Nuyorican Obituary

CHAPTERS 1–3

I began this story scrawled on the back of series of postcards I sent to friends. That’s why the chapters are so brief. I will serialize the story here for your amusement.

Chapter One
ON A HOT DAY day you’d think people would have better things to do than sit in a hot bar with one stingy fan. Listless as they lingered, patrons bent to the purpose of their beers and little else. Barely even thought. When the thing with the jug ears walked in no one looked up. He flung himself onto a stool.

Bibi the bartender was perplexed. Could she serve nonhumans? With the new laws as they were, she figured no. “Sorry, buddy, we don’t serve monkeys.”

“No problem,” said the small, hairy figure. “I’m not a monkey. I’m a monkeyfish.”

Chapter Two
“OK, OK, THEN,” Bibi said, too hot to ask what a monkeyfish was, but glad to be distracted from the heat. He wore a small red hat. Human enough, she thought. “What can I get you?”

“I’m looking for my paw,” the monkeyfish said.

“How old are you?” Bibi asked.

“612, why?”

“Oh, you don’t look a day over 356.” She wiped the sticky counter down for the hundredth time. “Your daddy ain’t here, junior. Nothing that looked like you has ever walked through those doors before.”

“Not my paw. My paw,” the monkeyfish said — with a strange accent, so the bartender’s confusion was understandable. With that, he placed his left arm on the counter with a thud. It was then that Bibi saw instead of a left hand — or paw — was a silver prosthetic fin.

Chapter Three
THE MONKEYFISH said his name was Koko.

“I have traced it to this area. It would be shriveled by now.”

“You should talk to the poet,” Bibi said, “He’s here all the time. Not a big tipper.”

Just then, out of a dark booth, emerged a broom-thin man with hair that grew like a sponge upon his head.

“Bibi, another merlot,” the poet said.

“Cheapo,” she muttered.

“And the wine is rotgut,” said the poet. He turned to the monkeyfish. “So–Mr. Koko. Perhaps I can help you.”

“Have you seen It?”

“I may have. But first, tell me: How did you lose your paw in the first place?”