Occasionally it happens still. Not as often as it used to; but sometimes he still roars and when he does it is usually to extract terrible vengeance. One time though, he gave me the words and the courage to speak to a beautiful girl in the park. That was forty years ago. That girl and I were married for 32 of those years. She’s gone now but, for some reason he and I live on.
His lines are blurring. He is not as sharp as he used to be but that’s OK. The same things can be said of me. I got him in the orient. Kowloon, at a shop called Pinky’s. Pinky tattooed this Dragon and Pearl of Wisdom on my chest. Living art as soon as he was inked. He breathing is synchronized with mine and the pearl gives him knowledge coupled with an acute sense of justice which he exercises from time to time. The last time he roared we were in the subway. The car was about half full and two gangbangers were harassing an old man. Shaking him down, taking his money and packages, slapping him around. When the transit cops came in at the next stop one of those gangbangers was dead. The other was sitting on the floor in a puddle of his own urine, whimpering. Of course, no one saw anything.
We all had to go down to the station and I spent about an hour talking to the cops but they had no reason to hold me so I left. That was about a year ago. I saw that old man again on the train last night. He smiled at me and nodded his head when he got off at 47th Street . He remembers and so do I.
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