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  • A Short Story in 6 parts.
    Part 1
    I can't
    exactly recall
    when Jerry landed
    in my messy living room,
    crashed out on my sofa,
    though I'm fairly sure
    it was during that unique time
    when I was seeing a lot of Amanda,
    the very pretty English gal
    who unfortunately had a plastic arm.
    she was always here
    inviting all her friends over
    for long weekends
    sometimes lasting for two-three days,
    and they in turn invited other people
    to enjoy the spontaneity
    of crazy parties
    that went on endlessly
    or at least until we ran out of stuff
    or I turned sour
    or she misplaced her arm somewhere
    and then we'd all have to stop partying
    and search high and low
    for the fucking thing.
    then by the time we'd locate it,
    nobody would be in the mood any longer.
    as usual,
    there'd always be
    a few hungover refugees the following day
    curled up on the furniture
    or out cold on the floor,
    but in time
    they'd eventually return to consciousness
    and soon head out the door into bright sunshine
    on their dizzy and nauseous way.
    except Jerry.
    like finding
    somebody's hair
    globbed on to your bathsoap,
    Jerry was suddenly and simply there,
    all six feet and some inches of him
    pacing in wide circles
    and talking round the clock,
    boasting of having an IQ
    in the vicinity of 160.
    and maybe so.
    flashed with delight
    whenever anyone asked him
    to recite verbatim anything he ever read,
    which included tons of literature and philosophy,
    both classic and modern.
    he also read to his credit
    both the Bible and the Oxford Dictionary
    cover to cover.
    he was completely fluent
    in five different languages,
    being one of them.
    first glance,
    Jerry seemed logical
    and extremely bright,
    a personable kind of guy
    with a Masters in Economics
    from a big time Ivy League school
    back east,
    who happened to enjoy reading a lot.
    it was sometime after graduation
    when something odd struck him
    he suddenly became interested
    in hopping freight trains
    from state to state
    and then finally coast to coast...
    a life
    just like Kerouac wrote about,
    he'd say in a voice full of adventure.
    in a matter of time,
    Jerry became a kind of a home-style
    type of drifter
    having drifted,
    now wanted to plant roots
    long enough to see if he'd grow into them.
    ending up in Hollywood
    was only a coincidence,
    according to him.
    I can't tell you
    just how many times
    I've heard exactly that before,
    which soon alerted me
    and got me trying to see through
    the shine of his polish,
    the smoothness of his veneer,
    causing me some concern
    at looking at his truer,
    yet muddier self.
    he was suddenly this person
    bearing some greater discontent
    with what little life had to offer.
    sure he was deep,
    but I was a lot deeper I figured.
    what the hell!
    a blink or two later
    had me looking at Jerry
    as your typical android
    blowing circuitry out his ass!
    after all,
    who really knows
    any person these days
    who has very few needs
    and is perfectly satisfied in owning
    only what they can carry with them?
    not me.
    not since the 60s.
    I will
    admit though,
    Jerry filled quite a number of spaces
    in my reckless life.
    especially during those long dry spells
    when Amanda gave up on me
    and any number of glowing females after her
    rejected me or made me feel like
    I was just another rain check
    from a carwash
    for any of them to freely use
    solely at their discretion.
    there wasn't any doubt
    that he was good company
    for close to three months.
    only up to a point.
    he and his game were getting old.
    that was
    only the beginning
    of a very big problem.
    (c)2015 Miles Ciletti
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