Both Bruce Jenner and Jack of the Weeds just happen to wear cellophane seventies jogging shorts to the fancy dress ball on their living room carpet. They zoom some crazy looking, each in his own corner, but that is not enough to stop them from a stunning social living room success.
The race tracks know things and the weeds know Jack. He came from their sidewalk places with a big chocolate key wrapped in golden tin foil and has stood there in the street some days looking for the single strong thing for that chocolate to unlockolate. There are no others in his home office today, there are no holes on this day of holy empties. And so Jack must settle into recreation, and so he must socialize with the fancy disease, and the tuxedos, and with Bruce.
Bruce was there for five other reasons. It had something to do with the daily double special.
“I am no daily double, so I please do not mistake me,” said the Cyclops to Bruce Jenner, said he to Jack of the Weeds.
Not that they even meant him to be, it was all in a mind, it was all in a belly eye mind of a Cyclops and not at all intended by the Bruce or the Jack.
“And what brings you,” Bruce Jenner says as he runs in his place. His cellophane shorts make such riot of light that you think it is fireworks all down in his groin.
Jack of the Weeds would ask this as well, if there were time in the world to ask it, if there was a moment before Cyclops talked out of his own mouth, big and hot and yellow as sun.
“I admire Dingy Bahsome, some would say that I do love her, and I love her not in wanting but in planning and design. I do not quite want to meet her, tho to meet her would be precious, what I mostly want of all in town is to be just like her.”
Cyclops says and the other two listen to his says. They have their own says and they have their own ways and they have their own notions and they stand still like a thing or five or two.
Jack of the Weeds knows for sure that he is of and not exactly. Bruce Jenner knows his place in every football field: the edges. They know where they all should be, and they think they know where everybody should stay, and they wear their shorts like astronomy, and they answer when they’re asked.
They don’t take the time to think it out, they don’t need to plan out all their words, they only need to say their two, their two daily double, the cause of some mistakes.
“This,” Bruce Jenner.
“That,” said Jack in his own start.
“Is madness,” was Bruce Jenner.
“Is so crazy,” was the Jack’s own weedy words.
They each gave a short opinion, and they were unique but they were similar and they were quite the same, but said not so, and this is how it was.
Cyclops would have said, but he wondered if it was even necessary. He would have taken their advice, taken it to the trash can, that is what he would be doing.
He moved on down the street and those two theezers ate chocolate key for lunch.
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