Unsafe New York: Part Thirty Eight

SCALING THE FENCE WITH CRAIG AND THE HELPFUL GENT:
I am poor.
I have very few jobs.
I never eat enough.
I am slightly anemic and need more, a lot more, a lot of meat.
I am a transexual and my rate of metabolism is fucked up and different.
I need food.
I want food.
I need and want food ALL THE TIME. I don't remember the last time I had a real, full meal. A good glass of wine.
I am always tired and hungry but thinking.
Most of the jobs I am able to hold at this point are in the restaurant business. There the managers practice politics of economics and sexualism. Genderism. Gender identitism. Nationalism. Racism. Irrationality. I suck at any politic, and don’t like to sell my body. I do have a bartender’s license, food protection license, many years of experience in the industry. I know how to type fast, organize things, speak well, can be and am efficient, practical, kind, fun and educated. The persistent problem with the restaurant business is that things outside the job description are constantly expected:Smiles to the managers and staff, an attitude of servitude and a constant shifting of rules and regulations along with cajoling, asshole licking and dick sucking, pussy licking, ego masturbating. A person becomes a slave, not a human being employed at a job. And because people are so pressed for money and overworked, they settle for this bullshit. While the politics is practiced many other important things are overlooked. Things that are a part of a job description don't get done and other things that should not be done, get done. What do I mean: obviously necessary things like clean silverware and not-post dated food are overlooked whereas a cursory glance from a waitress to the cook is not. Waiters drop things into food or handle your food very unsanitary and dangerously carelessly. The constant ego manifestation on the part of EVERY PERSON IN DIFFERENT VARIATIONS amplified by encouragement on the part of others, and a holding of outmoded values that are crippling to a human person and are simply incorrect, make the job in this industry a horrific, painful and unfair experience. Whatever money I used to make as a waitress I used to spend on booze and cigarettes just to drown out the mocking and lustful faces of the staff, memories of the ego of the cook and a craze of an irrational manager who loved to treat himself to a handful of young staff blood every each day. I would eat and drink myself to death just to forget the humiliation and a constant reminder of my place. I also felt bad for the hopefuls working in the industry. What a deceit! None of the normal and human working conditions were maintained in the industry and immigrants got it the worse. Americans have gotten into a habit of holding slaves. But you would think that on these jobs same artists work as managers and cooks and staff, right? So, you would expect that they will be supportive, but the male part of the staff made everything possible to humiliate the female staff of the restaurant. They have also established a ladder system whereby any male who has successfully humiliated some even most lowly and pathetic female would receive an increase in respect... Women, in turn, fought among themselves for a smile from a man and for an instant gratification obtained from humiliating another woman, and became by degrees mean, narrow midned, petty and treacherous creatures. These creatures of both genders inherit your cities. They live in the most free and prosperous country in the world!
So, I hold random jobs. Sometimes I manage to hold a job for more than a few months and save up. I cry myself to death or try to stay a bit drunk than all seems to go fine. The horrors I see done to the human psyche, human spirit and human soul. The justifications and rationalizations!
On the faithful day of the scaling, I just got off the phone with someone who has yelled at me for ten minutes and kept on reminding how much money I owed him. He brought up the $15 dollars he will spend on me, and used my admittance to being slightly lactose intolerant to chastise me for daring to ask for goat milk! “How many goats do you think there are there?” he asked me when I humbly inquired if the goat milk costs a lot. I have not gone shopping in years and mostly subside on food I find in the garbage. I wanted to ask for that little luxury of goat milk so I could drink it and imagine myself somewhere in the mountains, among beauty and flowers and philosophy. “And how many cows?” he added. I swallowed hard. He went on for a few more minutes about how I will not get the goat milk but will - the lactade. “It is for people like you ,who are lactose intolerant” he added with condescension. He then added that it was $2.50 and it was fine. I was bitting my lip and thinking that here I was , in America, unable to provide for myself and having no opportunities to acquire the skills and no environment to develop the abilities I needed. My parents – a story for another day. My father has demonized my grandmother and me, possessed my mother and turned her into a helpless little victim who is now similar to a fury. Father Cronos hates no one so much as he hates his only begotten child. Mother is overcome by father and both overcome by horrific experiences in the Soviet Union, was in Israel and harsh, hard life in America. Slavery should not be allowed in the country of the Constitution. Alexander Hamilton and George Washington, Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson, where are you? Why do you allow people to insult and steal from already poor immigrants? All of our communities are impoverished and abused.
So, I have nowhere to go and short of prostitution hand mouthing it.
American youth is very unitied in its abuse of immigrants and social divergents.
American youth has been trained to think one way and to follow one thought.
One mission.
One goal. God help us.
So, I got off the phone after having received a lecture on lactose intolerancy (mind you I was the one to have introduced that concept to this guy) and the cost and the investment rate of milk to my person. I left the house in a hurry, striving to stay away from drinking or smoking or potting, and just wanted to get a large coffee and a cheese Danish. This would be my little holiday, my little encouragement for having put up with this life so far, not having put my hands down or on myself. I encouraged myself, walking down the stairs and thought that I don’t need that stupid goat milk after all. I was looking forward to my Danish and coffee. I opened the front gate and realized with horror that I forget the keys inside. Upset and humiliated, I totally forgot about them. I had no way of getting back inside now. The new person for the apartment was coming, and the neighbor’s husband (mind you that this neighbor served a function of superintendent of the building) was an aggressive gentleman with an illusion of grandeur and lack of reasoning capacity. He was also nationalistic, racist and genderist with a acute schizophrenic disorder. So, my option was trying to knock on the door of this fire breathing dragon, break the door down, or wait for a miracle. I have still gone to the store and bought my Danish. When returning to my gate, I heard a cheerful “Dana” and looked over to see Craig – my new roommate to be. “Great, “ I thought to myself. “I will now appear like a total idiot!” But bravely I said: Craig, we are out of luck. I have locked my keys inside and now we have no means of getting in. I am sorry about that.” Craig looked at me, disparaged. “Do you know how to break down the door?” I asked. Craig said that he didn’t. “Well, you and I will just have to learn how to do that” I added. Craig thought for a second. For him, another option existed. “The fence” he yelled and leaped over a crooked fence of our backyard with prickly metal parts, rusty metal panel sticking out right by the most scalable part of the fence.
Needless to say that the height of the fence from the ground was sufficient. The lowest part equaled to 7 feet or so. The only way it was possible to make it over the fence if one got up ON the fence (which required to climb 7 feet up on the metal work, get up on the narrow horizontal metal plank, balance oneself with one hand only while standing full height) then, standing on top of it -=13 (7 feet + 5"6 feet of my height) feet from the ground, leap down, managing to squeeze that leap in between the rusty flat panel that stuck out diagonally right by the pole (this meant you could not lean on it or you would cut your hand in two) and the elevating above your foot, coming off the metal plank of the fence metal work. So, if you leaned too far left, you would cut your face of body on the rusty flat plank during the jump. If you leaned too right, the balance would not hold – your left hand did not extend that far away. Standing where you stood you would need to avoid the left and manage to hop and jump forward, 12 feet down, landing on your feet. The hop came into the picture as a necessary means of avoiding the elevating above foot level corrupted metal work that would otherwise catch your foot between the spaces in that work, hold you, corrupt your jump and make you fall flat on your face. Now, being an aware person that I am, I immediately saw all that. Then I was cold. I was wearing a long coat that reached below my knees, warm and... narrow. This prevented a freedom of movement, needles to say. I also had no experience growing up climbing fences or even doing physical exercises. My mom was always under the impression that as a “girl” I did not really need sports. She over fed me and nipped every sports attempt on my part at the bud. She also feared that I would hurt myself. And when I grew older, at my old age of 25, I have finally found the reasons, the money and the stamina to visit the gym. And you know from the previous readings what that has led to: the gym gang monopolized the machines and prevented me from working out at every step. Now when I will go back to the gym, I need to ask the supervisor to provide me with someone to be present on premises.
And so this body of mine that has never had physical experience, complete with a mind that is able to see obstacles, life threatening situations and a great capacity for reason and analysis froze me on top of the fence at the whole height of 12 feet. I stood there and watched Craig nonchalantly suggesting to “just jump”. Terribly embarrassed in front of this man who I saw a second time in my life, and with whom I would have to share the apartment because of my poverty, unable to let got of my balancing point to the left, horrified of the height, scared by the possibility of falling flat on my face if my foot got caught in the metal work, shocked by the rusty and sharp metal panel to my left, I stood there in 40 degrees with bare hands, half hungry, not having slept for days, shaking with terror. The persistent voice of necessity beat at my brain like a drum. Craig was getting restless. I counted the seconds, just to keep myself sane. The whole affair have taken 15 minutes, perhaps? And 15 minutes on top of a fence, in a narrow coat that lets you know about how little freedom of action your legs have, with surrounding danger to life and limb, with hunger eating away at your stomach tissue, with embarassment eating awy at your self esteem and sense of security, with a stranger exuding vibes of displeasure and tiredness, my good son,, 15 minutes is a life time. As I stood on the fence and watched Craig’s disappointed face I felt so stupid, so low, and so weak. This boy was cool and handsome, and I would have liked to be strong and quick in front of him, but how could I explain all that I saw and was? He seemed to be unaware of these things. He thought it was easy to jump with a body that is all its life taught that women don’t jump, are stupid, are weak. The body that is undernourished, untrained, under-trained and kept this way. The intention to keept it this way surrounds everyone. When did women study their biology? When did society interest itself in teaching women how to be the strongest, the fastest, the best, self sufficient, brave, indepent? The mentality that is bred in is weak, dependent, pretty, decorative. How many of us know how to use their bodies? are encouraged? For God’s sake, men faint when a woman farts or has leg hair! Men do not encourage women to be natural – and this is where the strength comes in, not from putting make up on and making pretty eyes at boys. Strenght comes from proper nutrition, exercise and encouragement. How many parents encourage their little girls no to run, to act “lady like”, to sit quietly, to eat less, to be decorative, quiet and timid creature waiting to be picked up to start breeding? No, really? And how could I explain all that to Craig? Plus the peculiarity of my nature and person.
To kill some time and think of a plan I asked Craig if he ever scaled fences. “Oh, yeah, I grew up a pretty sporty kid. I used to climb and run everywhere!” he said jovially. “What did you climb” I asked. “Trees!” he responded happily. Yes, Craig, you’ve climbed trees and I -the stair cases. You run around and I had to study Enlgish language, play the piano and hear to no end how I was not “lady like”. Everyone criticized me for being "aggressive" and my mom too was ashamed of me. Stupid society! Stupid women that choose to be ashamed of their girl children for no other reason than societal dissaproval. What does society know about the vision of the girl? And what is the mother for if not protect against this fucked up society that attacks and destroys all of our potential? The results of this treachery on the part of my parents, mom especially, I lived and still live. I will never truly, fully heal from this. I had to go on a damaging and painful diet at the age of 12 and loose weight and I think this is when I’ve developed anemia. Now, I tried to work out in the gym in peace but was chased away and harassed by the guys who thought they were gang members and owned the gym. My lack of make up, "feminine" behavior and outright self-love drove them to a blood lust. Do you, as a woman feel the world is focused on you? Do you get the looks from people when you wipe your mouth on the train? And if you sip your coffee or do any organic action or thing? Do people stare of shift with displeasure? Yes, it is almost unconscious. And I – men check me out and women too: she is not being lady like! Some woman sneezes on the train and people jump. But the same crowd responds to a much noisier by regular standards man very differently. A man walks in, squeezes his crotch, spits and nosily devours stinky pig skins, these same people don’t even notice that. Do you realize, Craig, that we live in very different worlds? That I can’t just evolve over night because today you need me to climb over the fence? And that guilt tripping me and rushing me as I am standing there receiving revelations from my shaking with fear and terror of growing comprehension body, is not right? That I did not climb neither fences nor trees, am and was underfed for years, my mind corrupted with desire and an imperative to please your gender, my true urges and yearnings – denied, my appetite and healthy growth made abominable to you and to everybody else, my psyche - daily milked, my person - erased by patriarchal imperative, my spirit - fettered and bound, chained and in agony at all times? And why do you not understand? Why do you not get it? Why is such a common sensical thing goes by by you, unnoticed?...
So, I brought the point up and explained that 8,000 years of human evolution cannot be made up in a day. Craig said that he thinks 8,000 years had nothing to do with it but that I was just “slightly out of shape.” Craig, the shape you are referring to is a body, a product of sperm and egg of other bodies, genetic memories of which are encoded in these egg and sperm. And depending on what these bodies and bodies preeceding them have received, the memory will be either A or Z. And for a woman, precious little memory of good things and proper treatment, as well as physical stamina, is present. Craig, darling, the body you are talking about is lacking in proper genetic memory to EVER be in proper shape! Don't you get it? How can you not get something so very simple? Thank you Craig for your kind compliment, but I think we would do better if we actually ACKNOWLEDGED THE TRUTH. When and where stands a father or a mother and kindly teaches a baby girl to climb a fence? And how about to teach that little girl about her muscles? And about her physical strength? Baby girls grow up in a world that is strangely silent on the subject of their bodies, physical strength they possess and the opportunities of the world out there, outside their parents threshold. They grow up to decorate their bodies, prettify their bodies and make their bodies into commodities. Each year commodification increases: women are goods, possessions, life stock to be traded and sold and exchanged for other things. And so I , standing at the -=13 feet on the top of that accursed fence, even doing such brave act as CONTEMPLATING jumping off it, already having scaled six feet by myself, am doing great.
Suddenly, I heard a laughter from behind and a Spanish man had to get himself involved into our interaction. After having made some suggestions on how I should jump – I will give him that, he judged me as a loosing horse and bet on Craig. He too, lacked in understadning and exhibited judgment towards me. Judgment that was unfair, untrue and unjustified. The Spanish man asked Craig his name and addressed him as one would an old friend. He spoke to Craig about me as if I was an inanimate object and suggested variously how “she” should be picked up and carried over. The two went in length and spoke about me like I was not even present. Like I was an inanimate object, you know. Inspired thusly, Craig stepped up to the fence and looked at me. His eyes were glowing like the eyes of a hungry wolf. A shudder run over and through me and I almost fell over and off the fence. I have seen those eyes before, eyes of a guy that is about to mount patriarchal horse of superiority and ride all over me. “Carry it over, man” suggested the guy from the back. I turned slightly, so as not to fall and said: there is not need for that. I just need time. The guy ignored me, looked right through me, and this is when he asked Craig’s name but not mine. Not being willing to tolerate this unfair bonding over my inadvertent misfortune and an ignored honest and successful progress, I retorted: and what about my name? But the Spanish guy was completely ignoring me, talking away with Craig, easily finding point of contact on such familiar and favorite subject: the weakness, stupidity and helplessness of women. At length and fast many such "understandings" were covered. Many things were a hint and an intonation, a half glance. They both have forgotten about me, I stood on the fence and almost fainted from humiliation. I asked the guy yet again: won’t you ask me for my name? And have received the following: what is your name, sweetheart? “Do not address me as “sweetheart, sir. Just because I have no practice of climbing the fences and am out of luck with keys, don’t assume this an opportunity to practice familiarity with me, humiliating me in front of a person I know.” The guy laughed and still didn’t care to know my name. He now was freely speaking over my body to Craig. Craig moved up to me and almost took me off the fence physically. “Craig,” I said sharply. “I do not know you and the only reason we are in this position is because I have locked out the keys and you want to become my roommate. Please do not touch me or attempt to do anything with me or my body outside my will or agreement.” Craig stopped. The Spanish guy looked at me like one looks at the pest that would not allow the progress of a human being. I asked him to go away because he stood there and giggled at me, behind my back, treating me like a goat stuck on some mountain, in bushes. I was loosing strength and any minute could topple of that -=13 foot height. My fingers were numb from cold and I stopped feeling them. Thusly positioned, I had to deflect the attack on my personhood from both sides, and one from the back, most insidious.
People underestimate psychological warfare but this is where 90% of the battle takes place. And this is where, using momentary weakness of a woman or a natural developmental weakness, or a weakness developed on purpose men catch a woman and reduce her again, to a mating and cooking animal. The respect for a budding life, the recognition of an attempt to evolve, the admiration of an honest and true attempt, the common sense to see the limits of the situation seem to be missing from the smarted gender. The male gender either refuses to recognize or is incapable of recognition of the situation as is. No wonder that after so many thousands of years of development the best thing we have evolved is the way to insert the penis and to destroy, torture, violate and reduce life.
So, the guy left and returned. Meanwhile Craig started to reduce my self-confidence to ashes with slights, jokes and comments. He fervently suggested to carry me over (strangely, when I later suggested he help me half way through and give me his shoulders on which I would lean and let him carry me over, to get accustomed to being in the physical world, he refused!). The Spanish guy returned and said something along the lines of “when a Russian is also an idiot”. He threatened to call 911 and made unsavvy remarks liking me to a cat stuck on a tree. All this took place with my standing on -=13 feet height, completely unaccustomed to all that. I asked the guy to go away. He was upset, very upset. “Why?” he inquired. I explained that he is taking my strength, making me upset and going to make me fall backwards. He ignored that, an obvious and reasonable threat I was under, and instead lunged on an idea of my falling over being his stimuli for action. “I don’t want you to fall” he said. And his eyes glistened. Like Craig's. Like hungry wolf's. Like the eyes of a hyena in the darkness of an African night. And he spoke to Craig and probably would have shaken his hand over the fence too, if he had less decency that he already had. Finally my body started giving signs of despair and I begged Craig to let the guy go and not respond to him. “Craig, be fair. This conversation is making me nervous and sick. I am going to fall. You’ve just met this guy and yet you will be living with me. Consider and think about it. Please do not engage him. Do not answer him. I want to jump but I can’t while this person is in here.” Craig let him go, and then my suggestion to him, on helping me came out of me. Craig seemed to be offering to carry me over only by intertia, previously, because now that he’s given it a thought (and I could tell his brain was working because he was frowning) he optioned out. I think he imagined I intended to STAND on his shoulders instead of having him take me off the fence and carry me over! So much for the communication between people if one of them is a female. And it happens all the time, you know it, don't deny it. Half-listening, half-guessing, lots of assuming, lots of wink-wink, nudge nudge, lots of “I know, I know.” This is how the two genders communicate. Ridiculous. But really listen to us? To slow down and concern oneself with a friend in trouble? But a woman is not a friend, how could one concern himself with her? Finally Craig saw my dilemma and bent the protruding sharp edged flat piece of rusted metal. He has previously so spoken on the subject of mine not touching it, not leaning on it or “you will cut your hand”. He has also warned me not to lean on it and I could see it was not steady. Having thus impregnated me with fear with a detailed description of the danger and the horrors that could befall me if I encountered it, he has previously demanded my action nonetheless. How?! Was he not thinking sanely? People used to go to war not completely sober or sane, you now. They would get drunk, high, get trained previously at least. And here was a civilian, untrained, not drunk and extremely sane! And this civilian was doing the best she could with the body she ended up with thanks to the fucking patriarchy then and patriarchy today. So, Craig got it, somewhat, and bent the metal. He then tossed the mattress he’s found earlier under my feet and suggested that I jump. “Do you think this is it?” I asked him shaking from the recent battle and the sustained pressure I have received, a trauma obtained from being almost succesfully reduced to being a non-conscious animal, a non-being. The memories of the not too distant a past were flooding me, memories of what has come to pass when the patriarchy succeeded in its reductionism over a hungry, weakened human being and together with the memories and impressions, the terrible feeling of flesh freezing on my bones, alive. “Yes”, said Craig with certainty. I needed some encouragement, why not? Do men fight in battles with enemies on their side? Do young men learn well in the gym when surrounded by ill will and gossip? Do people feel powerful and able when constantly discouraged? Why was I different? What was it about me that was different? I was human, I thought, I aspired, I wanted, I desired, I achieved, I competed, I loved, I lost, I hated, I believed, I compromised, I did not compromise, I was guilty, I was innocent, I was hopeful, I was moral, I was logical, I was self-aware, I was ambitious, I needed the acknowledgement and belief of fellow human beings, especially the ones I would share space with! And who were obviously smart and handsome, and I am a human being and not immuned from desire or simply desire for a cute person to think highly of me! And this, together with the real removal of a Scylla made Chyrribedes harmless. I jumped, and felt the joy of cutting through the air, being in control of my body, my space and knowing that I could command the outcome. Are we taught control? As women? A necessary component for someone to scale a fence, climb a tree, make a fit of courage, is knowledge of time and space and an ability to control the outcome and self, isn't it? Do they (parents, teachers, friends, society, lovers) teach us control of our body or space or body in space? All things that would involve it: mathematics, logics, peer equal interaction, sense of dignity and self worth, physical involvement are forbidden and prohibited to a woman. And then those women who do make it across that proverbial fence of no-teaching and no-study, end up hitting more patriarchal control posts: THOU SHALT NOT
I jumped. Craig meanwhile expressed his disbelief in mine being able to scale the second, much higher fence. Shaken and cold, discouraged by my lack of immediate and tremendous success, a bit humiliated, I have asked for instructions that I would logically figure out by myself from Craig. Craig suggested. I went on climbing. I put the foot on the brick. Then, I climbed the pole (about 15 feet from the ground) on its metal work. The objective was to climb the pole with the help of the brick. (Craig kept encouraging me to “use your legs”. Yes, dear friend but how when they won’t listen, discouraged by centuries of inbred failure, are not maintained by strong triceps (because girls don’t have muscles. They, in this terra nova are fearful off and resistant to this strain)). There, mounted on top of the pole precariously holding on to it with weakening by the minute legs and both arms, one would have to swing one foot (the right one) over the protruding horizontal metal pole far enough not to collapse the fence (I will explain this part later), hold on to the pole with the left hand strongly and the right one - hold on with and use it a lever to move the body around, keep the left leg steady but mobile, moving in the direction of the right, with the right hand acting as a steering wheel; climb over to the second part of the fence where one’s right foot would be positioned (far enough from the point of imbalance on the metal horizontal pole), bring the left foot and the rest of the body over to the right part of the fence while holding strong with both hands to the slippery and smooth top of the pole, squat on the diagonal-from-the-ground-tilting-to-the-side-and-threatening-to-collapse-at-a-pressure-at-a-wrong-point-fence, hold on with the right hand to its work, move cautiously down while feeling for your balance, towards the white ladder thing propped against the wall, grab onto the white ladder thing while pushing away from oneself (the ladder thing was not mounted on the wall and would have collapsed forward had I pressed against it unawares. In full faith in its steadiness I could have harmed myself: if I swung back for a second loosing my balance, for example, the white ladder thing would have followed me forward, making me loose my steady hold and making me fall backwards, on the fence and off it, to about 9 feet to the ground) and slowly bring your left foot and leg off the fence and place it on the white ladder thing. Then, you advance, balancing on the left foot and hand and slowly drag the right foot and its leg over, while holding with the right hand to the vertical pole you’ve previously climbed. Then, when the full body is on the white ladder thing, since the thing is thing and not a ladder that is it is leveled one underneath the other and does not allow for descent, it is also shabby and rickety, so one does not want to take a chance. One then has to jump about 7 feet. Encouraged by my triceps and knowing that I have been working out enough to sustain that much pressure, I slowly crouched on the ladder thing and so as not to fall forward continued to slide my body down, while maintaining my hold with the hands that I slowly was bending at the elbows. Then, when my legs were hanging from the white ladder thing and my hands were gripping the edge of the white ladder thing (have I waited any time throughout the lowering, my hands or to be precise my backside of the arms – a.k.a. the triceps would have to sustain the weight of the legs (which, in movement was reduced by gravity) and would probably give in) I let go and jumped. (This is what is called to “lower oneself down on one’s arms”).
On the ground, I was completely disoriented and did not know at first which was my fire escape. Craig followed noiselessly behind – 15 fire trucks with full house on them and all to some urgent call could have passed me by then, I would not have heard a thing: behind my heart thumping, and the insides of my head feeling like they were wrapped in cotton all noise was blissfully made non-existent. This is a state close to the one in which people can cut themselves, tear themselves, and don’t feel the pain. I speak from experience. When climbing the roof to see one of my beloveds: a beautiful Japanese boy named Keito (who took so much of my money in such a short time as two weeks, passion can be constly), I have terribly scratched the meat of my knuckles but being high on adrenaline, desire and horrid fear, I felt nothing until after like two days after. (The warmth of Keito’s body and the spirit-like effect of his kisses, on my brain, took care of the next day after the climb and rendered me immune to pain for that grace period).
So, Craig was already climbing the fire escape. I protested: this is my house, I am the one that should be let go first. Craig climbed the first floor and stepped aside, I climbed the rest without much feeling and thought, balancing myself carefully when the narrow (barely one foot) strip of rusted metal led from one window to another, and one level to another. I opened the window of my kitchen scratching my fingers to blood (it is January 11th and needless to say all windows are closed except for when we air the place out), and we finally got in. I gave Craig the keys and welcomed him home. We closed the deal, got copies of agreement and parted out merry way till he moves in.