My friend Cyrt used to say, “Everybody smells different except the Polka Dot Kid.” And I believe he was correct, except that there was no Polka Dot Kid, and that everyone smelled just like him. But Cyrt’s dead now & I can barely trace his scent anymore, the wind in mid-winter being what it is, and all.
Nobody I write about is real. Or at least not really real. I mean—when it comes down to it—mostly we’re all mostly fictitious anyway, right? So I make people up. So sue me.
I usually write about me in the third person. I am he. But if he has a name, it’s never about me. If he has a name, it’s someone else. And he’s (probably) mostly made up. This I can pretty much guarantee.
Charlie’s mostly made up. He’s been hanging around me a while now, & some time back I wrote most of him down. Every once in a while I’d send him out to meet some new folks, but they inevitably rejected him & sent him back.
But Charlie’s found a new home. Charlie’s going to appear sometime soon in the upcoming Inaugural Issue of *82 Review. If I know Charlie (heh heh heh) he’d probably like it if you stopped by to say hello.
I’ll remind you when, once I hear that he’s arrived and has settled in.