by Jak Cardini

I’m dropped off at 4th and something by my buddy Rob. As I open the door and step out, Andre3000 screams “Y E Z Z I R” from the front seat. 

I’m too early. There are two other too early people, laying on the church steps. One gentleman looks like he has been ‘too early’ for quite sometime now. Years maybe. I tell myself “I’m going to write about him, but not in great detail”. A bunch of things happened after this. People showed up and I walked in and out of the church. I met up with people then lost them and re-met somewhere else. I saw a dood in a suit outside the church. A young dood. He looked liked Jesus’s well dressed accountant. He was scarfing Taco Bell. Wrappers everywhere. Fajita meat slamming into his mouth. I know what that dood hopes heaven has. 

“I am  f o r e a l”

People are carrying papers. People are not knowing how to greet each other. I’m thinking words like “invisible”, “roll call”, “old” and “pawn shop”. Followed my words like “waiting”, “intersection” and “adventurous”. Someone in the hallway forces me to think the phrase “Hey David, how are ya?”

Im siting in a pew. The pew is inside the church’s sanctuary. The church’s sanctuary has a monstrous pipe organ. Above the pipe organ, a black web of woodwork spins itself across the ceiling. The ceiling’s web catches absorbs and digests the singing of the people beneath it. The church is a wooden lung.

“Do you have a public or private relationship with your utilities company?”\

Miranda is chewing various parts of her hand. I’m writing this. I’m not paying attention. Suddenly, a grandmother loses her children, all over again, on stage. I can feel kids walking around outside. I start thinking words like “hand”, “25%”, “incarcerated” and “fruit”. I can feel kids, all over the city, making irreparable mistakes.

“You can plan a pretty picnic but you cant predict the weather.”

A political career is building on the stage of this building. The whole wooden lung is clapping. None of us want to, but have to and should think the phrase “youth violence.” I then think “Atticus Finch”. I look around for the guy who ate the Taco Bell. I wonder what he looks like when he is thinking the words “youth violence”. I know I’m incapable of writing anything as important and sincere as this meeting. I knew then that I would resort to writing about Andre3000. These people are building important things inside this building.

“I pray so much about it, need some knee pads.”

I’m listening to a string of numbers delivered matter-of-fact-ly. Out of context, they could be lottery numbers. In context, they are a myriad of overwhelming statistics concerning the african american communities of Louisville. A group of equations, formulating the lives in this wooden lung, who’s solution we are all working on. I feel myself gasping. My chest is filling with numbers. 

And then a white dood on stage said “Re-Nig” extremely loud.

I can feel black juvenile shoplifters all over the city. I can feel their neighbors thinking the words “restorative justice”. I can feel myself fearing that I will feel this way forever.

“… Foreva. Foeva eva. Foeva eva?”   

Born Jeff Hipsher, Jak Cardini lives in Louisville and is part of The Gold County Paper Mill. He has previously been published in Word Riot, Retort Magazine, Zygote In My Coffee, and others.
jakspratattack [at] gmail.com

Red on Red
This One Goes Out To All The Babies Mamas
Drag
You Won’t Believe a Thing I’m Telling You 
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