82.

The unicorn greets the man who ruined her with a kiss. He, in turn, smiles like he doesn't remember he's the proverbial "stairs" she purportedly "fell down." It's a sweet thing they have.

Manhattan (the unicorn) says, "How's your day, sugarpie?"

Dallas (the unicorn-slayer) says, "Swell, honeymuffin."

The former, being a sucker for irony, sucks milk from a carton reading: Have YOU seen Phoenix Hazley? Dallas, unscrewing his sweetheart's own medicine, says:

"You'll never guess who I met today on the train."

86.

Dallas starts taking the train to control his blood pressure, otherwise exacerbated by those fuckin’-hickville-Jersey-pedestrians-who-can’t-
cross-a-godsdamned-street-to-save-their-life. One day, he meets a stranger, who tells him everything.

[Once upon a time, The Ghost’s life was ruined – debatably ended – by a legendary seductress, named Manhattan. The stranger vanished, leaving a slew of bewildered survivors to avenge him. He renounced love and committed, ambivalently, to either death or forgetfulness.]

The clattering monologue smoothes down. “Anyway... thanks.”

"Sure." Dallas grimaces, sympathetic. “What’s your name?”

The Ghost extends a thin hand.

“Phoenix.”

94.

After the Dallas incident, the novice is smoking like mad. “Lung cancer doesn’t happen overnight,” admonishes London, whose monastic wisdom comes in the after-school special packaging, for sure. “Try traffic.”

“Not funny,” says Santiago.

Lazy, the benediction reeks of 4/4 signature conducting. The Ghost hums, bubblegum requiem, between smoke rings.

“Tell me everything,” coos the stranger on the train.

The Ghost buys his rock-like sleep with a full confession. Strangers are easy, like priests, but not to be trusted.

Santiago always knows a guy, who died or something, who makes these things not funny.