Fastest Eddie Fritz and me sitting at the DMV waiting for this ticket’s number to be called. Had my license revoked years ago, shortly after acquiring it. Now was the time for renewal. It was hot; we waited. The clock ticked a catatonic 12:30pm, its third hand struggling and stifled at forty-two seconds. three hours sitting in flaming orange chairs made from strong plastics. Rarely stoic, Eddie slid a chair below the clock. He stood on it, separated the clock from the wall, and heaved it into a trash bin.

Aye.
People began to point and whisper; security was notified.
I jumped up laughing nervously and grabbed a marker from Fritz’s sack, and scrawled on the wall with it:

‘The Act of . . .
or
The Definitive State of Being’

This morning at the DMV, Fritz was wearing a patchwork collage of Indian silks and Victorian style angels for pants, his leather American flag sneakers, and a ten-dollar poets shirt. He had recently appeared via cameo in DJ ADHD’s Romper room video series. Now he began growing a Dali-esque mustache in public which made others think, “no, he’s definitely Kafka-esque.”

Security arrived just as I grabbed Eddie and told him to sign the wall. Eddie shouted “I won’t sign it!”

Somebody recognized him.

A small group of disjointed types pleaded with the guard, explaining who Eddie Fritz was, “the fastest man!” Soon others, recognizing the name, joined in convincing the officers of our protection that Fritz was one of the more important people that he might encounter.

They decided to rope of the affected area and after much publicity the section of the wall was removed and sold for 8.4 million dollars, to a private German collector; FastEddieFritz’s.com’s most expensive piece yet, setting him on top of the heap.

He wasn’t satisfied, he was angry; who wants to be atop a heap?

It’s another 40 oz. night now that the planet’s shadow  has passed.

At some point on the Williamsburg Bridge the wind was such
our speed up
the mattress and bedspring just flew of.

The cords snapped.
Two Trucks, an eighteen wheeler and a box truck, fought over the scraps.
I shouldn’t be laughing but I can’t stop. Sorry.

Sorry, I’m laughing.