a wooden box sits on the entrance ramp.
in it is a cactus.
new age outlaws walk by it.
paying it no mind.
I pick it up.
slice it open with my knife.
notice blood on my hand.
but no pain.
figures.
physical pain has left me lately.
got stabbed in the foot today.
by a doctor.
didn't feel a thing.
the Anton-Yelchin looking man said.
most people can't handle this.
I shrugged.
that cactus was given.
to my friend Franco.
who then gave it to his girlfriend.
ex-girlfriend.
and when I moved back to Brooklyn.
I wanted it back.
but she had left it.
at an old apartment.
said it was too heavy to move.
too heavy?
I went to the apartment.
buzzed.
awkwardly asked the man who answered.
they just buzzed me up.
when the door opened.
a beautiful transgender woman invited me in.
she was happy to be rid of it.
because.
in six years.
it had grown to six feet.
and it was heavy.
four flights down.
I brought it to McCarren Park.
where I chopped it down.
then planted the other pieces.
behind bushes.
where I used to get handjobs.
hoping the pieces would grow.
before hipsters harvested them.
I named the nub Larry Bird.
and brought it back to the basement.
Franco didn't believe me.
so I showed him the blood.