Frank

Chapter 3: Frank and sense?

I sit here and study Frank, as I've done every night over these past
four months, I still can't put a finger on the man. To his credit, he
certainly is authentic. Immediate and animate yet, he is intangible as
a shoreline. He lives polarized. Always fast, hard and to abusive
extremes. That is his constant. That is what one sees of Frank. But
I've discovered something shapeless in him, lurking beneath the boiling
surface. A calm, transparent blob who's edges shift and recoil when
query's knife approaches.

The first night we met, Frank drank himself comatose. When time came to
leave Lowell's I found myself, reluctantly, having to figure out what
to do with him. As it was, nobody seemed to know where he was from or
where he lived. He was well beyond coherence at this point and all he
could manage in response to my questions were grunts and drool. Otto,
whom I assumed had gone to the men's room, was nowhere to be found. A
tad miffed by the whole scene, I had a mind to run and leave Lowell to
kick Frank's sorry ass to the curb for the night. Instead, I rolled him
into a fireman's carry and walked out into the night.

I only lived a few blocks from Lowell's so I ended up bringing him to
my place. I plopped him down on the couch and got a blanket and bucket
from the closet. After checking to see if he was still breathing, I
trudged off to bed. I woke to the sound of stirrings in the kitchen. I
checked the time on my bedside clock. 5:36 am. With a groan, I slipped
out of bed and went to check on my guest. My shoulders and back were
screaming. I scuffed into the kitchen. I stopped dead. There was Frank,
bare assed, leaning against the counter stroking his Johnson and
chewing on a piece of toast.

-Frank? What the fuck are you doing?
-Having breakfast! What does it look like?
-It looks like you're naked and jerking off in my kitchen!
-You hungry?
-Why?
-Usually people are hungry when they wake up!
-No&;#8230;I mean why are you masturbating in my kitchen?
-Oh! I don't know! It just kind of happened.
-Do you mind?
-Oh! No! Not at all&;#8230;have a seat I'm just about done.
-Fuck&;#8230;

And with that I stomped off to the bathroom and slipped into the
shower. All the time I kept telling myself this guy was a freak. By the
time I emerged from the bathroom, Frank was dressed, his greasy hair
finger combed, and cheerily cleaning up his dishes. He handed me a cup
of coffee and smiled.