The Merchants of Zion Read Free

away from me. “Shit, they're charging this for that?” he said, gesturing at his plate. “Why go somewhere that rips you off so hard?”
    I left a generous tip, to piss him off.
    “Yo Cliff. She was awful. Maybe the worst service I ever had.” He didn't bother to keep his voice down, and she openly glared at him. “Whatever. If you want to waste your money, it's none of my business.”
    I stopped at the bodega on the corner to buy a pouch of loose tobacco and some rolling papers. James asked if I could also get a six-pack and ice cream. He didn't have the money and needed me to spot him.
    “Pay you back next week. I promise.”
    “Yeah, right,” I said, but nodded at the cashier to ring them up. Outside, I offered to roll him a cigarette.
    “Fuck no, man. Those things kill you.”
    “Not like your snack. Right fatty?” I joked, slapping his belly.
    “I've gone to shit. I know.” He slumped his shoulders and stared at his feet. His shoes were a ragged pair of sneakers, once neon. I recognized the designer; he was dead, and if the shoes had been in better shape they would have been worth quite a bit. He had not, I realized, come straight to me after being thrown to the curb, but had in all likelihood bounced around for some time, staying with friends or former lovers until he wore out his welcome which, his personality being what it was, wouldn't have taken long. Despite everything about him that screamed douchebag, despite his lack of a single excuse for sympathy or pity, I wished I could offer him more than a couch to sleep on and a busted old tablet on which to check his mail.
    “Hey James,” I said.
    “What?”
    “You remember Freshmen year, when you lost that girl's notes? For Calculus, right?”
    “Yeah, I remember.”
    “Well,” I sidled away from him, just out of reach. “I threw them away. Because I had a crush on her and then you two hooked up.”
    “You weasely piece of shit.”
    “Just thought you should know.”
    He pounced at me and swung wide, nicking the top of my shoulder. His heart wasn't behind it though, and I hardly felt the punch.
    “Christ. If you liked her why not tell me?”
    “Would it've stopped you?” I asked.
    “Of course. I'm not into that petty shit.”
    Back in the apartment, he settled on the couch and opened a beer and his ice cream. The complimentary wooden spoon broke on the first scoop, and when he tried to use it sans handle I offered to get a real one from the kitchen.
    “While you're up, can you throw these in the fridge?” he asked, tossing me the remaining beers. “You can have one if you want.”
    “How generous of you, but I've gotta pick up Elly.”
    “Huh?”
    “The girl I tutor. School's over soon.”
    “So she goes to school all day? And you tutor her?”
    “Yeah.”
    “And you make enough from that to survive?”
    “Right.”
    “Including rent?”
    “Well, rent's not an issue.”
    “Yeah?”
    “It's complicated.”
    “No it's not. You're a charity case,” he said.
    “Look, just don't trash the house while I'm gone. No parties.”
    I texted Dimitri to warn him James was staying with us, and that I'd explain later. There were enough mutual grievances between them to spark an intergenerational blood feud. However, I was sure I could smooth things over, or at least buy James the few weeks he needed to get back on his feet.
    I lit another cigarette and bounced off towards the subway to shield my young charge from a fallen world.

Le Flaneur
     
    Cacophony on Wall Street
    by Zoe Gomez
     
    On the corner of Wall St. and Water, on a recent Tuesday, I met with Frederick Williams, New York City's Assistant Director of Watershed and Pump Infrastructure. Wearing the ill-fitting, charcoal suit civil servants are buried in, and a button on his lapel reading “What Pumps Up Must Pump Down,” he offered me a seat on the bench on which he was sitting.
    At least, that's what I think he was doing, as I couldn't hear him over the incessant locomotion of