Part I: Jimmy and the Gypsy Woman
The gypsy woman,
a Maria Ouspenskaya look-alike,
stared into my palm
studying the intricate lines with the
seriousness of a hanging chad checker,
held the back of her hand
up to her forehead, and said,
I see you have three children.
Well, actually . . .
No, wait, wait, it is two children.
Well, to be perfectly honest . . .
No, no, wait, I see one child.
Wow! you're good! that's right!
Well, to tell the truth . . .
No, no, no, no, no, a boy.
Oh my god, that's incredible!
How'd you do that?
And just from the lines
on the palm of my hand!
you will come to visit me
in Transylvania and learn to play
violin with me for three months.
Thus beginning a three nation
journey that would take me
to Transylvania and Tasmania,
only to find myself stranded
in an airport trying to think of
another place that began with
the letter T to keep up the karma,
but it was like trying to find
the right size turkey on Thanksgiving.
It did help me to forget about
my love for Betty Lou,
who left me for a beer-drinking,
banjo-playing Indiana poet,
while I hugged a hot water bottle
and tried to imagine her naked
just coming out of a steamy sauna.
Part II: Jimmy's Letter to God
It's me, Jimmy.
Look I got a favor to ask of you
and you know I haven't asked
for too many of those since
my bicycle days, but
basically, can you
hurry this divorce along?
Give me a good settlement,
and then let's meld minds
and come up with something
really special for my
soon to be EX-wife
I was thinking maybe you could
have her fart in the middle of one
of her bridge games with her b-girls?
You know a nice bubbly one,
maybe with a little leakage?
And since I'm not asking you
to kill her or anything, could
you throw in something a little
extra, like a nose pimple?
Or maybe something really creative
like independent hand syndrome?
Now how cool would that be!
By the way, I never thanked you
for that poet chick you sent me
in Barcelona. Like how the hell
did you ever think up someone
like that? I didn't think you had
it in you, Big Guy, and maybe,
if you don't mind my saying so,
you just might want to consider
getting laid again because she was
a bit of a troubling creation.
I mean I never knew there were
so many things you could do
with a crate of clementine oranges.
Well, I guess that's all for now.
I'll see you again next Easter,
barring any unforeseen circumstances,
of course, and I hope we're all
kosher on the Christmas thing.
I mean, you can't expect me to be
in church on such a special holiday
like that now, can you?
Part III: Jimmy and His Two Companions
Loneliness: Hey, man, you gotta make
some advances on that gypsy woman.
Jimmy: But she looks like
Loneliness: Hey, beggars can't be chosers.
Depression: There any scotch around?
Loneliness: Just don't look at her.
Depression: How about wine?
They grow grapes in Transylvania, right?
Didn't Dracula drink wine?
Loneliness: And what's with this
learning to speak Transylvanian?
Jimmy: It's Romanian.
Loneliness: Oh great, like that makes a difference.
Jimmy: It might come in handy some day.
Loneliness: So if you ever come across
Olga Korbut or some Romanian gymnast,
you can tell her good morning
or ask the way to the nearest bathroom.
Jimmy: I think Olga was Russian.
Loneliness: Same difference.
Depression: How about beer?
You think they have beer?
With all of these farmers around,
one of them has to be growing hops.
Loneliness: Oh, man, you're getting
that look in your eyes again.
Jimmy: You're looking sexier by the minute.
Loneliness: Come on, man, I'm not real.
Jimmy: I was thinking maybe a brunette tonight.
Loneliness: You're gonna hump me again, aren't you?
Jimmy: Come to papa, baby.
Depression: I really need a drink.