Last night the improv class at Hunter College was crazy, as Chuck, Carla, and I created another version of STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE about trannys. Carla went home with her ex-husband. I headed back to Brooklyn. No one from Manhattan wants to bridge or tunnel to that borough.
At the Gaslight Pub the crowd was in full swing. Robert, a lanky blood, and his Italian cohort, Rabbit, were fighting over the split of a stolen IBM typewriter. They were fighting over the money split.
“60/40.” Rabbit offered without a smile
“70 for me and 30 for you. Truthfully I don’t know why I’m giving you a cent. I stole it.”
“Because I carried it here.”
“How much you want?” I asked knowing they cost about $500 brand new.
“$100,” Robert said quickly. “They cost more than that.”
“This one is used. $55 is my one and only offer.”
“Fuck that, I’ll smash it the street before I let you rob me.”
I plugged in the typewriter. It worked like a dream.
James slumped against the bar. It was 2 AM. He had drunk like it was 6. I told him the story. He gave me $100. “Get it. Try and get it for less. Those two are junkies. It’s late. They need a fix.”
I approached with money in hand.
“Rob you. Go fuck yourself. I’ll give you $60. Are we down?”
“Yes,” they said as a team. I cuffed them $60.
Can you make it $80.”
“Not a chance.”
They gave me the typewriter.
We drank till closing and every moment Rabbit was jealous of James hitting on Robert.
They might have been junkies, but they were still in love adn love will conquer all for a junkie except for desire.
And a desire not for love.