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I was just sitting drinking coffee. There's nothing difficult about it. Sitting. Lifting a mug with a couple of fingers. Bringing it to my lips. Sipping the coffee. Swallowing. Easy. Put the mug down. Relax. It should be easy, but it wasn't.

I don't know who I am sometimes. I ask people, but they don't know me well enough to answer.

I think there's someone out there pretending to be me. Last night he stole twenty bucks from me. I know I had it when I left the bar, but when I got to Makam's, it was gone. The bastard took it and ran. He probably stuffed it in some toothless hag's G-string. He's been making a bad name for me, I know it. So I keep wondering, who am I?

Leo.

It should be an easy enough question to answer, but the question keeps changing, so the answer keeps changing along with it. What am I?

Wrong.

Who am I?

Am I the I who sits right now writing these lines but what lines am I writing?

Am I the I that I cannot see? Am I these eyes that I see with?

Am I the eye the bloodshot eye that stares at naked women am I the woman staring naked am I the nakedness of the woman?

Am I the eye the one-eyed Jack that needs to piss so badly right now? Am I the piss the come the shit that keeps escaping my body?

Am I this body? This torn dirty asshole this aching back these aching knees this inflamed prostate these aching lungs this receding hairline?

Am I the dollar bill stuffed into the bra of the dancer am I the prick that gets hard with the jiggling of breasts the curve of an ass am I an ass?

Am I the turn of a cheek the clenching of a fist the kick of a foot the straying of eyes who am I?

Leo.

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