WEDNESDAY

I wrote her a letter; melancholy, romantic letter, the worst kind. I wrote it because I'd wanted to see her, talk to her but hadn't since we slept together. Between her job and her beer and her boys; we lost touch for a week. So I wrote a letter. It was a nice, funny letter, on company stationary and I used a nice pen. I felt good going into it because I pictured her holding it while she read it. Email you read and delete. A real letter; you can hear the sound of yourself crumpling or tearing the paper as you discard the letter and laugh. A real letter is a more memorable, visceral experience.

I mailed it and the very same night she called. "I mailed you a letter today." I told her, embarrassed, right off the bat."You'll probably get it tomorrow. Your calling ruined the whole thing."

"You wrote me a letter? Cool. Do you want to go get pie?" She asked. But instead we ended up in a redneck bar on Hillsborough Avenue. She doesn't likes those kinds of places for irony's sake. I think she just feels more comfortable.

We drank dollar drafts from children's glasses. The skeleton's eyes lit up red again over by the cash register and it did it's little cackling Halloween dance and I could hear its batteries buzzing and then it stopped and its arms and legs drooped straight again.

"Yes. All these women are attracted to me right now because I'm moving and I couldn't possibly care about anything but myself."

"It's true." She nodded. "I gave it up."

"Because I was ignoring you." A guy in a wheelchair rolled past us staring. Every dumpy Florida bar has a guy in a wheelchair. He was probably a Vietnam veteran. "You'd never do such a thing back when I was nice and attentive to you."

"During the day I'll bet this place is scary." She said, temporarily changing the subject, climbing up her stool and standing on the topmost silver bars. The pitch of the room came down for a second as she stretched up to the ceiling and ripped down a wisp of fake spider web. The other patrons: ten working class men, watched her midriff and ass intently but she didn't notice. She crawled back and sat down next to me, rolling the wispy spider web between her little knuckles. "If they took down all the other Halloween decorations except the spider webs: the spider webs would look real in here." Sweet Child O' Mine came on the jukebox and I asked her to be quiet during the guitar intro. When Axl began singing, she said. "I never would have done that if you were acting how you acted before; going back to what we were just talking about."

"I know. You only like me when I act like I don't care about you."

"You acted needy before."

"No, I wasn't!" I wanted to proclaim, 'I've never needed anybody!' But didn't feel right saying that. "I think you just read me wrong." I said, harshly and authoritatively, though I have no authority. She didn't answer but bobbed her head like, 'Maybe, whatever.' And we drank our drinks and silently listened to the guitar solo in Sweet Child O' Mine. It's so good. By the time the singing started again I felt a bit guilty. "Sorry for snapping at you about that. I appreciate your honesty." I said, looking around and checking out the bar's Halloween decorations again. 'Where do we go now?'

THURSDAY

At PIZZA DIVE, the smoke-breakers sit immediately outside the front door. I break off and walk down the wall, around the corner by myself. SIS BOY followed me. "Look, here's the deal," He said poignantly. "Someone was searching the web and found COMMONPLACE and they printed out that story you wrote about spitting in someone's food."

"You can't find COMMONPLACE by just searching the web." I assured him.

"Someone came in to the other PIZZA DIVE location and said, 'Do you guys have a guy name 'COMMONPLACE EDITOR' working here?' and then the guy told them that you were spitting in the food and told them about the story on COMMONPLACE."

"So, am I fired? Number ten?" There was plenty I wanted to know; what did the snitch look like? What else did the snitch say? But I asked first whether I was fired so I could know if the snitch won.

"Rafael (the manager) thinks it's funny actually." Said SIS BOY. "He said to me. 'Hey, I know it's all bullshit. It's all bullshit, right?' But you have to talk to the other managers. The guy who came down and told on you talked to them, not Rafael."

"I live a life of mystery and intrigue, SIS BOY." I laughed exhaustedly and wagged my head and wondered if I was going to get fired again.

The next day, as I began my shift at PIZZA DIVE, the owner came over to me, a blonde woman in her 40's. We had never spoken. PIZZA DIVE, managerially speaking, is a laze faire place. Which is why I think it may be the best job I've ever had. Better than my job writing for the newspaper. Though I have a harder time telling women, 'Yeah, I work at PIZZA DIVE.' It'd be a shame to lose that job. "Are you the one with the web site?" The owner asked, her eyes very round and wide and expectant

"Yes, I heard." I interrupted. "You're not mad at me are you?"

"No, well…" She said. "The guy did say 'if he did it that time, then he'll do it again'"

I thought she meant I'd write shit about PIZZA DIVE again on COMMONPLACE, but I realize now that she meant that the snitch was telling her I'd spit in someone else's food.

"Yeah, who was it that came in and told on me?"

"I think it was someone from you other job; a balding man in his sixties."

"You're not mad at me are you?" I asked again. "I'll take it down if it bothers you guys." I've never offered that to anyone. I've always maintained that I'd get fired for the good of COMMONPLACE.

"No, no. It's your website and I understand that you're a writer and you were just being creative. But you still need to talk to Bonito, the other manager."

I marched into the kitchen and posed as a man and asked him straight. "Do you want to talk to me?" He didn't look up from cutting lettuce. "Yeah, but not now." The rest of the kitchen staff buzzed behind me getting ready for the evening.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone would associate that story with this place. I leave off PIZZA DIVE's name, and even my name is hard to find anywhere on the site. I'll take the story down if you want me to."

"No. It's your website. Just so long as it's all bullshit."

I assured him that it was all bullshit…

I live a life of mystery and intrigue.