyes widened with astonishment and nostalgia as she gazed at the painting. She was touched by how accurately Zeno had captured her youthful essence and spirit from a photograph Abel showed her. Her voice trembled slightly as she expressed her gratitude and admiration for the artist's talent. "Goodness me," she repeated, until she was weeping with happiness. Wilma hugged her shoulder and patted her back as Zelta pulled away and stretched her arms out to Zeno, who embraced her warmly. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much, young man. But how did you do it?" Zeno recounted the discovery of the photograph in the album for her again, which she forgot so quickly. Overwhelmed with awe, she wept tears of happiness as the memory of that day and her horse, Starfire, returned and a wave of bittersweet emotions swept over her. She recalled the freedom and exhilaration of riding through the meadows, the wind in her hair, the sun on her face. Those memories of carefree days warmed her heart, mingled with a touch of longing for times past. As the chatter continued about the portrait and more reminiscing of yesterdays, Zelta's interest in the other gifts still wrapped appeared forlorn as Wilma and Rosa opened them on her behalf, particularly their own. Abel handed the album to Zeno to take away and whispered something to Zaide about something he needed to sign as Zeno walked over to the window and sat down on the seat with the album. He had seen it before but had never looked beyond Zelta's photo with Starfire. Now, he examined the other pictures of the entire family, all with dark hair except for Zelta’s blonde curls, and none of them smiling except for one boy on the right who looked identical to the boy on the left who didn't smile. Zeno squinted for a closer look. Indeed, they were the same. In the center was their father, Jacob a tall bearded man wearing a hat and suit, in a family portrait from when the boys were young, possibly teenagers. He was struck by how much Abel and Ahab resembled each other as children as well, almost like twins. Finally, he came across an older close-up photo of Ahab, which surprised him because he couldn't discern whether it was Ahab or Abel. "Abel," he called out, his voice nearly a shout. Abel approached, martini in hand, looking like he might pass out soon. "What's up, love? By the way, thank you for bringing so much joy to Mother.” "Is this him, your brother?" Zeno asked, gesturing towards Ahab's photograph. "Or is it you? I can’t tell." Abel chuckled as he sat beside him on the window seat. "That’s Ahab. We may resemble twins, but we're not. I'm the better-looking one, wouldn't you agree?" He planted a kiss on Zeno's cheek, who was momentarily speechless. “Are you the oldest?" Zeno finally continued. "No, he is older by two whole years. Can you believe that? People always used to get us mixed up, including father and mother. It's funny how that happens. I guess it must be because of our similar looks. It's a good thing we have different birthdays or else we would have been in trouble! One time, Ahab went to my class by mistake and took a test for me. The teacher didn't notice, and neither did any of the students. It wasn't until the grades were posted that I realized I had aced a subject I was struggling with. Ahab and I had a good laugh about it, but we made sure to be more careful after that!" "Then at one point, you were very close?" Zeno asked. "Yes, we were. Despite some disagreements, the family remained close until our father passed away," Abel said, pausing briefly. He then added, "You know, let's not discuss it today. It's my mother's birthday, and everyone is happy. We should avoid past hurts for now. I'll explain it some other time." Abel observed the guests in the room, noting the festive atmosphere with laughter, the aroma of freshly baked cake, and cheerful music playing softly in the background. He offered Zeno a slight smile. Rosa, still laughing, approached and glanced at the photograph they were examining. Her eyes widened in horror, and her lips pressed into a tight line, seemingly restraining words of disapproval. Her brow creased subtly, and her typically warm and welcoming manner turned to one of wary apprehension, a gesture Zeno recognized as a clear indication of Rosa's dislike for Ahab Erikson. "Rosa," Abel said, rising to comfort her, "Are you alright?" "I'm sorry, Señor Abel. Ha pasado tanto tiempo since I've thought about Señor Ahab or see a picture." "It's just a picture, Rosa. Ahab isn't here. You're still afraid of him, aren't you?" "Me sentí aliviado cuando lo desalojaste de la casa." "Sigues aquí. Eso es importante. Don't worry so much, I'm working on your visa. No te deportarán." "Espero que sí, rezo a Dios todos los días." Zeno silently observed their exchange and glanced at Ahab's photo, recognizing him as Abel in 'Cuddles'. This realization startled him, prompting him to close the album abruptly. The loud thud as it struck the floor caught Abel and Rosa off guard just as Zaide approached.  The Eriksons reside in the last house atop the Pemberton Place steps, locally known as Pemberton Steps in PPS, situated below Twin Peaks in San Francisco.  Gorgeous Brandon Simosa, 25 years old, a notably troublesome individual, has finally been apprehended. He is one of a several migrants who have caused significant disruption in New York City, to the extent that it feels unsafe to walk down a dark alley at night taking pictures in your own head. Regardless of one's gender or level of distraction, a Brandon lurks around the corner with a crack pipe. The lyrics "Crazy yellow people walking through my head, one of them's got a gun, to shoot the other one" are from the song "Crazy" by Seal. The song reflects on the madness of the world and the need for individuality and personal freedom. In five years, we may forget everything else, but we'll embrace this new small-town life and find happiness.
 My head is reeling tonight after penning the connection between Ahab and Precious May. Precious, a woman embodying both light and darkness, possesses a beauty that is not just ephemeral but perilous. She has the power to drive a man to murder just for a chance at her soul. Afterwards, at 5:00 a.m., I found myself walking in the rain to the river, seeking solace from the intense presence of Precious May and Ahab Erikson. There's something about the quiet solitude of the night that allows creativity to flow more freely, unburdened by the distractions of the day. The darkness and stillness provide an intimate space for the mind to explore complex characters and relationships. Writing at night can be a cathartic experience, where emotions are raw, and ideas can be fully realized without interruption. Chapter 13: Precious May (DRAFT) Precious May entered Aunt Charley's Lounge on Turk Street, a dimly lit dive bar adorned with 1970s decor, meat racks under wall mirrors, and a disco ball shimmering near the lavatory's darkness. The bar, filled with a diverse crowd of men varying in size, shape, and ethnicity turned their attention to see her stride confidently across the worn carpet, her fiery red hair a stark contrast, leaving them uncertain if she was a woman or a drag queen or transgender unabashed by her profession or appearance. She wore a sequined emerald, green dress that clung to her curves, reflecting the dim light with every step she took. Her stiletto heels, though soundless, dug rhythmically against the carpet in the way she walked, and a silver choker adorned her neck, adding a touch of elegance to her bold ensemble. Completing her look was a black feathered boa draped over her shoulders, swaying gently as she moved through the crowd and found a seat at the end of bar by the disco ball. The bartender, a mature man with striking white hair and a Polish-sounding accent, approached her. "What may I bring for you, lovely lady?" he asked, his accent unmistakably European to Precious's ears. "I'll have a strawberry daiquiri," she replied, "and make sure it's loaded with strawberries." "For you, my lady, it shall be overflowing with strawberries," he affirmed. "Thank you," she said. "Beautiful hair," he complimented. She smiled and crossed her legs. The gaze of every man in the room was on her, but it didn't bother her. She knew they were all powerless queens to charm her, which was why she loved gay bars. For Precious May, gay bars offered a sanctuary where she could be herself without the judgment or unwanted advances she often faced elsewhere. The camaraderie and acceptance she found in these spaces allowed her to let her guard down and enjoy a sense of belonging. Moreover, the vibrant atmosphere and colorful personalities made her feel alive, providing a welcome escape from the mundanity of being a whore for pay. The bar boasted a jukebox that played 'Billie Jean' by Michael Jackson, a tune she found pleasurable. The bartender came back with her daiquiri, adorned with more strawberries than she had imagined. He watched as she took a sip. Her approval brought a smile to his face. "What's your name?" he asked. "Call me Precious." "Precious," he repeated, extending a welcome with a warm handshake, "I've never seen you here before. Welcome to Aunt Charley's. Are you by yourself?" "No, I'm waiting for a friend." "Lucky friend," he remarked. "I believe so," she murmured. "You're safe here," he assured her before departing to assist another patron, just as she took another gulp and Ahab's deep voice resonated. His presence was commanding yet comforting, a gentle giant in Precious’s eyes. And his contagious laugh that she admired so much could be heard above the music. As Ahab took a seat on the stool beside her, he inquired, "What are you drinking?" "A strawberry daiquiri. It's quite good for a place like this," she replied. "Sissy drink," Ahab scoffed and signaled the bartender, who approached promptly. "So, you're the lucky one?" the bartender asked. "What?" Ahab furrowed his brow in confusion. Precious laughed, "He thinks you're my date. My man. It's alright." "Got a Pabst?" “You bet, big guy!" the bartender replied and left to get him a Pabst Blue Ribbon. As Rod Stewart’s ‘Do Ya Think I’m Sexy' began to play on the jukebox, Ahab turned to Precious and asked, "So, does one roll in the hay mean I'm your date now?" "Well, you're definitely not a client.” "Seriously," Ahab said, taking hold of Precious, which concerned the bartender. However, Precious reassured him with a nod that she was fine. "I don't like you streetwalking. A girl like you should be adorned with diamonds and furs and well taken care of. You're the kind of woman a man wants to spoil. It's like unwrapping the gift you've always wanted and expected to find under the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. Then, you open it and see the joy reflected in your face." "You know, I was expecting a three-way the other night with you and Terry, even wanted it," Precious said, "but I was surprised and yet elated that old Terry passed out on the bathroom floor." "Me too, baby," Ahab said, kissing her neck and then her lips as the bartender brought over his beer. Ahab made a toast and clinked his can against Precious's glass, his hazel eyes twinkling, feeling something for someone else that overwhelmed his heart for the first time in a long while. “It was just us for each other without Terry that night,” he continued. “Fuck a three-way, I didn't want it with no man. But with you, me, another woman," Ahab gestured with a big grin. "My 8 inches wouldn’t get enough. Damn your eyes, girl. Damn your curves. Damn the sight of you for entrapping me inside of you without mercy." "Honey," Precious exhaled, "when do you plan to clean that thing?" Ahab gave her a puzzled expression. "What thing?" he inquired. "Your bathroom, silly. It's a disaster. An absolute mess." "Now you're patronizing me after all I’ve said." "Absolutely not." “Okay. I'm waiting for you to help me clean it." Precious laughed, "You'll be waiting an eternity then. Even though I am a working girl, I don't clean windows or bathroom floors. I don't do housework at all. Don’t be stupid, you know that." “But girl, you do one thing,” Ahab paused after taking a swig of his beer. “What’s that?” “The best blowjob a man can stand. Your throat is a perceptual windshield-wiper. Magnifica!” "One might say my skills are honed from extensive practice." "As the reigning champion of organized chaos, your methodology delivers. Girl, you got me cummin’ right now in my trouser just thinking about it.” "Be quiet," Precious insisted, placing a finger over his lips. "Modesty? From you?" Ahab murmured. "I deserve respect as a woman. Why should it be otherwise?" “I am not paying no hooker.” "But you will," Precious declared, "With your brother's tainted millions, you'll become my Adam. We both crave the whole tree, Ahab, just like Eve and the fruit she gladly ate from that tree. I am your Eve, and you cannot forsake it." She kissed him fervently as 'Sweet Dreams' by The Eurythmics emanated from the jukebox.
  Suspended 70 feet above ground, Salesforce Park is a lush green oasis amid sky-high buildings in downtown San Francisco. The verdant 5.4-acre park that crowns the Salesforce Transit Center that used to be Transbay Terminal from 1939 to 2010. Living in a small town north of New York City offers many delightful moments. This is especially true if you get to know people well enough to learn their first names, even if their last names remain a mystery. I had the most enchanting conversation tonight with Elizabeth, the Mexican woman who runs the 99-cent store on Main Street where nothing is 99-cents at all but a lot more, about our love for our grandparents and the survival skills they possessed, which seem to be lost to our generation. Then, one of my acquaintances walked in, all macho and nonchalant. This is because he, like most Latin men, doesn't want his secrets revealed, as if I knew what that's supposed to mean. I guess I do, but I don't really care to hide in a closet. It's no surprise that I'm frustrated with them. A Peekskill story should be under development for the next manuscript. And who will be murdered? He joined our conversation and shared how fortunate we were to have known our grandparents, unlike him, who never met his in Puerto Rico. He had mentioned this to me before, but we hadn't discussed it with someone else, which made it interesting. Furthermore, he disclosed that he was a premature baby, delivered by C-section, weighing no more than 2 pounds, small enough to fit in his mother's palm. This revelation touched Elizabeth deeply, and she exclaimed, "It's a miracle of God that you're here. See how God works..." As I made an urgent excuse to leave, he said he would call me later. I was indifferent to whether he would call or not, as I was eager to return to writing and made no plans to see or chat with anyone. I left them and headed to Latin Deli to see Danny and pick up a few items. After leaving a beer for Mr. Macho and man keeping Danny company, the man, a mature Dominican man said I was an admirable man. I smiled, thanked him, wished them goodnight and disappeared. In Chapter 11, Precious May has undergone transformation. While strolling down Central Avenue, I encountered a woman with fiery red hair, electric blue eyes, very pale with freckles across her face. She was lovely, alluring and gentle, which inspired me to reimagine her as Precious May, culminating the chapter with a dramatic twist. Having revised Precious May, I've moved on to Chapter 12, set in an African American bar named Cuddles, formerly located in the old Transbay Terminal, which is now Salesforce Transit Center. Cuddles in Transbay Terminal is the setting for Zeno Eliot's clandestine meeting with Travis Weatherford, unbeknownst to Abel. CHAPTER 12 draft (Cuddles) Zeno disembarked from the #14Mission bus at the Transbay Terminal, weaving through the throng of commuters boarding buses home to various East Bay cities and suburbs. Making his way to the Fremont Street exit, he located Cuddles, a discreet bar in San Francisco that remained unknown to many. Inside, the bar boasted an eclectic mix of vintage furniture and dim lighting that created an intimate atmosphere. A hidden door led to a speakeasy-style lounge where patrons could enjoy craft cocktails made with rare spirits. The walls were decorated with local artwork, contributing to the bar's enigmatic allure, with many patrons sharing his African American heritage. Locating Travis was straightforward; he was seated in a rear booth, distinguishable as one of the few white individuals present. As Zeno slid into the booth opposite Travis, the conversation naturally steered toward their shared passion for each other and the jazz music playing. Zeno hesitated, unsure if it was safe to kiss Travis here, but he did so anyway. Travis reassured him that it was indeed safe. After all, they were in San Francisco and not Kansas anymore, and at this realization, they laughed. The barmaid, a graceful woman with glowing chocolate-hued skin, came over and took their orders for a cocktail crafted with premium spirits and enriched with herbs, she assured them it would be delectable... "I hope someday we won't have to sneak around at all," Travis responded. "Me too," Zeno replied thoughtfully, recalling his conversation with Zaide that had piqued his interest in Abel's will. He pondered his potential inheritance, something he had never considered before, as he had never envisioned Abel's death. It had seemed so improbable, yet it was inevitable for Abel, as it was for everyone born of a woman. He viewed Abel as a steadfast figure in his life, someone who seemed invincible. Their relationship was complex, filled with unspoken understanding and mutual respect. Student and teacher in a union he had reluctantly agreed to because of his financial situation, which made the thought of Abel's absence even more daunting. The prospect of an inheritance now forced him to confront the reality of Abel's mortality and the changes it would bring to his own life. Maybe his passing would unlock new opportunities, allowing him and Travis to be together in one place. He had acquired so much: his studio, a spacious house with Abel; indeed, he was wealthy if Abel was by his side. However, everything changed when he met Travis Weatherford. For the first time in his life, he found himself deeply in love with the person who sat before him, someone who wasn’t rich and gently touching his hand. "A penny for your thoughts?" asked Travis. "There's so much to consider." "You're going to tell him, aren't you? That we are lovers and plan to stay together?" Travis wanted to express more since they had not thoroughly discussed it such as Clarence's passing from a terminal illness from a disturbing new sexual disease. Now, he harbored fears of being diagnosed with the same illness that had taken Clarence's life, as they had spent six years together. If he was infected, had contracted it, their time together would be limited. He wished for Zeno to comprehend that, regardless of whether he chose to flee or remain, their bond was fundamentally anchored in love and care. As the jazz quartet played Miles Davis’s 'Kind of Blue: All Blues', tears welled up in Zeno's eyes as he looked at Travis, coinciding with the barmaid's arrival carrying their cocktails. She set them down on the table and smiled warmly at Zeno. He gave her a shy smile and returned his gaze to Travis. They both knew that something special was happening between them. After Travis raised his glass to toast to their future, Zeno halted, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to speak. However, the words escaped him. Eventually, he managed a weak "To our future," his glass chiming faintly against Travis’s. “Wait a minute," Zeno persisted, noticing a man staring at them. He was the only other white face in the bar and bore an uncanny resemblance to Abel. He placed his glass on the table, "That man," he whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief. He couldn't shake the feeling it was Abel. Travis traced Zeno's line of sight. "Which man?" he inquired, intrigued by the similarity. The man met their gaze, then hastened away. Disturbed as Zeno was, especially since Jerry Adkisson had cautioned him about the peril of crossing Abel, Travis sipped his drink. "He bore a striking resemblance to Abel," he admitted. Zeno nodded, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest as he considered whether Abel was already aware of their affair. If that were the case, secrecy with Travis would be unnecessary. However, if Abel was not involved, they were dealing with an undisclosed motive. "Maybe, it was Abel." "But that can't be,” Zeno said. “Abel should be at Lake Tahoe with Zaide for the weekend." Travis felt a chill run down his spine as he considered the implications. If the man wasn't Abel, it could mean that someone else was trying to impersonate him, possibly for malicious reasons. The idea of a potential threat lurking nearby made him uneasy, and he wondered if they should alert Abel or the police about the strange encounter. Glancing over, he caught the barmaid's attention and signaled for another round of the same craft cocktail, along with two shots of Scotch.
 Salesforce Tower Transit Center  Salesforce Tower has been the tallest skyscraper in San Francisco since 2017.  San Francisco's The Tenderloin Once deeply invested without an office job getting in the way, characters persist in your thoughts, accompanying you everywhere and gently prodding you. Sometimes, their antics make you laugh. These characters have been a part of my life for as long as I can recall, remaining the same; Zeno Eliot, the artist famed for his romantic adventures more than his canvas artwork, will always be 21. I had never progressed with the story beyond Abel's Thanksgiving party in Chapter 9 until recently. Now, in Chapter 11 where I paused at 2 o'clock in the morning, intriguing new fictional characters emerge. These characters include Ahab, who is the spitting image of his brother Abel and seeks revenge against him. Abel and Ahab aren't twins but separated in age by two years, a peculiar detail crafted solely as a motive for murder. Then there's Precious May, a Tenderloin gap-tooth prostitute with big blonde hair. She is introduced during a strip poker game in Ahab's dilapidated SRO on Turk Street. She becomes entangled in Ahab's scheme to rob Abel, or at least, that's Ahab's wicked plan... AHAB Hearing a banging at the door, Ahab quickly stood up, rearranged his pants and opened the door. It was Terry Bono, carrying a bag of whiskey and accompanied by a gap-tooth woman with big blonde hair he had previously seen on the street as a prostitute. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to invite them in or send them away. Despite his initial reluctance, the sight of the much-needed supplies in Terry's arms swayed his decision. With a resigned sigh, he stepped aside to let them enter, grateful for the temporary relief they brought. "What's your name again?" Ahab asked the woman who settled on the edge of the bed near Terry, as he pulled up a chair. "Precious May," she replied with a smoky voice. "Ahab Erikson," he introduced himself, extending a hand that she grasped warmly, "Nice to meet you, Ahab." "Let's get this party started!" Terry said, pulling out two bottles of whiskey. Meanwhile, Ahab picked up three glasses, rinsed them, and then handed them over, one to Terry, the other, Precious. "Here's to new friendships and unforgettable nights," Ahab said with a grin, raising his glass. "May this evening bring us much laughter and stories worth remembering." "Hear, hear!" Terry hooted. "Cheers!" Precious chimed in. "Let's play a few rounds of poker," Terry proposed, pulling out a deck of cards. "I've got skills that could break the bank." "Strip poker?" Precious suggested with a sly smile. Ahab chuckled. "Engage in a game of strip poker, and pray, Precious May, you have the most at stake." “What do you mean?” "Your charm and attire, naturally," Ahab replied... To the delight of the men after the first round, Precious lost the first round and removed one item of clothing, her jacket.
 Turk Street in the Tenderloin where Ahab lives in the Barbary Coast Hotel.  A not so quiet night out in New York... Frankly, drinking offers no benefits. To maintain productivity in writing the next day, one must work harder after consuming alcohol, particularly when attention to detail and exploration are required, as in my case. Although I appreciate my new acquaintances, I need to establish stricter boundaries and remove the substances they bring into my life that neither provide pleasure nor allow me to feel secure in my environment when influenced by them. The men in this town exhibit a mix of passive-aggression and charm, yet they seem melancholic; their true intentions elude me. While I believe I understand their pursuits, I must not to engage in their relentless desires any longer or delve into their underlying issues. Now I understand what women, or "versatile bottoms" go through with horny men. You are the object that fulfills their every need. It makes me feel sad and sick. At the end of it all, you're left feeling empty and almost dirty inside while he stands up and struts away like a gamecock. because he thinks he's conquered you. I am, at last, maturing, and I think I like that... |
AuthorCHARLES PEARSON
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