by Richard Prins
The mausoleum had beds for us. We were hiding from the Asians, who were angry because I snuck on the Chinatown bus. They shook fists and how they clucked! Your lips trembled and felt on mine like hatching slugs. But the bearded groundskeeper wouldn’t let them scale our pyramid, and threatened to throw dirt on them with his burying shovel. And that's how we became safe, together, at last.
Richard Prins tries to divide his time equally between his native New York and Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, where he is known to most as "Jesus."