accepting the cumputer era

Why does Larry always bother me? No wait, he comes by and asks me for a dollar, and I think the dollar is wanted to add to his treasure chest for bus fare. But later, he comes buy with a case of Natty Boh. When he returned, he told me he only had $9.56 in his pocket and that is why he asked for the dollar so he could bless me with the case that costs $10.56. Larry does not bother me when he does this. When he asks me for two or three dollars, it bothers me because it fucks up my cigarette fund for the day, and I tell Larry to take the bus to hell.

Larry likes to sit and smoke and drink and not say a word. The only sound is the broken neck of beer cans and greedy pulls from Basic cigarettes. He says that the weather is nice or bad, his cat has herpes, or he stole a gumball machine from Safeway and made a fortune. I like Larry this way. But when he drinks a little, and asks me for Glenfiddich on the rocks (which i give him), he starts to criticize me. I used to fight back first with words and then the fists, but we all know that that is pointless.

"Are you writing?" he asks me.
"Are you begging on the streets?" I ask him.
He asks for a light. I give him my grill lighter, that is all I have, because I keep forgetting to ask for matches at the seven eleven.

"What the fuck is this?" he asks.

I tell him that it is fire and there is no need to ask because it works. He can't figure out how to light it, so I grab it from him and turn the wheel and press the ignitor button. He looks like a caveman, or a deer caught in the headlights, as the fire spits out.

"Why are you so fucking fancy? You always have these new gadgets. IPOPS? What the hell is that shit?"

He lights his cigarette. He has dumb eyes in the July dark night. His eyes look like pissed on fireworks that are about to go out.

"I dont know...don't have one anymore."
"That's bullshit, because I was looking through your bag earlier and I saw that thing. That thing, on those commercials that they all dance like maniacs with. Did you dance like that when you used yours?"
"Yes."
"Hah, I know you are fucking with me."
"Why were you looking thru my bag?"
"I don't know, okay?"

We sat and drank in silence for a bit. I felt Larry's anger rising. He wasn't angry at me he was pissed because he wasn't modern. I empathized with him. But at least i knew how to say IPOD.

"I also heard you were mogging."
"Mogging...what the hell do you mean, Larry?"
"That 'puter shit. writing stuf on it."
"I feel that's the only way to go these days."

Larry jumped up and his eyes shone in the citronella night. He pulled out his Bowie knife, the one he said that his grandfather gave him in the 1970's.

"Don't make me use this on you. I like drinking with you. Don't make me, please!"
"Fuck you, Larry."

Larry brought the knife down with force aimed at my neck. It was dull and old. It didn't quite pierce my beautiful neck. Maybe a knick, maybe less. Didn't hurt, and I told him so. He jumped off me and took a drag.

"Larry, maybe you should go home. Do you need sixty cents?"
"Please, thanks."

I went inside to get the sixty cents. When i came back out I could see some of my potted plants underneath his button down white shirt. I didn't say anything about the plants because he would probably take just as good care of those plants as I would.

"Actually, do you have a dollar more?"
"Sure, Larry."
I pulled out my second to last dollar from my wallet and handed it to him.

"See you tomorrow, Ricardo?"
"Bring the beer, you know where I will be."

He left and i finally finished my mog. He didnt see the beers underneath my button down gray shirt.