Johnny Coma liked to get up in the dark, in the chewing of mice, with no one to judge him and no false constructs of cheer. In the dark, coffee was a mystery companion. He liked to make a quick pour-through joe in a muslin sock and sit like a lonely barista and sketch the curves of the coffee glass. He liked to warm-down and warm-up using his hand to build the coordination of his wrist bone, his finger bones, his scabbed beaten-up knuckles. He liked to go out and about when the city parties were treed in the small quarters and it was dark in the walled parts and he could sit on a bench in the public square, in the nautical twilight. He liked it in the rain. The rain made the city smaller.
He liked to go to the bench in the square because his pal Sancho was going to be there. Johnny liked
