Nick

Nick casts no shadow. He is everywhere and nowhere except when he is somewhere, like in the bookstore bathroom doing heroin. On the baby-changing table with a needle in his arm, Nick becomes again like a baby--awed, uncoordinated, and photophobic. Also antisemitic. He talks too slow and stares too long, focusing on the immediate as though it were the horizon and on your face like it's the first thing he's ever seen.

Last week, a dark wind took Nick away and his insubstantial body will never again pale our doorway.