A Bad Man

My return to New York City was unceremoniously greeted by my good friend Andrew. While awaiting my trial in Thailand, he promised a 'soft landing' in a hard city. The architect kept his promise. A room and a little food. This edge proved decisive in my recolonization of New York as was my yearlong stay with Vladmar in Williamsburg. Basement apartment for a little money. Small enough that you couldn't swing a cat around your head, but warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Damp too, but I don't suffered from arthritis. All was good until I decided to check my shoes.

They were covered with furry mould.

Blue and a millimeter thick.

I was not alone. This fungus had spread to all my shoes. I wasn't scared, even though Vladmar's Russian friend said that he had lost his teeth to mold fungus after a long sea cruise.

"They fell out one by one. Healthy teeth."

This discovery acted as an impetus to leave Valdmar's basement. Andrew was offering his top floor as a refuge. It was cheaper, cleaner, and bigger. I explained to Vladmar that I was leaving his place. I had given him no warning. He was angry. Feeling betrayed. I didn't want to be a bad man, but this is 2009. It's every man for himself or 'sauve qui peut' as the French sailors say once the women and children are off a sinking ship.

Vladmar said, "Selfish coward. Go on your merry way."

I packed my bags within an hour. A cab took me to Fort Greene. I missed Vladmar and the old neighborhood. The food from the Italian shops was delicious. I felt like a bad man, but slept better knowing the deadly mold fungus was not lurking beneath my feet. Vladmar will get over it too, because I'm brave enough to know when going is better than staying. Anyone who survived the Titnaic will say the same.