memories of tower books pt. 2

he was an odd looking dude i noticed him as soon as he entered the store long black hair black shirt black pants black jacket white pancake makeup with black eyeliner a thirty-something goth i figured we were about the same age when i was listening to black flag he was probably stoned to the bauhaus i forgot about him for a while thumbing thru the lit journals but when i returned the paris review back to its place in the periodicals my sinuses flared against a major stink i thought something funky must've gotten on the pages of one of the journals and is now on my hands i started walking toward the bathroom to wash my hands when i saw him again sidled up to an older couple as they looked at travel mags his makeup was creased with grime his black hair was tied in a greasy knot that funk beamed off him and irradiated the locality a loner who gave up on hygiene and prowled the long nights at the only store in the world that was open to midnight everyday