Jefferson

I think it was 6:07 when Jefferson called. That’s what my phone said anyway. I was supposed to meet up with him this afternoon in Salt Lake. We were supposed to attend an A.A. meeting after his interview with his aftercare program. So at 6:07 I pick up my phone and say hello.
“Whats up fucker.”Says a voice on the other line.
“Just sitting here with my dick in my hand.” I answer. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for someone to come put their dick in my hand.” He says.
Football players pat each other on the ass. I think drug addicts talk about slapping each other on the genitals.
“Be careful what you wish for.” I say.
I ask Jefferson what time he finished with his errands. He tells me he just got home about an hour ago. I tell him I wouldn’t of had time to go to a meeting because I needed to catch the bus back to Tooele so I could attend my group.
“So, do you really get paid for your blog.” He asks.
“Only if you click on the links.” I say. I tell him each link pays anywhere from 3 cents a click, to 25 cents.
“O’ cool.” He says. His voice tone tells me my blog is shit.
“Yep.” I say. My voice tone agrees.
“You’d make more money if it was a porno site.” He says
We both laugh. I tell him we should make a “girls gone wild.” Type of website but title it “Salt Lake Chicks Gone Crazy.” Or something. We both laugh again.
Jefferson tells me he has a girl coming over in about ten minutes. I ask him if it’s the same hippy girl from the summer. He tells me it is.
“Does she leave her Birkenstocks on when you fuck.” I ask. We both laugh
I offer to hide in his closet and film our first piece of footage.
We make a few more jokes about an endeavor in the porno industry and both hang up.
Afterwards I put on my green puffer coat and head into the garage for a cigarette. Tonight is cold. Really fucking cold. I put the cigarette in my mouth and watch the end waggle back and fourth as my body shivers. I can barley hold the lighter steady enough to light it. After only three drags, I surrender to the cold. I flick the cigarette against my garage wall and walk back inside.
On the living room floor is a dog turd. On the living room couch is the dog that left the turd. Sitting on the edge of the couch, Max plays off his guilt. I look out the window and into the nine degree weather outside. Twelve inches of snow still covers my walkway.
Re-phrase.
I have not yet removed the twelve inches of snow covering my walkway.
Re-phrase again.
Because of my chronic laziness and poor inhibition, I have not yet removed the twelve inches of snow from my walkway.
If I was supposed to shit outside, I’d opt for the living room floor too. “You’re lucky I’m nice.” I say. I pick up the turd with a piece of toilet paper and flush it down the toilet.
I walk back to the couch and continue to watch Prison Break. It’s an episode about a young man who hung himself because he was tired of getting raped by his cellmate. If it wasn’t the gritty crimes or the Governmental conspiracy, I probably wouldn’t watch. Sometimes it reminds of my Ten days in jail. I know, I know. Jail isn’t prison and prison isn’t jail but it was still traumatic. I think I have PTSD or something from it. Jefferson would probably call me a pussy. I don’t think I could argue with him. At least I never got raped by my cellmate. And if I did I wouldn’t hang myself. I’d look for a way to turn it into a positive. I’d probably just become gay or something. Fake it till you make it.
After the episode, I open my laptop and begin to write this all out. I can’t think of any creative endings to the day. I guess I have prison rape on my mind.
Next I think I’ll watch OZ season one.