Homie and the Wolf by Stuart Ross

I knew Shawna in college. We would cuddle, talking till dawn. When she moved to Logan Square I agreed to help her carry some heavier things. She also needed my advice on furniture placement and a few paintings.

When we got tired of unpacking we cuddled on the mattress in the center of the room. It was the final hour of night.

“Where are you, Bailey?” Shawna asked. “You seem far away.”

“I need to get going,” I said.

“Take me to dinner tomorrow night. Show me sweet home Chicago.”

“I don’t eat out anymore.”

After sundown, what is there left to do. I wanted to head home and make offerings to Homie. Homie speaks to me concerning the levels of proprioception radiating from my unique frequency.

Shawna nestled her head in my cold neck. I rubbed her far shoulder like a buddy.

“You were an artist, Bailey. Artists eat out. “

“Money is my only art now.”

“So I’ll find a Groupon.”

We kissed.

“You have the body of an artist. The posture of an artist. The hair,” she said, running her fingers through my walnut locks, “of an artist. You kiss like an artist. You make love to me like an artist. Look at my painting if you need proof.”

I looked at the wall. I’d hung the picture perfectly. Shawna at a bridge and pond scene in the contained natural zone of our college.

Any painting not of Homie just looks like squiggly lines to me.

“What did you spend on that frame?” I asked.

She looked removed.

“What, Shawna, did I say something?”

“No it’s not that. This time of night reminds me of the night we met.”

She rose from the bed. She undressed slowly and looked good doing it. She put Robert Johnson on the record player. We made love as the sun went down. She dressed slowly and looked good doing it.

“I should go,” I said. “I’ve got personal business in the morning with my traders.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Not in Asia Pac.”

“Do you still talk to Damien?”

“Yeah. Not for awhile, but yeah.”

“What’s his number.”

I texted Damien’s number to Shawna and texted Damien I’d texted it.

“What’s the first thing you think I should do in Chicago?” she asked.

“Get a colonic.”

“What’s a colonic?”

“An internal cleanse. You need a few to make a dent. There are packages.”

“What does it do?”

“Your body is a liquid. The colonic is a cup for that liquid. It taught me a lot about my health. We all need to chew more thoroughly.”

I saw a message back from Damien: THANK YOU.

I headed to the door.

“Stay over tonight.”

“Maybe some other time,” I said.

“I don’t know if you know what time is anymore, Bailey.”

I got in my SL and rolled the top down. I drove back to my condo in River West. I undressed and put on my pajamas. I made an offering to Homie. Let the night wake me with an approach to give my traders.

Tomorrow it would rain. Tomorrow I would dance. I slept the single-talking sleep of kings.


Find out more about Stuart Ross here.