Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Oh, hello.
Alfred. Um, hi.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. It’s been a while. I haven’t seen you all summer.
Alfred. Yeah well, I’ve been meaning to. You know, I could relax and read a magazine or a book.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. But you haven’t. The summer’s just about done, you know.
Alfred. I know. I guess it’s because it didn’t seem natural to come up here anymore.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. But it was so natural three months ago.
Alfred. Yeah, I know. You were the place for me to concentrate. I guess I have nothing to concentrate on anymore.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Then what do you do, since you haven’t been coming here anymore?
Alfred. I don’t know. I’m just doing things that people need me to do. Someone wants something moved, I’ll help out. Another person needs me to read over an essay, I’ll do it. I’m just helping people out. It’s been something I’ve been doing for years now. I’m flowing to places where I am needed. I don’t try to force my direction. I am an empty vessel.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. You’re probably studying in Carlson. It’s the hours, isn’t it. I’m not open long enough for you.
Alfred. No, not at all. I haven’t even been hanging out at cafes to drink tea or lemonade.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Really? Not even Welles-Brown?
Alfred. Not even Welles-Brown.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. But you’re leaving soon. Won’t you miss me?
Alfred. Sure, I will. Only you have copies of Sight and Sound.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Why don’t you come in, sit down, and check out the latest issue?
Alfred. Well, I actually have to go now. I just wanted to say good-bye.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Oh.
Alfred. Good-bye.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Good-bye.

Answering Machine. Beep.
Marty. Um hi, Alina? Yeah, it’s Marty. It’s what? Five minutes past ten in the morning and I just got off the Greyhound at the Port Authority. I guess there’s not much traffic in New York on Easter Sunday, so I’m a bit early. Oh so, I’m here, but you’re not there. I have your address so I’ll take a cab over and hopefully by then, you’ll be there. If not, then I guess I’ll just keep myself busy watching people pass. I know you discourage me watching people, but I can’t help myself. People’s actions are so interesting. You know, the way they look at the ground to pick up a quarter. Maybe I should plant a nickel in the middle of the sidewalk and see what happens. What kind of person would pick up a nickel? A kid would do that for sure, but who else? How weird would it be to ask the person to give the nickel back to me? But I don’t think I could do that. I’m not that manipulative, am I? I hope not. I guess we’ll find out. Oh, maybe you’re in the shower or yelling at someone out the window, I don’t know. Hum, well let’s see, the weather’s kind of grey. It’ll be a good day to get some soup and visit a museum. Something with paintings would be nice. I could watch more people there; how they observe paintings and their reactions. People are so different and interesting. Remember how I told you how I am jealous of God? You know, God has the ability to get to know everyone in a deep way, while I can only do it with a hand full of people. I mean, I know lots of people, but I just don’t know them say, as well as I know you. I kind of want that. There are so many interesting people, and I want to get to know them. But I guess God has the problem of having lots of people shun Him. I guess it all evens out though; people love Him, people hate Him, or people just don’t care. I don’t think I could handle so many people hating me or ignoring me like people do with God. I guess I could handle people not caring about me, but for someone to hate me ... I don’t know. Oh okay, well, I’m going to get a cab now. I’ll see you soon, Alina. It’s been a long time since I last saw you. All right, bye...

Kurt. Did you just eat two hoagies by yourself?
Bruno. Yes.
Kurt. Is that one for me?
Bruno. Well, I was going to eat it, but you can have it if you want.
Kurt. Are you serious? You were going to eat another one?
Bruno. Yeah, but here. You can have it.
Kurt. I don’t know, what kind is it?
Bruno. It’s an Italian with everything.
Kurt. Eh, I don’t know.
Bruno. What is it?
Kurt. I’m not hungry. You can eat it.
Bruno. Are you sure?
Kurt. Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve lost my appetite. I have to wait till I’m starving. Then I can eat.
Bruno. Really? What you need to learn is how to gorge.
Kurt. Gorge?
Bruno. Yeah, I mean, I don’t really need to eat that third hoagie, but I can. Mind over matter.
Kurt. But doesn’t it make you vomit?
Bruno. At first yeah, but now I can gorge without vomiting.
Kurt. I don’t know. It sounds like you have an eating disorder.
Bruno. Maybe, but I love these hoagies.
Kurt. Yeah, I do too, but I just don’t want to eat them now.
Bruno. You want mac salad instead, or how about a drink?
Kurt. What do you have?
Bruno. I have an extra bottle of lemonade.
Kurt. Can I have the lemonade?
Bruno. Here you go.

Nigel. It’s a beautiful piece of furniture.
Marco. It should go well with the hard floors.
Nigel. Your wife should enjoy it.
Marco. I’m divorced.
Nigel. Oh, I’m sorry.
Marco. That’s all right. I’m free now. I bought myself a farm, and this is my first piece of furniture.
Nigel. A farm, really?
Marco. My grandfather was a farmer. I feel like going back to it.
Nigel. What about your previous home? Did your ex-wife get that?
Marco. Nah, we both let it go, but the hardest thing to let go of were my trees. I had eleven Norwegian Spruces lined up in my back yard. I took care of them when they were only up to my waist. Now they’re three times as big as me. I would get up in the middle of the night to water those damn things. I watched them grow every year. They were mine. Well ... it’s time to move on.
Nigel. Here’s your receipt. Do you need help carrying that?
Marco. Nah, I can manage myself.

Massimo. What is that you’re building?
Lemmy. It’s the USS Carrier Yorktown.
Massimo. What kind of planes are these?
Lemmy. These are Douglas TBD-1 Devastator torpedo planes, and these are Douglas sbd-3 Dauntless scout bombers.
Massimo. Are they from World War Two?
Lemmy. Before the war, the Yorktown helped patrol the Atlantic until the attack on Pearl Harbor. Then it was sent to the Pacific to reinforce the Navy there.
Massimo. They must have gone through the Panama Canal to get to the Pacific.
Lemmy. Yeah, probably.
Massimo. I’ve always wanted to go through the locks of Panama.
Lemmy. Why?
Massimo. Crossing from one body of water to another is not very common. One moment you’re in the Atlantic, then the next you’re in the Pacific. Of course it takes some time before you completely cross the canal, but it’s during that transition that makes it interesting.
Lemmy. What do you mean? It’s like going through the Lincoln Tunnel. One moment, you’re in New Jersey, and the next, you’re in New York. I think of nothing when my mom drives through it. I just stare at the lights.
Massimo. Maybe you’re right, Lemmy, but I still wonder what happens while waiting to go from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
Lemmy. Um, Mr. Doro?
Massimo. Yes, Lemmy?
Lemmy. Can you give me back the torpedo plane?
Massimo. Sure, Lemmy.

Astrud. So, Natayna has a stalker stalking her.
Umberto. Another one?
Astrud. I know. I don’t know what it is. Her life is to be stalked.
Umberto. You sound jealous.
Astrud. I’ve never had anyone stalk me.
Umberto. Why not? I think you’re very stalkable.
Astrud. I know. I follow a simple routine everyday. One could stalk me with ease.
Umberto. They’ll find out that you love cherry ice cream and leave a pint of it in your kitchen.
Astrud. Ooh, really?
Umberto. That’s what I would do. It’s freaky, but romantic.
Astrud. You would be a great stalker.
Umberto. You think so?
Astrud. Yeah, I can imagine you taking photos of yourself in my apartment and leaving them in the room you took them in.
Umberto. But I wouldn’t do that until I thought you would be ready for something like that. That’s something you need to be eased into. I could start you off with photos of the places that you go to, then incorporate you into the photos, then photos of outside your apartment, then finally me inside your apartment.
Astrud. You could take a photo of you eating cherry ice cream.
Umberto. Yeah, I like that. It would confuse and amuse you at the same time.
Astrud. I wonder if Natanya’s stalker does anything like that.
Umberto. Nah, he probably just calls her up and hangs up.
Astrud. Or collects the hair that falls from her head. How boring is that?
Umberto. Hum, I need to learn how to pick locks.
Astrud. No, no, don’t tell me ... !

Driving the Ryder moving truck while towing a car from Rochester, NY to Fort Lee, NJ wasn't so bad until the last two hours of the seven-hour drive. I could not go faster than 70 mph going downhill and I could only go 50 mph uphill. We left at eight in the evening. We got into Fort Lee at four the next morning.

I wrote a song called "Cross Country Driving" with Jeremy Couey. I felt I could write when I first read an English translation of Haruki Murakami. I felt I could play the guitar when I heard Jeremy Couey play the guitar. I like to think I can write, but I know I cannot play the guitar. The first lines of "Cross Country Driving" are:

Cross country driving
Fifteen miles -
Below -
The limit

Why are people
Going -
so fast?

START.
“Why don’t you pass that car in front of us?”
“It’s a double line. I’m not supposed to.”
“It’s three o’clock in the morning. No one’s going to come the other way.”
“How do you know?”
“No one is up this early.”
“This guy is.”
“Yeah, but nobody else is.”
“Here comes a passing lane. I’ll pass him now.”
END.

“Alfred?”
“Yes?”
“Could you sing Cross Country Driving for us?”
“No.”

Jeremy and I made up these sort of songs on the island of Rapu Rapu of the Philippines. We didn’t know anything about Rapu Rapu so we made things up like on Rapu Rapu, the mosquitoes are as big as small birds and their mouths are six-inch needles that suck the blood out of your arm. When we got there we found out that we should not step onto mounds of fire ants.

An excerpt from Everyone Wants to Go ٥ Alfred Lee:
ﶈ
I never had a cockroach problem in my apartment until I saw two in my kitchen - one on the white kitchen counter and one on the tiled floor. Their antennae waved through the air, living and conscious. I found the day’s newspaper on the kitchen table, rolled it up, and repeatedly struck the cockroach on my floor. It panicked and scuttled along the floor looking for a corner to hide. With the paper edge of my newspaper club, I swept the cockroach away from the counter’s base then bludgeoned it until the life left its crunchy-firm red body. Only its antenna swayed unhinged in the air.
“Run, he’s going to get you! Good bye ...”
I looked for the second cockroach on the countertop, but it was not there. I checked behind the toaster, the potted plants, the stack of recipe books - nothing.
I bent over to clean up the first cockroach, but the ants stopped me. From a crack in the wall, a group of red ants came and surrounded the cockroach. All I could to was watch them take its limbs apart and carry them into the crack. A second group of ants carried the body. The dead cockroach turned under the cushion of ants along my kitchen floor.
“What have they done to you? There’s nothing I can do.”
The second cockroach returned to the edge of the kitchen counter. I crushed it with the rolled newspaper still in my hand, then swept the remains onto the floor for the ants to take away.
“Look there’s another.”
“This one’s bigger, we need more men.”
ﶈ

One. So how long have you had a boyfriend?
Two. Hmmm ... about two years now.
One. That’s interesting because to me, it seems like you’ve known each other for a month or so.
Two. Because you just met him?
One. Yeah. Would you call that narrow minded?
Two. Actually, it might have been partially my fault since I never told you I had a boyfriend until a couple of weeks ago.
One. So, when you did tell me, it felt like you just met him.
Two. And the reason why I didn’t tell you was because really, I didn’t know you very well.
One. Well, you can’t just come up to me and say, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you. I have a boyfriend.”
Two. Right, but.
One. But?
Two. Normally, I wouldn’t need to say, “I have a boyfriend” if the boyfriend was around me. You should be able to tell when we’re together that we’re boyfriend/girlfriend ... Ugh.
One. What?
Two. I hate those words: boyfriend, girlfriend. I feel like I’m in high school.
One. I have a friend who would refer to her boyfriend as Hon.
Two. Short for Honey?
One. I try not to let it affect me. I have this other friend who refers to her boyfriend as Cheesecake.
Two. You seem to know a lot of girls with boyfriends.
One. Yeah. Keeps me single.
Two. Having a boyfriend or a cheesecake is not a big deal. At first it’s fun, but after two years, I just got used to him. I feel nothing now.
One. Really? That’s kind of sad.
Two. Well, we’re past fighting and yelling and all that nonsense, we’re just together now.
One. You should do something to shake things up.
Two. I’ve tried everything. There’s nothing for me to do.
One. Have you tried wrecking his car?
Two. What?
One. Nothing’s more passionate than crashing your boyfriend’s car.
Two. That’s a bit extreme and weird, but eh. Whatever. I’ll do it.
One. You will?
Two. Sure. I’ll crash his car and tell him that I did it because I love him.
One. How do you think he’ll react?
Two. He’ll be confused, but then he’ll be glad.
One. Glad? Why?
Two. Because he hates his car. He got it for fifteen hundred dollars.
One. Perfect.
Two. In a way, it is.

Umberto. Oh, hi.
Astrud. Hello.
Umberto. Did you just get here?
Astrud. Yes, but I’m not really settled in yet. By September twenty-third you can tell the others that I’m here.
Umberto. But you’ll be leaving again.
Astrud. Of course.
Umberto. When?
Astrud. Already, you want to know when I’ll be leaving when I haven’t even settled down yet?
Umberto. I’m sorry. You’re just here for such a short time. Everything’s so rushed.
Astrud. I’ll be leaving on the twenty-second of December. I believe it’s a good ninety days that I’ll be here.
Umberto. You could stay longer.
Astrud. Then everyone will be tired of me. They’ll ask, “When will Astrud finally leave? She’s been here much too long.”
Umberto. I can’t imagine anyone saying that.
Astrud. I’m getting hungry. A hearty soup with warm bread would be nice.
Umberto. I know a place. Would you like to go?
Astrud. Of course.
Umberto. Where will you go when you leave us?
Astrud. Again, asking about my leaving. You should enjoy the time I’m here until I go to South America, Australia. Somewhere there.
Umberto. I wonder what autumn is like in Australia?
Astrud. You should come and visit.
Umberto. I should.

Cloud. You don’t know Korean.

Alfred. It’s a good thing I know English or else I would be completely useless.

Cloud into Fish. How are you supposed to live in Korea if you don’t know Korean?

Alfred. How am I supposed to live in India, the Philippines, French Polynesia, Nepal, and China without knowing their respective languages? You’d be surprised with my Korean. If I am able to speak as much as I can comprehend, then I’ll be off to North Korea.

Fish into Pig. North Korea? What are you talking about? You’re going to fail, you won’t even find a job.

Alfred. I’ve failed many times in my life, it’s not a new thing, but for some reason I still keep going. I tried with purpose to ruin my life repeatedly, but I’ve failed at that too. I don’t blame you for doubting me. Hey, even I doubt myself, but I know that God is in control.

Pig into Horse. No, it’s because you are stupid and lucky.

Alfred. For six years? Well, then when will it stop?

Horse into Pair of Lips. When you go to Korea. I’ll then smile and kiss you good bye.

Alfred into Haruki Murakami. If your concern for my life is only to bring me down, then your words are like the clouds in the sky. They have nothing to do with me. I’m not sure what would happen if I were to blow smoke from a cigarette into a jar and close the lid, but it does sound like an interesting thing to do.

In the mountains of Korea, I watched a cable car ascend on a single black cable curling into the mountains. The cable car with its passengers looking out the windows disappeared into the haze of clouds. I found a pool of fresh water within several boulders. I decided to swim in my boxers.

One. Hey what’s wrong?
Two. I don’t like it that you can read me like a book.
One. What do you mean?
Two. How did you know that something’s wrong?
One. You have this certain look to you. I know.
Two. I can’t hide anything from you.
One. Why would you want to hide anything from me?
Two. Well, it doesn’t make sense that you can read into my emotions so well.
One. Why not, we’re friends. We’ve known each other for years.
Two. Yeah, I guess.
One. So what’s wrong?
Two. I have no appetite.
One. Really?
Two. Yeah, I think I want to eat something, but I don’t know what I want.
One. That reminds me of a Northern Exposure episode.
Two. What happened in it?
One. It was actually the final episode. Michelle was having problems deciding what to eat, but went deeper than that. She had difficulties deciding anything, where to go, what to do.
Two. Sounds like me.
One. She finally could decide on things after dreaming of a Rabbi parachuting down from a World War 2 airplane. The Rabbi gave her advice that spoke to her.
Two. I wonder where my parachuting Rabbi is.
One. He’s in the sky in his World War 2 airplane, waiting for the red light to turn green.
Two. You and Northern Exposure.
One. I cried at the end of that show.

One. I want to steal that clock.
Two. Which one? That? It’s so ...
One. So what?
Two. I don’t know. It’s kind of plain.
One. No, no. Look at the numbers, and the red sweeping hand. I have to have it.
Two. Well, why don’t you buy something like it legitimately?
One. You have to understand. This clock above the chalkboard is the clock that I want. I don’t want something like it all nice and wrapped up in a store for me to purchase. Anyone can do that. By physically stealing this clock, I make it mine. It’s a much bigger sacrifice than tossing twenty dollars at some clerk.
Two. You would pay twenty dollars for this clock?
One. No. I refuse to pay anything for this clock. Money minimized the importance of gain. It is a greater gain if you plowed the fields, sowed the seeds, and harvested the crops with you bare hands then paying ninety-nine cents per pound of tomatoes.
Two. But there is a difference between harvesting and stealing. Do you really believe stealing the clock with your hands will be a greater gain than paying for it?
One. Yes.
Two. Why don’t you leave twenty dollars, take the clock, and leave a note explaining your greater gain theory?
One. That’s a reasonable compromise.
Two. Yeah, I think so. What...?
One. Do you have twenty dollars?
Two. Here.
One. Thanks.

Eating an apple while knitting mittens for your grandchildren who need it before it’s too late is complicated.
Riding a bicycle while mixing a non-alcoholic drink for a friend trying to stay dry is complicated.
Telling time while running from bees chasing you after you’ve thrown a heavy log into their home is complicated.
Clapping to polka while dancing to reggae is complicated.
Pouring cereal into a bowl while pumping gas is complicated.
Sealing an envelope is simple.
Cutting paper is simple.
Blowing bubbles is simple.
Tying a knot is simple.
Putting sugar in tea is simple.

One. I love you.
Two. How is that possible?
One. What do you mean? I just do.
Two. Really?
One. Really.
Two. No, really. Think about it. Do you really love me?
One. Yes. Why?
Two. Well, I don’t love you, so it’s impossible for you to love me.
One. Because love should be mutual?
Two. Yes. So, what you’re feeling now is not love.
One. Then what is it?
Two. An infatuation?
One. I don’t know.
Two. But how can you love me when I don’t love you. If anything, you should hate me.
One. I could never hate you.
Two. But you should. I don’t love you, so doesn’t that frustrate you; make you question why I don’t love you till you want to hate me?
One. No, because I love you.
Two. You may think your feelings you have for me is love, but eventually they’ll change.
One. Because you don’t love me?
Two. Right. Okay, do you like any actresses?
One. Um, I like Olivia Williams.
Two. Who’s that?
One. She’s the teacher in Rushmore and the wife in the Sixth Sense. She was also in The Postman, but I didn’t see it.
Two. I don’t think anyone saw it. Okay, so you like Olivia Williams. You think she’s pretty don’t you? And her personality, from what you can tell in her roles seems to be decent, right?
One. Yeah?
Two. So why don’t you love her?
One. Because she’s just an actress. I have no real interaction with her, but I interaction with you, and because of that I am able to love you.
Two. What about other girls that you interact with. Why don’t you fall in love with them? Why am I so special?
One. Because I want to know you deeper, become more intimate with you. I thought we fit. That we understood each other, but apparently, after this conversation, it’s not the case.
Two. No. So, now you do not love me?
One. I can’t just stop loving you, but I understand that you don’t love me, so I won’t go any further. I’ll stop here.
Two. Thank you for understanding.
One. Your welcome.

A tap of the cigarette sent two orange glowing bits down to the bottom of the black plastic ashtray. I was surprised to see her smoke, but when she did, she exhaled smoke up into the air, up towards the ceiling. Instead, smoke from smoking cloves blew through one corner of another girl’s lips from Colorado I met in Hawaii five years ago.

I taught a Sunday School in Honolulu for about a year and because of that experience, I decided to teach a Sunday School in Rochester. My Sunday School is a social club where the member don’t like each other. John wasn’t one of my students since he was in elementary school while I taught high school students, but we’ve become familiar with each other where he would do high kicks at my face and I would square dance with him.

Riding in the car with John reminded me of the time my father let me drive at around John’s age.

Alfred. Hey John, has you dad ever let you drive?
John. The car? No?
Alfred. When I was around your age, my dad called me from the back seat to climb over and sit on his lap. When I did, he let me take the steering wheel while he controlled the gas.
John. Really?
Alfred. Yeah, I remember it being a long straight road, and that it was dark. I could feel the road through the wheel.

John and I stumbled onto Le Trou, a French film from 1960 shot in a beautifully restored black and white medium.

Alfred. Look at that shot. See how the men go down the tunnel with their light? The director wants to show how long the tunnel is, and how long they have to walk from their prison for their escape.
John. Yeah, it’s pretty far.
Alfred. It’s such a great shot. Look at how beautiful that is; how the men and their light walk away from the camera down the dark tunnel.
John. That’s really cool.

John’s little sister running up to me in her diapers reminded me about how as a kid, I loved how electric box fans distorted your voice when you talked into them.
Alfred. Look Katse. Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.
Katse. *Laughs
Alfred. H-e-l-l-o-K-a-t-s-e.
Katse. Do it again*. *In Korean.
Alfred. H-e-l-l-o-K-a-t-s-e.
Katse. Again*.
Alfred. Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.
Katse. Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h. *Laughs

Thomas: Who’s that? Is that you, Ray?
Ray: Who’s saying that?
Thomas: Up here, Ray.
Ray: Who? Is that you Thomas? I didn’t know you lived here.
Thomas: Yeah, been here for years. What time is it? It’s two thirty? What are you doing up now?
Ray: Can’t sleep, can’t sleep. It’s too hot in the building. Fans just pumping hot air like a hair dryer. It’s just no good.
Thomas: I hear ya. It’s a hot one today. Gotta stick my head out to feel the breeze.
Ray: Lots a people out tonight, it’s so hot. Saw Frank out here too.
Thomas: You saw Frank? How is he? Still cooking at the diner?
Ray: You know Frank. He’ll never leave there, making fun of people’s orders, they love it.
Thomas: We’ll he needs his sleep if he’s out now. He’ll be yelling at the customers, he’ll be so tired.
Ray: I know it. I know it. I told him he better get some sleep or else he’ll put ketchup on the pancakes.
Thomas: Good word. Man, it is hot. So tired, but can’t sleep. It’s not right.
Ray: Well come on down. It’s much nicer out here. Heck, I’m even thinking of sleeping out here.
Thomas: Where you gonna sleep at?
Ray: The park’s nice. You got trees and long benches.
Thomas: Kinda like camping.
Ray: Yeah, something like that.

Driver: Look over there.
Passenger: Should I get them?
Driver: Yeah yeah. Open the window.
Passenger: Okay.
*Passenger tosses water balloon at boy and girl*
Driver: Did you get them?
Passenger: Yeah. I can’t believe it. We are so cool.
Driver: Yes. Yes we are. We are cool.
Passenger: I think I love you.

Girl: What was that?
Boy: I guess someone threw a water balloon at us. Are you wet?
Girl: Just my pants. How about you?
Boy: I think I’m bleeding.

Will you please stop seeking out innocent girls? Stop obtaining their phone numbers and email addresses in an indirect manner. Stop calling them everyday so that only you can talk while she listens. Stop trying to change them into the girl you want them to be. Stop giving them generic thoughtless gifts such as flowers, chocolate, and jewelry. Stop treating them like little girls. You’re only going to develop a Father – Daughter relationship which is not so healthy if you’re looking for an intimate relationship. Girls are not the same, especially not like the ones you want them to be. You just make it hard for them to say no. Give them the option to say no. Realize that your aggressiveness to have a relationship only repels. Stop these one sided relationships. I’ll give you one word to think about: mutual. What does it mean to be mutual and how can you apply it to your relationships? If you don’t know what they are thinking then you should not go further until you do.