It all goes dark by Adam Kluger 

Moose was one of Bugowski’s best friends but it was getting late and time to hit the hay and stop talking about sports and how to start acting more like a fucking adult instead of a stubborn and terrified man-child, perpetually stuck in the mud. 

[Bug] We are aligned …good night. 

[Moose] What the fuck does that mean?

[Bug] I picked that up from a CEO that I was corresponding with professionally. 

[Moose] What does it mean though?

[Bug] That we are simpatico on the matter 

[Moose] Obviously – but pretty fucking pretentious if you ask me 

[Bug] That’s exactly the point— it is the apex of wonkspeak 

[Moose] Dude you are so annoying 

[Bug] That’s the point as well 

[Moose] Clearly 

[Bug] Aligned

[Moose] Shut the fuck up 

[Bug] Just saying, Moose-man. Trying to stay chill in the eye of the storm, like a stoic.  

[Moose] Marcus Aurelius YOU are not  

[Bug] Never said I was —old bean.

[Moose] You are more like Aristophanes 

[Bug] Ridiculous? 

[Moose] Aligned. You only know about Aristophanes because he was mentioned by Felix on the Password episode of The Odd Couple. 

[Bug] What matter is it where one acquires knowledge, mon frere ?

[Moose] You are such a bonehead 

[Bug] Truly

[Moose] Aligned 

[Bug] Aligned. Hasta mañana. 

Early the next morning Bugowski was standing next door to a methadone clinic in Harlem, nursing a hot black cup of coffee, waiting for the federal assistance job skills orientation office to open at 8am. The familiar and friendly smell of doobie wafted freely in the frigid morning air.

He was one of the only white guys there. 

Another old honky was wearing a leather jacket and looked like a former roadie for the Gloaming Carbuncle Explosion, or some other unappreciated band.   

Together they had both made life choices that led them both to this point. 

Another whitey was a tough looking street-walker. Her face was rough and rouged as she asked the security guard for the code to the bathroom on the fifth floor.

“Come back down when you are finished—the jobs office still does not open for another half hour.” 

Security then informed those 20 or so other food-stamp applicants waiting in the cold lobby that it was finally time to go upstairs. The group moved toward the old, peeling,  wooden staircase with little joy.  

A young African-American employee named Ahmad with cornrows took possession of Bugowski’s driver’s license and had him fill out an attendance form. The IDs would all be returned to the applicants at the END of the 2 hour orientation. They were making sure nobody snuck out early. Smart.They already knew no one wanted to be there. 

Bugowski was given a sheet of paper with some very personal questions on it and an area to fill out —to further explain why he was seeking federal aid. His stomach tightened with shame as he wrote his truth:

To Whom it may Concern: 

My name is Craig Bugowski. I’m in my late fifties. I’m a New Yorker. I’m grateful for whatever I have, but currently overwhelmed and could use some financial assistance to make ends meet and survive this ongoing rough patch that has gotten worse since the onset of the pandemic. I also realize there are plenty of other people in this country in far worse situations than me. I just need some temporary help with my rent and utilities and food bills. Over the years I have worked as a zookeeper, male Gigolo, bathroom attendant, house painter, and freelance-writer along with other much more embarrassing stuff.  I am a consultant who gets paid very sporadically. I’ve lived in debt most of my adult life. But I have been able to survive and keep trying to make money by honest means. I am typically in rent arrears for a number of months and have been trying to pay that down gradually. 

I do not have credit cards so I have NO credit card debt. For most of my professional life I’ve always lived paycheck to paycheck or project to project. I have no health insurance currently. I have no savings, no financial assets save from some boxes of old books, clothing and tape cassettes. Over the years I’ve used linked-in, indeed and my friends and family to try to get various jobs that provide a steady salary and benefits —without success. My various odd jobs have  enabled me to live at a bare subsistence level for over 20 years

I hope this personal statement explains how I have gotten myself into this predicament. Appreciate any help that the Government deems appropriate.

Craig Bugowski —Case # 369-T24 

Bugowski then watched power points on how to get a job for the next 2 hours. Then he was interviewed by another young woman named Turquoise Williams at a cubicle farm desk. 

“Were you really a zookeeper, Mr Bugowski?”

“Well, um…attendant.”

“Where?”

 “Bronx Zoo”

“What did that job entail?” 

“Bringing our furry and scaly friends fresh food and water— talk with them sometimes and sing to them, and then shovel away their shit— you know – all the glamour jobs.”

“Okaaaay”

“Hey, that’s show-business for you.” 

Turquoise seemed unamused.

A glance over at the desk behind Turqouise, sat a balding, older honky in a dark grey jumpsuit with a red stitched name: 

Todd 

“Yup, Schmertz, Todd Schmertz”

“And your most recent previous employment?”

“Mailroom.” 

Bugowski answered some final interview questions from Turquoise about his readiness to work. He was then handed a printed job search work-sheet with job search homework and 8 mandatory office visits to complete throughout the coming month. 

“Fuck this!,” a middle-aged black woman with a hairnet complained to anyone who would listen about how the fuck could she possibly maintain her current employment and look after her kids while being required to attend all these bullshit job seminars— in person —at the job center —every week —at the risk of losing her benefits. 

“This is completely fucked up,” she growled more to herself than to the impassive instructors who had undoubtedly heard plenty of similar complaints on a daily basis throughout their tenure at the Harlem job center. It seemed like the program was designed to wrap all the food-stamp applicants into a nice and tidy bundle of red tape before depositing each of them into a hole in the floor that led to a bottomless abyss. 

For the 20 poor souls in the orientation class, including the handful of honkys, It was all about acquiring and maintaining their federal benefits like medicaid, which meant being able to afford a Covid shot. Food stamps or SNAP which meant fresh meat and canned soups, fruits and vegetables and cheese and bread and milk.

Then, after being dismissed and getting his driver’s license returned to him, Bugowski got on the 125th St subway and felt better. He was with his people on the subway. Workers. People who went underground to quickly get somewhere else. 

Underneath the great Metropolis workers moved as fast as they could. 

Levels. There were always levels. 

Bugowski was still trying to level up from rock bottom and every new event that had him tasting the bottom of the barrel became a raw and sour reminder that the end was crawling nearer and that he had much more to do and be and that the fighting and new battles were waiting for him like a pile of bills in his mailbox or old work files and mementos inside the twenty or so large storage boxes of his life piled up on top of itself in his small apartment. A great place for Wally the waterbug to hide out in while it waited to scurry along the wall to the kitchen in the early hours. Freezing in place looking like an old coffee stain on the linoleum at 3AM when the refrigerator door might open as Bugowki reached for some cold water from a plastic receptacle on the side of the fridge. 

It must be a coffee stain the naked Bugowski thought to himself. 

Slurpppp…the water was good and cold and splattered a bit on his chest. Note to self …find a glass next time. 

Of course, the next morning the stain was no longer there. Probably asleep inside the cardboard village dreaming waterbug dreams of kitchen crumbs and other new adventures. 

Brrr. Cold out. So cold it made sense to jump in the shower and soak in the hot water. A hot shower. Always a good idea. 

How did it all fall apart? 

Was it when he decided that he liked to write. To be a writer. Did it start in 5th grade when he described a bowl of strawberries in poetic terms. When he wrote about the new wave bands he would listen to at clubs across the city during junior and senior year. 

Would AI suddenly make all writing jobs obsolete? He hoped not. A big birthday was coming up. He had played the cards he was dealt and made decisions. Good and bad. 

The reckoning was getting nearer every day and when Los Angeles became engulfed in wildfires, it felt hot around every corner. The end of days.

Bugowski flashed back to high school. In love. Excited about different girls and 80’s music and going to college and amazing things. There was stress and anxiety but there was also exhilaration and freedom and NYC was an electric and wild nightscape full of unreported misadventures that pre-dated social media surveillance.  

Bugowski was one of the lucky ones, silver spoon, private school, loving family and dreams. It didn’t all shake out but there were some great moments, on balance. Hard-fought victories and memories of a life lived pretty well…

So what if things lately had been going completely to shit. For the past 10 years or so. Still plenty of time, he reckoned —before a giant newspaper or broom conked him on the head too. 

Adam Kluger

Image: Black and white pencil sketch of a young angel by the author.