A little before midnight.

Five years ago I worked at the diamond exchange of 47th Street. There are no customers on the winter solstice. Only the rich have money, Richie Boy had sold several big-money items to his wealthy friends. $260,000 for a magnificent sapphire for an investment banker, $190,000 for a stunning Fancy Yellow diamond, as a gift from a media personality to his wife, and $170,000 to a Manhattan restauranteur. None of my friends have money, so I act as Richie Boy’s right-hand man. At 58 and two families to support, I know my place in the equation.

The business is owned by Manny. He’s been around since 1954. At 82 he works harder than anyone a quarter his age. A lot of it is shuffling debts to dealers according to need to pay and he’s a master at stalling payment.

Work is a grind. A dead-end too. It offers no escape and no bonus either, but my side sales had covered my end of the money.

I returned home to Fort Greene with my pay and bought a very good bottle of wine. $41. The staff of Green Grape applauded my escape from single-digit wine. I drank the bottle with my landlord and his wife. They gave me a bottle of Johnny Black for the winter’s solstice. I toasted them and my staying them. It’s been over a year. I babysit their kids. I don’t make a mess. My bedroom has a view. My bathroom too.

After we finished the wine, AP and I retreated to my floor to listen to music. I opened the bottle of Scotch. We had a few glasses and AP descended into domestic ‘for better or worse’ bliss. I readied for sleep, listening to Jefferson Airplane’s SURREALISTIC PILLOW.

COMING BACK TO ME.

Time for bed.

Because tomorrow I have to be to work at 10AM

Cindy asked me to come early, “I have a customer.”

“I’ll try.” I was only early one day this week. Tardiness to perfection. For Cindy I’d do anything. We are old workmates, but come early to work on Saturday.

It will be hard.

It’s now 11:53 and all’s well in the depth of the Winter solstice night.

Even if there are not two near naked girls in my bed.