It could have been stolen. It could have been accidentally thrown out. Whichever, the God’s eye is gone. I’ve looked for it where things accumulate, where people leave things. Every house has a corner like that. I’ve been to the market, too. I’ve walked down those cobblestone streets. But I made a conscious decision not to give myself a plan B. I’ve tried everything I can. I can’t keep drowning, I just can’t. I pull up to a traffic light and see a flame thrower, and someone wanting to sell me little Popeye figurines. And in the end, the answer is no.
Howie Good, 2018
Beer with a Painter: Alfredo Gisholt, by Jennifer Samet