WHAT I SHOULD KNOW

Well, yes, in case it might become relevant, I am technically a custard pie with eyes. Eyes that watch the sad revolving door at the end of the avenues. And though nothing seldom makes any sense, I keep moving one foot behind the other. And the road, if you can call it that, keeps going upward until it feels like I’m trying to navigate the Himalayas. But worse than that, there is never anyone around to talk to who has an inkling of what it’s like to be consumed with thoughts that want to push the mind over the edge. I should also note that when the Himalayas finally flattens out--usually for no more than a couple of minutes-- the same psychiatrist always appears sitting on a huge pumpkin, toothpick dangling from his mouth, and out of the corner of that mouth he informs me there’s a new medication for depression that has already worked well on his dog, Fee Fee, but that the side effects for humans includes complete hair loss in the genital area, the inability to raise one’s arms higher than a few inches, and sometimes catatonia. “Down below, there are currently a few patients who are being kept alive intravenously in an abandoned shack on the north side of town.” Anyway, if I’m interested, he says he has an opening January 16th at 2:13 p.m. at which time we can discuss the possibilities, but that I should know he’s now charging $5,000 for a 12-minute session, payable at the beginning of the session, cash only, and nothing larger than 2-dollar bills. . .

Jeffrey Zable is a teacher, conga/bongo drummer who plays Afro-Cuban folkloric music, Latin Jazz, and Salsa with groups around the San Francisco Bay Area, and a writer of poetry, flash fiction, and non-fiction. His writing has appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies; more recently in Once Upon a Crocodile, Raw, Fiery Scribe, Third Wednesday, Uppagus, and many others.