--You are my holiday.

--Holidays. Louise smiles at Franny.

--Holidaysss. Charlie draws out the plural.

--When?

--Tomorrow. I've packed the bags and Louise bought your ticket.

--What kind of ticket?

--You know you only ride trains.

Franny dumps the lukewarm tea in the sink, reaches behind a row of teacups in the cupboard for a long, thin ticket with a pasty yellowish tint, places it on the table and gives it a pat with her petite hand.

--A one-way ticket?

--To Chicago.

--We'll meet you mid-week. Louise kisses Charlie's cheek, stands behind him, one hand on his shoulder, the stray on the back of Franny's neck. Franny looks at Louise. Charlie remembers the look from Louise to Franny. He feels his face where Louise kissed. A sign reads Fulton Ave. Charlie retrieves the notebook from his jacket-pocket and records "Fulton Ave, Train 5991." He heads left.

Cut and hungry
A white-and-red striped sign outside the barbershop makes Charlie hungry. The slow spin of candy-cane colors reminds him of Christmas with Louise and Franny. The barbershop advertisement reads, "Half-pay Thursdays. Walk-ins accepted."

--I need a cut.

--What kind?

--Just get the hair off my neck.

The barber smells of shaving cream and chew tobacco, asks Charlie's business in the area.

--No one's business.

The man shrugs, cuts Charlie's hair trim to the head but leaves some curl. Once done the barber snips his shears closed, sighs and growls. --That'll be $7.50.

--Say, where's the grill?

Barber points east and north and Charlie looks where the finger points: "Frankie's franks and brats." Cute. He nods thanks and crosses the street. On his way three ladies pass with arms linked, their hats different colors and styles.

To abstain
Man next to him looks from Charlie's hands to eyes and eyeballs. --What's your deal? Charlie scares, says nothing. The man grunts to the bartender:

--Get this man a beer. Ain't healthy picking the skin like that. I did that once, you know, but never went near's far as that.

Man stares down Charlie's shavings and sneers, orders his own drink.

Bartender lays a glass before Charlie.

After minutes the man says, --Ain't you drinking that? Charlie shakes his head.

--Well Christ.

He takes Charlie's drink and shoos Charlie. Outside, Charlie wonders about his weirdness. His wallet, a gift from Louise, wore into shredded leather. The coins slipped out the edges. Charlie looks at the ground, sees blood drip from his fingernails. He wipes it on his pants. What will he wear tomorrow? He's religious about clean underwear. He'll have to wash somewhere, a place to sleep. The bank reads 8:11 p.m. Still hungry. A sob climbs his throat before he chokes. He must find a place for Louise and Franny. He scratches at the already open wound under his thumb, slaps himself, cups hand over mouth.

PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7

**SUBSCRIBE TO THE2NDHAND if you like reading our our respective broadsheet and online series -- any donation above $30 gets you a LIFETIME SUBSCRIPTION to THE2NDHAND's quarterly broadsheet. See this page or send a payment through PayPal here:

OUR FRIENDS AT The Left Hand make great soap, salves, balms and other natural hygiene-type stuff, in addition to publishing a zine and running a book swap, a performance series and more from their Tuscaloosa, AL, homebase. When they offered to make something for us, we jumped. We introduce THE2NDHAND soap, an olive oil soap with a quadruple dose of Bergamot, "for the readers we've sullied..." Price is $6, ppd.

**BOOKS BY THE2NDHAND CONTRIBUTORS at Amazon

Enter your search terms Submit search form

Web www.the2ndhand.com

021010