019/365 09/09/2025

We met in a little office front down on Houston. Every Tuesday. There was me, Marc, and Patton. Salt, who was the oldest of us. He got dropped off in a big white van, the warning beeps filling all the corners of the neighborhood as they slowly lowered his chair from the van to the ground and wheeled him in. There was a guy who introduced himself as Geoff, but it always took him a second to respond to that name, like first he had to remember he’d asked us to call him that. And then a rotating group of guys who came in and out as they got lonely or scared or had questions about things or needed a little atta boy: Mike, Scott, Jerome, Ling. You can fill it out however you want, really. It was a diverse bunch, the irregulars. We took in all kinds.