Pacific Garden Mission (con’t)

Narrow stairs, shoulder width. Brushing ancient curls of crumbling wallpaper that rustle as they stomp down. The only light through a square of smoked glass in the door at the bottom. A warning of approaching morning light insufficient when TonyO pushes out on to the street and Grig once again feels the punch of awareness. He tries to imagine what the ratio is of concussion to hangover, and picks a dime sized scab out of his ear with his pinky as TonyO turns him toward the bakery window. It’s lined with cookies, donuts, the little white loaves of bread.

Pretty to look at but they taste like shit.

What’s that?

I told you. Lard. Lard in everything. Lard. Lard. Lard. No butter.

Must be halfway okay. I mean, people buy stuff. The place is in business.

These spics have no idea what good dessert is. They torch their mouths out with chilis so much. How would they know?

Says you. To them it’s really good.

Bullshit.

Relativity, Tony.

What? Who got smart in the prison library?

I mean to them, they think it’s good.

Yeah. That’s that cultural shit. Everybody thinks their people do it the best because that’s all they know. So of course they’ll buy this flavorless crap because they never had something better.

I’m saying to them it wouldn’t be because–

Because nothing. It tastes like shit unless you dunk the hell out of it.

Okay.

I mean, like this one time I met this lady from Iran on the bus, right? The whole trip, she goes on and on about how great fucking Iran is. Algebra this and architecture that and Persian Mesopotamian what the fuck.

Yeah.

So I say to her. Fuck lady, it’s a good thing you were born there. You’d be a fucking miserable bitch if you were from Sweden or someplace.

How’s that?

I mean, the way she went on about how Iran was the greatest country. If it was so goddamn great, they we all would know it, right? So if she was from somewhere else she’d be just about suicidal because she wasn’t from Iran. You follow me?

You’re a piece of work Tony. You’re an expert’s expert.

I’m just saying, that’s proof that everybody thinks they’re from the best place. And that there way of doing things is the best way.

And so?

And so one person’s actually is. And one place actually is. Which makes ninety nine percent of the rest of us fuckers wrong all the goddamn time. That’s relativity, Grig. Relative to shit. Come on, let’s get some of those shit donuts already.