WORKS ON DIGITAL PAPER

Courtesy of MLusk, Weather Records

Someone has spilled something where I am sitting before I was sitting here.  I am the only one adventurous enough to splay my legs to miss the little streams that have collected on the subway floor.  The viscous liquid isn't water, the bits where it has already dried look to have a slightly sticky residue.  There is also an unnatural uniformity of the lines on the smooth rubber, making a vaguely geographic pattern one might find looking out of a plane down to the desert.  Wadi Yarmuk.  Wadi Qelt.
When Jeff turned 21 we took him to a bar just outside the Old City, drinking Maccabee beers until it became difficult to carry him home.  Aaron and I stayed up all night making sure Jeff didn't turn over in his sleep knowing the whole time we were slated to hike through the Valley of the Shadow of Death the next day.  John and David pulled the day shift, walking Jeff through the desert while Aaron and I did our best to not fall over from exhaustion scrambling over the rocks.  When we go back to the hostel, we got it in the ear from the management thanks to all the vomit stains in the room.  To make matters worse, Jeff had lost his hearing-aid the night before.  He would have to read lips for a week or two before the new one would show up in the mail.
We got a lot of subsequent flack from the people we were with for not "taking care of our friend." This always rankled me. That's exactly what we did every step of the way.