She
said his penis was purple.
I’ll
never forget that.
Her
eyes were full of riverboat captains when she spilled those words onto the
long, wooden pier.
I
believe he was the first actual photographer I’d ever met.
Loved
when he’d have a slideshow in his studio and I’ll never forget the picture of
his girlfriend’s breasts in thermal underwear.
Even
Jim was impressed with his playing as we got into “Trouble” at DEAD CAT Studio
in Columbus, Ohio.
The
best acid trips are oftentimes the ones where no acid’s involved.
I
always feel like I’m being pushed toward a personal best when we talk on the
phone like two insurgents or paisanos.
One
time we all went skinny dipping. I’ll never forget Michelle’s eraser sized nipples
and how I was told she liked to have them bitten hard.
When
looking back at my time at Milo it’s rarely with fondness. Something I find
myself still processing like old negatives or memories kept in a trunk from
before the war.
There
are people from that time though that I’ll always consider close friends no
matter if we haven’t spoken in twenty or more years.
Milo
was for me a cauldron of outcasts and rapscallions that exists frozen in time
like the loneliest of teardrops or unapologetic flames.
Charles Cicirella
2/22/17
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