Free I Just Want My Pants Back by David Rosen Page B

God, that’s funny. I mean, it’s an honor, no?”
    “It is, it is. And a big responsibility.” I took another sip of my tea.
    “Sure, it’s their big day.” Patty began to pull her head back inside. “Well, I’ll leave you up here to contemplate the mysteries of life, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Oh, by the way, do you know Robert Green, he lives in 2B?”
    I thought for a second. “Oh, is he the guy who wears a cowboy hat sometimes?”
    “Yeah. He’s a drug dealer, you know.”
    “Really, that’s weird. I mean, here in the West Village?”
    “There are drug dealers everywhere, silly! Don’t get excited, though; it’s nothing we’d want. He used to sell pot and give us all a bit for free, to keep us quiet I suppose. He cleaned himself up for a while, probably as long as you’ve lived here. But now…he’s selling crack. That’s the worst, those guys get bloody desperate. That’s the only reason I’m telling you, it’s not like I’m a big gossip or anything. See those guys hanging out across the street? They’re waiting for him to come home.”
    There were two scraggly-looking white dudes sitting on the steps of the brownstone across the street, smoking. I guess they did look like crack addicts, it was kind of hard to tell. Still, I found it hard to believe I had a crack dealer in my building.
    “It’s nothing to worry about, they won’t do anything here, they don’t want Robert busted. But you should know, just so you keep your eyes open.” She coughed her smoker’s cough. Again, you could hear the mattresses in her. “Ahem, sorry. Hey, speaking of drugs, you wouldn’t happen to have any pot, would you?”
    “Why, Patty, what ever gave you that idea?” I laughed at the unabashed question. “Has the hallway been reeking?”
    “No! I mean, I’ve smelled it, but only a little. I just thought you might. If you could spare any, may I borrow a joint?” she asked, quite seriously.
    “Of course, anytime. Oh, do you mean, right now?”
    “No, no big rush. Now I have things to do, people to see. Boring things. But maybe I could stop over when I get back, or if you’re going out, maybe you could slide a joint under my door? I’d really owe you one.” She took a deep breath, like she was trying to eat the air, digest it. “God, these first warm days, they just sneak up on me. All of a sudden I walk outside wearing my winter coat and…it’s spring.” And with another swallow of air and a bony-armed wave, she slipped into the darkness of her apartment.
    I carefully pulled my mug from where I had set it on a stair. I was done with this tea. I wasn’t much of a hot-beverage guy, to be honest. I was the only person I knew who didn’t drink coffee. Whenever I’d tell someone I didn’t drink coffee I’d get a look like I’d just said, “Mmm, puppies, delicious!” in a PETA meeting. Glancing down to make sure I wasn’t about to scald anyone fifteenth-century style, I slowly dumped the rest of the tea to the sidewalk. The pause while it fell, followed by the slap slap slap slap slap as it hit the pavement, was surprisingly fulfilling. I thought of David Letterman and his watermelons. Probably even funnier in person. I considered dropping the mug but thought better of it.
    I stayed sitting there for a bit. The crack addicts gave up on Robert and walked off toward the river. I stared at the clouds hanging above the buildings across the street, looking for animal shapes. There was nothing I wanted to do but I felt like I ought to be doing something. I yawned and covered my mouth. So Jane had completely blown me off, huh? Fuck. Maybe I just wasn’t sexually experimental enough for her, maybe she was looking for a guy with an extra ball or who liked to role-play “school-bus driver/little retarded girl.” I was digging the idea of her, fine, I could admit that. I tried to think about where it might’ve gone wrong. I mean, she still had my pants; why would she have borrowed them if she knew