Side-Hustle: A Novel

(These “novel-poems” were posted on Instagram in a serial fashion from November 17–December 2, 2019. Alvah was considering turning them into a play, a podcast, or another longer-form genre.)

1.

Tonight, I spilled
strawberries all over

a lady’s lawn.
I was walking up

and the shit just
popped open.

She was so sweet about it.
Stephanie. She said, “things

happen,” and I guess they do.
She didn’t say, “things happen

for a reason.” But, they do.
Sometimes they happen

for more than one reason.
I trace the case

of the spilled strawberries
back to my trunk-light.

It’s burnt-out. There’s probably
a reason for that, too, but

I don’t know what it is.
Could be the wiring. Not

really my field of expertise,
electricity. Stephanie.

She was so sweet about it.
She said, “things happen.”

I didn’t tell her about you,
or my trunk-light,

or the strawberries
I’ve spilled

all over town.
$7.95, for the record,

and I’m not really
expecting a tip.

November 17, 2019

2.

There are all sorts
of cut-throughs, but,

you’ve got to know
about them. You’ve got

to be at this a while.
Sometimes I’ll see

somebody stuck in a turn lane
and I’ll think, “sucker” or

“rookie.” Anyway, cut-throughs
are important in this game.

You’ve got to make the most
of your time and your gas,

if you’re gonna win.
The other day

or the other day,
I found this cut-through

between two Walmarts.
I’m not going to tell you

where it is because…
competition.

Anyway, the first street runs through a lower middle-class
neighborhood of single-story
concrete block homes.

Unremarkable, except in the middle
of this neighborhood

there is a giant Buddhist temple.
It just comes up

out of nowhere and it’s gorgeous.
It’s got to be 5-stories tall,

all white, except the windows
and the awnings, which

are gold filigree. It’s got
an ornate gold gate

and signs painted in blue
in a language I can’t understand.

I think two things, now,
every time I drive past it:

There is no such thing
as a single story home

and, once I drop
this shit off, I swear,

I’m gonna think about her
one last time, and

then, I’m gonna move
beyond desire.

November 17, 2019

3.

I’ve moved beyond
desire now, I think.

Damn, it’s hard to tell.
it’s possible. But, I know

I need more money.
What I should do

is get another side-hustle, but,
that would be

a side-side-hustle
and that starts to sound

like a line-dance
or something out of a ‘90s

exercise video. I cannot
dance and I will not

exercise, but, I definitely
need more money.

That’s not to say
I desire it.

I definitely don’t desire
another side-hustle, so,

that’s progress.

November 17, 2019

4.

I’m writing this in verse, but
once I’m done I’m going

to take all the line-breaks out
and make paragraphs.

People will pay good money
to read from one margin

aaaall the way down to the other one.
But, they won’t pay you shit

to read half a line, then another
half a line, then an ellipsis,

then an internal half-rhyme
followed by your best line

which you’ve turned into
a refrain.

That’s my one takeaway
from my creative writing class.

That once in a while
take your best line

and turn it
into a refrain.

November 17, 2019

5.

When I first started this gig
I got two speeding tickets

bang, right off the bat. $300,
and those cops

were being generous. Plus,
I’m a white guy, so

I got to keep my head.
Still, generosity aside,

do not sleep on
a speeding ticket. First,

they will suspend your license
and then if they pull you

over again, buddy,
they will have your ass

in the Starkville City Jail
with a quickness! Now,

that’s a speeding ticket…
a subpoena, depending

on who you are, you
can safely ignore. Join

a nice conspiracy, hell,
cook one up, give aid

and comfort to the enemy,
undermine whatever

you can find, and if, one day
you catch a subpoena

in your mailbox? Do what
you will with it. Wallpaper

your bathroom, make
a paper airplane, an origami

frog, if you have
the attention span,

flout it, make flautas
out of it, write a note

on the back of it
and leave it

for the delivery guy.
Have a field day!

Plot on, plot on, Voltaire, Rousseau!
Tweet away, tweet away,

tweet away, Dixieland!
Because there is

absolutely no penalty
for ignoring a subpoena,

depending on who you are.
That’s the kinda shit keeps

making America great again
and again and again.

Take a breath…ok,
back to the speeding tickets.

I used to have a girl
that rode along with me.

She told me about this app
that could tell you

what was coming a long ways
down the road. Solved

my speeding ticket problem
just like that.

She was so pretty and cool,
but nothing an app

could help you with
and she knew all kinds a things

I didn’t.

November 17, 2019

6.

I’m writing this
in my car. Sometimes

while I’m parked
and sometimes

while I’m driving.
Time is, as I mentioned,

of the essence.
I’m writing this

from one of the two
little black dots

at the end of a graph
from Mother Jones. That

graph starts in 1981
and ends in this parking lot.

That graph has two lines
and it looks like a mall

at closing time.
One guy on the escalator

going up and 99 people
on the escalator going down.

The way the points lie
on that graph isn’t an accident.

It took a long time, a lot
of money and planning

and a bunch of elections
to get them that way.

I’m writing this in my car
and I’m writing this

from the little black dot
at the end of a graph.

November 17, 2019

7.

It’s getting kind of duskish,
but, I pull back into the lot

thinking maybe I’ll get
one more and then call it.

There’s a guy next to me
in a blue car. He’s definitely

waiting, too, and it looks like
he’s all up in his

iPhone Notes like I am.
So I’m like:

“Whatcha got going there?
Writin’?”

“Yep”

“Whatcha writin’?”

“Novel”

“Oh yeah, me too. Yours got arc?”

“Huh?”

“You know, is there a spiritual
progression taking place? Things
moving along to somewhere?”

“Yeah, it’s got arc. It’s got arc for
days. Arc’s not a problem. It’s just,
I don’t know, I feel like it’s literal
and I’m not really hearing the
music, ya know?”

“Hmm, no, not really. I’m hearing
the music…I can rhapsodize and
shit. I just, I got no arc over here,
like…at all.”

“Well, maybe we can work
something out.”

“You mean like a swap? Work a
trade? Like Strangers on a Train or
whatever?”

“Yeah, something like that. Music
for arc.”

“So, your novel…you trying to
seduce somebody or just people
in general, or what? Who’s your
target audience? Any way you can
throw in a 20?”

“Yeah, somebody in particular. It’s
like that, ya know?

She’s, ah, anyway…yeah maybe
on the 20, lemme see how I do
over the next couple days.”

“Cool, well can’t you just text her
or something. Something brief, or
is it beyond that?”

“Yeah, it’s way beyond all that.”

“Well, brother, I hate to tell you,
but by the time you finish that
novel, with or without music, she’s
liable to have moved on. And then
you’re gonna have to hope to sell
the movie rights and by then she’s
got a kid and you gotta bank on
her being divorced.”

“I know, but, dude this parking
lot…Jesus. What the fuck are you
gonna do, right?”

“No, I, I feel ya. But I think what
you probably need for your project
is some short, ambiguously pretty
bullshit.

Something allusive, with a nice ending.
Leave her blushing a little, but confused
about why, because she has no idea what
the fuck you’re talking about. You know
what I’m sayin’.”

“And then I’m lookin’ at her like,
‘Baby, you and I both know
what I’m saying here.’”

“Exactly. Shit, my bell just went
off. What time do you usually get up here?”

“About 8:30. Wanna meet back up?”

“Sure. Sounds good. What’s your
name, bro?”

“My real name or my pen name?”

“I’ll just look for your car.”

“Night.”

“Night.”

Motherfucker already has arc and
a pen name. I gotta be here by 7.

November 17, 2019

8.

An idea, a writer, too much time
…that shit’s toxic.

That is not the recipe
for success.

Do not let it sit
in an SUV all day

in the sun.
Do not put it all

in a coke bottle
and shake it up.

Do not cook that shit up
all night in a motel room

on Youngerman Circle.
Do not douse it with a bunch

of broke-ass and heartbreak
and Jack Daniels.

that shit is combustible.
Your life will turn into

a Superfund site.
You ever tried bringing

a girl home
to a Superfund site?

Both of you just sitting there
on the couch

in your yellow hazmat suits,
trying to make conversation?

I will tell you, you cannot
charm your way out

of that situation.
I will tell you, you can put on

Pulaski at Night
or Into the Mystic

or whatever you want
and it won’t make

a damn bit of difference.
I will tell you, you

can order in
chicken and waffles

from the Metro Diner
because you know

that’s what she likes,
but, that shit is going

exactly nowhere.
I will tell you

a hazmat suit,
even one in her color,

even one altered
to flatter her figure,

will. not. ever.
lend itself

to intimacy.
I will tell you

that you, son,
are fucked.

November 18, 2019

9.

You can’t help but think
about the phrase

“Available Balance,” these days.
It just keeps popping up.

Every time you go to the ATM.
Every time you see your therapist.

Every time you squint at the ATM
after seeing your therapist.

As long as you see “Available
Balance” you know you’re ok.

You know there’s a balance
you can avail yourself of.

Now, the word “Overdrawn,” as it is
designed to do,

will tip your ass
right on over.

That would be your “Antonym,”
more or less,

and every “Antonym,”
as you know from your

bank statement,
comes with a fee.

I was listening to a podcast
and they said a good way

to keep an “Available Balance”
and avoid “Antonym” fees

is through the power
of “Compound Interest.”

I grasp the concept,
but I can’t say I have

any personal experience
with “Compound Interest.”

I am, however, well-acquainted
with “Compound Fracture.”

It happened at the corner of
Would You Look at this Motherfucker

and Use Your Fucking Blinker.
Most insurers consider

a “Compound Fracture”
to be a “Pre-existing Condition,”

especially if ya bone
still stickin’ out ya leg.

I probably don’t need
to spell out the effect

a “Compound Fracture”
can have on your

“Available Balance,”
but, we can stop by

the ATM if you want to.

November 18, 2019

10. (there was no 10 posted)

11.

Like I was saying
in the Prologue,

I’m not what you’d call
risk-averse, at least

when it comes to money
or women. But, being

risk-averse is a trait,
I figure, and like some traits

it can be learned
and unlearned.

Actually, I guess
there’s a bit of debate

about that, but,
for the sake of tuition fees

we’re gonna assume
people can change.

Anyway, I’m developing
a 12-week course

to help me, and others
like me, learn

to take less chances.
The first six-week session

will take place
at a table simulating

the Final Table
at the World Series of Poker.

The subject will be heads-up
against the instructor.

The subject and the instructor
will both be all-in

and the winner of the hand
will, theoretically, stand to win

ten-million dollars. The loser
will receive a tote-bag,

a used tote-bag, well-used,
with the logo of delivery service

screen-printed on the side.
The subject will be holding trip aces

and the instructor will be drawing
to an inside straight. Only

the River Card will remain.
The instructor will need

a 3 to win.
The dealer, the subject’s mother,

will reveal the River Card
and it will be a 3. The dealer

will then slap the living shit
out of the subject. The subject

will then say, “You’re right, ma,
you were right all along.”

The exercise will be repeated
up to 10 times a day

over the six-week period
or until the subject

gets it through
his thick fucking skull.

There is a waiver involved.
During the second

six-week term
the subject will be provided

with a pre-programmed
cellphone and a 12-pack.

The phone will only have access
to the Instant Messenger app

and the Instagram
page of the ex-girlfriend

of the subject’s choosing.
The moderator, the subject’s

mother, will then hand the subject
the phone and a beer.

The instructor will then observe
and record how many beers

the subject is capable of consuming
until he feels compelled

to check his ex-girlfriend’s
Instagram page, observe

the photos of her
and her new boyfriend

vacationing off the coast
of Dubai on a trimaran,

and text her begging
her to come back to him.

The moderator will then
slap the living shit

out of the subject.
The exercise will be repeated

until the conclusion
of the six-week term

or until the subject
is capable of finishing

the entire 12-pack without
either checking his ex’s

Instagram page and/or
texting her.

Sallie Mae has agreed
to make available

a student loan package
with very favorable terms

and the board of Facebook
has generously agreed

to provide a $500 grant
for interested students.

As an added incentive,
the good people

at Bud Light Platinum
will contribute

to the cost of rehab,
if necessary.

State licensing is,
as of this date,

pending.

November 18, 2019

12.

I want to call.
I want to call you.

I want to call you Scarlett.
I want to call you, Scarlett.

I can’t call you, Scarlett.
I can’t call you Scarlett.

I can’t call you.
I can’t call.

I just spent a bunch of money
to get the shit

slapped out of me
and now I’ve graduated

and I’ve got loans
to pay and I’ve moved

beyond desire. But,
nobody said

I can’t come over
to your place

and call you Scarlett.
And nobody certainly ever said

I can’t wake up and look at you
and whisper, “Scarlett.”

Nobody ever said
anything like that

except you.

November 19, 2019

13.

Ok, a run like this
is where you make it

on mileage. It’s
a long way down

Painted Oak Drive
to Distant Moon Circle.

With any luck at all
it’s not even our moon.

It’s a far more distant moon
circling a far more distant

planet.

November 19, 2019

14.

This isn’t the kind of thing
you can do forever, you

know that, so
you gotta invest a little

in your future.
I try to keep it to two

$5 scratch-offs a day.
Work that into your budget.

Get the ones with the Bonus
Box, if you want.

That’s not a bad play, but,
what you want to avoid

are the ones
that have a crossword

or a word-scramble
or some shit like that.

They start to seem like
a lot of work

after a while. I mean, yeah,
we all want a million dollars,

but, come on.

November 19, 2019

15.

I’ve got a limp going
with my left foot.

I like it. It gives me
a little roll coming

across a parking lot
or whatever. I think

it takes some of the soft
off me. I mean,

you and I know
I got bit by my own dog,

sitting in the backyard,
drinking coffee, trying

to write a little
and render you in peace,

but, the other ladies don’t
have to. I can story it up,

now. I coulda got this shit
kickin’ some bitch’s

door in, or in a street-fight,
resisting arrest, sparring

MMA. I mean, they’ll see
the soft before too long,

like you did. And they’ll know
what to do with it,

like you did. But, for a minute?
Coming across a parking lot

with a little roll or whatever?
Shit, anything’s possible.

November 19, 2019

16.

This gig can be quaint
in a way. You feel

like the milkman must’ve felt
back in the day. Part

of the community and all that.
You start to see the same

customers over and over.
I never forget a name

or a front door
and, definitely, not a face.

I wonder what the milkman
used to see, back in the day,

when a customer opened
their door.

I wonder if they saw
a bunch of shit

packed in boxes
and almost no furniture.

I wonder if they heard
similar stories: I raised

my two sons by myself.
I’ve got multiple sclerosis

and I can’t get out.
My wi-fi only works

half the time
because of the government…

You’re probably wondering
why I ordered all this bleach.

I’ll tell you, come on in.
“No, I’m good, Mr. Gherdes.

Gotta move on
to the next stop, you know.”

I actually did
drop a bunch of milk

and cereal at a church
day-care down on E. 19th Street.

Those ladies were doing their best
from what I could tell.

I never forget walking
over worn-out carpet,

between walls covered with
little, purple

hand-prints and faded
bright colors. Makes

you feel like part
of the community

and all that. Some people
deserve milk, they do,

and they deserve
kind people

to pour it for them.

November 20, 2019

17.

I made up a code
for us, so we could keep

the texts short
when we were both out

running. Safety first,
then coffee (mu@sb?)

if we were both

(nc) near Collins and

(bd) between deliveries.
It got a lot more elaborate

as time went on.
It had to. I’d give you

more examples, but, you’d need
an Enigma Machine.

Once in a while,
I still broadcast our code

out into the vast emptiness
of her number.

I’m a satellite
facing the wrong way.

“Bong, bong, bong,”
as Lou Reed would say.

November 21, 2019

18.

My overhead I try
to spend locally.

That’s just good policy,
I think. Don’t give

your money to the Circle K
or the Shell.

They won’t miss it.
Your tank of gas will be

nothing more than
a rounding error

to those people, trust me.
My boiled peanuts,

lottery tickets, beer,
Skittles, smokes,

and what-have-you,
I get them all

from the Korean family
that runs the little store

up on Stockton Street.
The mother always has

a crock-pot full of whatever
sitting on a table

off to the side. Damn,
it’s so good and so free.

November 21, 2019

19.

I’ve got a history
of running off.

Mostly on tabs,
but, I’ll run off

on a Thursday
just as quick.

Pour me on and I’ll run
off the pancakes,

across the counter,
and onto the floor.

I didn’t used to.
I used to be solid, but

then I got a history.
If I’m not in the room

and my smokes
are still on the table

odds are
I’m coming back.

If I don’t, then consider it
a victory.

Enjoy the spoils,
smoke the smokes,

and write a history
I won’t be back to read.

Thursday, November 21, 2019

20.

If it got so bad
I forgot about you,

then you know,
how bad it got.

November 21, 2019

21. (there was no 21 posted)

22.

Come August, I felt like I’d earned
a vacation. Like, for real…

that’s the way I think.
“I’ve done the absolute

minimum a guy can do
and now I’m beat

and it’s time
for a vacation.”

I don’t know if she thought
she’d earned a vacation or not,

but, she’d been running
around with me

for months, so I definitely felt
like she was due,

or I hoped she would be soon.
That’s a whole ‘nother story,

and we’ll get to it.
Anyway, you don’t need

a travel-agent,
if any of them still exist,

to plan your shit for you.
I’m good at running off

with no intention
of coming back.

We’ve established that.
But, what I’m even better at

is finding places
to go…amazing places,

and amazing places
to stop along the way.

And, at the end of your vacation,
and this is not

some kind of a pitch, I also
have a sterling reputation

for dropping people
back off at the same address

they started from. If
that’s what they want.

I’d say about 75% do
and the other 25% say

something along
the lines of, “Any street

in Montgomery will do,” or,
“Yeah, right here. No you know

what? Just keep driving
until I tell you to stop.”

And I keep driving and driving
until they tell me to stop.

I’ve done the numbers
and 3% of the 25%

of the people who thought
they didn’t want to go home,

actually did. 15% have me
circle an apartment complex

until the rental office opens.
And the other 7%?

The ones that said, “right here,”
in the middle of nowhere,

and hopped on out?
I hope they know

the neighborhood, because,
I don’t. Not at night.

November 22, 2019

23.

If you usually
find yourself

regretting what you sought,
then it’s probably

not too early to go ahead
and regret

what it is you’re seeking.
You know, get

a jump on it.

November 24, 2019

24.

Today, parked here,
I ended up with plenty

of time to think
about love and grammar.

I’m a lucky guy in some ways…
what can I tell ya?

I thought about
prescriptive grammar

and then I thought about
her grammar.

I wrote what amounted
to an essay

on prescriptive grammar.
I destroyed the idea from

the ground up,
just for her sake,

and then I swiped
those 40 lines

and clicked delete.
Thank me.

This is a love poem.
I know what I want,

and I know what I want
from a love poem,

and so do you.
When she moved

to Florida she brought
a little accent with her

from West Virginia
or North Carolina, or

whichever. Her
subjects and verbs

didn’t always agree
with one another

and I was fine with that.
In fact, I was more than fine

with that. So, now
whenever I wonder

whether she ever thinks
about our vacation.

Those two days in August,
in Alachua and counties

surrounding.
The unlikely waterfall

we found, the tortoise
that was 50/50

to make it safely across the road,
the green of the country,

in general,
and the donkeys that were

just down-home friendly
and didn’t mind

the paparazzi. Whenever
I wonder if she ever

thinks about the things
we did together

and the things we saw, I don’t.
What I do is I wonder

if she ever thinks about
the things we seen together

and about the things
we done.

November 27, 2019

25.

Christmas is closing in again.
My side lost the war…again.

You have to be, like,
super-thoughtful

when you’re on a budget.
I can be super-thoughtful,

when cornered. I can
find something for $8.99

and wrap it in the comics.
$8.99, and when you

open it your ma will say,
“That boy’s on a budget,

but that boy loves you.”

November 29, 2019

26.

A good playlist
will help you through

the long hours.
I’ve got The Kinks

going now. I love
Waterloo Sunset.

I can listen to it
over and over.

The part where Terry meets Julie,
Waterloo Station, every Friday night?

Ah, gets me every time!
You know who didn’t like

Waterloo Sunset?
Napoleon. By late afternoon

it had to be sinking in.
Striking, the colors.

Tricolors, to be exact, plus
shades of orange

filtered through the smoke.
Any other day he would’ve

thought, “As long as I gaze on
Waterloo Sunset

I am in paradise
and I don’t need no friends…”

November 30, 2019

27.

Never a pause
or a lull

in the conversation.
There never was a lull

or a pause, that I can remember.
It would’ve been ok,

had there been one,
but, there wasn’t.

Not that I can remember. Ever.
And, at the end of every night,

under a blanket
or the Stockton Park sign,

she always had a way of saying “always”
that I think I mistook for “always.”

There was never a pause,
or a lull. Never an opening

in the conversation to ask
about “always,” all

the things it can mean,
and for how long.

December 1, 2019

28.

It only takes about
2 and a half feet of water

to float a car. Once
your car is adrift

there’s no telling where
you’ll end up and your

gas mileage improves.
So, I keep checking

the weather. We need
the rain. We do.

And a lot of it.
Kalispell or Venice,

either is fine. Float
me there. Of course,

there’s an equal chance
I’ll find myself

in Gatlinburg, Myrtle Beach,
or Branson, whenever

the waters decide to recede.

December 1, 2019

29.

“Yo!”

“Hey, man, what’s up? You’re the novelist
I talked to a couple weeks back, right?
How’s it going for you?”

“I’m making a little here and there, you
know.”

“No, I mean the novel. Is it flowing and
shit?”

“I guess. It’s still prosaic as hell, but,
whatever…You got any arc going?”

“Fuck no, I don’t have any arc going. I’m
writing in circles, like I always do.”

“We can fix that. I’m tellin’ you. What’s the
dramatic thing in the beginning that sets
the whole thing off.”

“Sheeee, ah, puts honey on a biscuit.
Then eats the biscuit. Actually, that
happens before the novel starts. It’s told
as a flashback.”

“Ok, hmmm, so what’s in there to grab the
reader’s attention? You know, get them
invested?”

“The way I describe her putting honey on
the biscuit and then eating the biscuit. I go
on about it for about 5 or 6 pages.”

“And, then what happens?”

“The waitress brings her another biscuit.”

“And…”

“And, then she puts honey on the biscuit
and eats the biscuit. But, you know,
differently.”

“Ah, well, there goes my bell. Let me know
how it turns out.”

“Yeah, man, mos def.”

December 2, 2019