buzzy

the last time i saw buzzy was in the sub shop. they were closing up and had already shut the lights off, so we sat in the dark, dipping fries in ketchup and sipping diet coke.

he asked to see my keychain, and when i showed it to him he pulled off my cvs discount card, replacing it with his own. he liked to throw the consumer-computer off track. said he'd traded cards with five people already that month. keep the man guessing, he told me. he reminded me to always pay in cash, and warned me about microchip implants they're selling consumers as convenient sources of id or medical records, information injected in the back of your arm in case a cell phone signal isn't enough to let the satellite know where we are.

he told me to cut the labels off new clothes, because there are hidden coding devices that can track where items brought home from the store are traveling, where they end up, who's wearing the kathy lee gifford and who's wearing donna karan. (i looked it up later. he was telling the truth.)

we spoke of love and life and fireflies, and wilde's observation that "it is always painful to part from people whom one has known for a very brief space of time. the absence of old friends one can endure with equanimity. But even a momentary separation from anyone to whom one has just been introduced is almost unbearable."

i considered kissing him, just for something to do. you don't see a lot of men in tie-dyed bandanas anymore. (and more's the pity, i say.)

on the street he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he told me to keep the faith. and then he got on his ergonomically correct bike and rode off against the traffic: no helmet, no light, no horn.

and that was it. the last time i saw him.

but you can still see the crater where the state house used to be.