I must remember the possibly ulterior motive-moved gyro king at Gyro King who made me one free, gigantic chicken gyro at 6 AM this Friday morning. I must keep this memory close to my breast not because the occasion was met with my watery-eyed woes of unemployment, and not before he asked if I was Russian or American and I responded ‘American but of Russian descent,’ even though, really, I’m only 1, maybe 2/4 Russian but unlike every other Russian by the Church Ave F, I am a JEW and on all other nights I eat leavened bread. No, I must remember this instance of selfless hospitality (or bribe for sexual servitude, or good business skills) because I owe this man by patronage for what he has done. Because I must do unto others as they have done unto me. Amen.
I must remember the ghost of he or she I did not see but who left unto me one amply sized plastic glass of gin and tonic a few nights agone. When I too am in clover, I will pay this unknown personage in kind for what he or she has shown me. For every industrial cheese sauce-soaked French fry of which I did not defray the expense, I do give thanks and I will recompense. I shall recall with tearful eyes the ultracrepidarians who honored me with their company and kindly declined to traduce me. For the prepossessing whippersnappers, thick as thieves, who gave me cause to believe in the power of their companionship, I say: Amen. I too was young and graceless once; tight-knit, uninteresting and gauche. So I offer thanks to these dispensers of foodstuffs, good cheer and toleration at length. I am not so churlish so as to forget the kindness I have received from strangers. Rimshot.
The expletive-repetitive street toughs reviling outside my window, the solemn strings of guitar somewhere below, the ear-splitting, bass-heavy wallop flowing forth from somewhere in my building: for all these things I am thankful, for they are secret, encrypted messages of God and creations of the Lord Himself. I am beholden to all those who provide me with cause for merry peals of laughter, headaches and guilt. Free food affords me less need for worry in my shaky state of unemployment; physical therapists make much less painful my convalescing neuroma; latent milquetoast suitors by way of constitutional intransigence make the unknowable nature of the universe more present and like Job, I am humbled by my helplessness and indebtedness.
For I am shackled by my moral liability, I am made defenestrated by good manners, obliged to act in the fashion of what I know is right. I am feeling overwhelmed by feelings. Fuck. I am now stroppy and disinclined to accept favors for I fear I will not, want not and am not equipped to repay them. Good morning.