New Year with The Right Reverend Don
Written January 2nd 2004
at 12:06 am
Hey Victor:
I guess New Years Eve on Death Row is an exciting thing for a
prisoner . . . paper party hats, noise makers and champagne
with fresh orange slices.
Compared to that level of festive activitiy, I had a dull New Year
Celebration.
I spent it with The Right Reverend Don. We laughed and told
lies and hosted a friend, Lawrence the incontinent Vet.
Lawrence, as you may recall, is the Viet – Nam Vet
dying of the Prostate Cancer. Lawrence ruined one
of Donny’s rugs by crapping on it and then turning
the fucker over and hiding the mess.
That story was a good one.
Lawrence didn’t know we were onto him. I asked Don why his rug was
upside down. The Right Reverend insisted it was right side up.
Lawrence just sat stone faced watching a black and white comedy
show on television. Occasionally Lawrence would get up and
open or close the window in the room out of nervousness.
“I closed the window in the room against the rain,”
he would say. Or else “Too stuffy in here.” Like that.
New Years day, The Right Reverend Don cooked up
a meal for Lawrence himself and I. We sat around
making up things to lie to each other about all day.
Lawrence had a big bottle of brandy, Don had wine,
and I had coffee and cigarettes.
Some time ago, Lawrence and The Right Reverend Don got
into a fist fight in the hallway and Lawrence moved out of
The Palomar. Ever since Lawrence moved out, he’s spent
more time here than when he actually lived here.
He has a little shack down by the beach where he brings Gail,
the crack whore. They seem to get along as
well as a Veteran, who can’t walk half a block without messing himself,
in his pants, and a thieving Crack Whore might get along with one and each other.
I know you need money. Trust me when I say I feel bad that I cannot
send you any. I will as/if I can. So there is that.
My life is serene. I do have people all around me who are dissolving
like a spoon full of salt in a glass of water. Russ, I sent
you a picture of him once. Tall, skinny, kid I worked with over at
Johnson’s Phone Room. The kid is on a speed run. Shooting it into his veins.
He knew enough to ask me to go with him in a taxi to get his van so he
could move out of a real bad situation with a woman he got tangled up with.
I haven’t done what I’ve done in my life alone, and I’ll
help those I feel moved to help, fuck the dumbshits.
Russell is one of them I choose to help.
Okay, just a note.
Not a day goes by I don’t stop, think of Victor, and wonder
how fun life must be on Death Row in a 6×9 room.
Hang tight, Victor, summer is but a half a year away;
Florida Summers in a cell on Death Row. . .
Ain’t we got fun. . . ?
Okay,
Father Luke
———————-
Sent via Snail Mail
to:
Mr Victor M Farr
