Ozzie Fitch

Met Darla because of the chant.

Didn’t chant for her, no no. Never chant for Darla, truth. I swear truth. Darla’s special.

About a year ago. Knew it would be her, the moment I saw her. That’s part of it, knowing without knowing. Seeing and feeling and your gut driving your limbs, robot like. Didn’t think about it, thinking just confuses your gut. Our brains shout it all down. Sizzle the brain and your gut takes over. Shows you truth.

Darla, my darling Darla, looked mighty fine as we walked down the Upper West streets. All shine and slick, she hung on my arm like class, hips singing their sweet swing as we popped down to Donnie’s for fish. Upper West just wished it had the shine that Darla had, all mighty fine. Gold and hip-hugging like my arms ached for, only classy. No trash walking with Ozzie, oh no. Ozzie wouldn’t be seen walking with trash on his wrist. And Darling Darla? She was no trash.