August 16th, 2002 - 3:31 a.m.

Messages to boys.

To the green boy: It will all be well, give it time. But stick around. And give me back that cig.

To the whipping boy: Take care, and tread lightly. One can pray for the best, but suffer the worst.

To the monkey boy: Stop it. Trouble. Pure trouble. Nah. Never you mind. Your breed of trouble is sorely needed in this humourless world. And hilarity can only ensue.

To the numbered boy: Where are you? I like you, you know. Should I care? Perhaps not. Caring is bad for the heart.

To the gay boy: You are insane. And I hope you maintain uselessness. Productivity ruins the complexion.

To the running boy: Lies and mistruths are like salt to ice. They eat away, and dissolve things into a tear like pool.

To the Jamaican boy: Things were really good. But with striking similarities to gunpowder and fire. Out much too quickly; "Like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume." Or perhaps am just enjoying the Shakespeare reference.

To the bread boy: In an alternate universe, perhaps things would have been great. Sorry. Thanks. Things ended at the right time. All things truly good, end well.

To the not actually German boy: Nothing really. My sentimentality is spent. Waay-sa.

N.

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