You work down at the nickel arcade. You tear it up on 
Q*bert although you've never paid, because that's the 
perk of the place you work: you've got the skeleton key 
card to all of the machines. I met you at the bike rack 
outside. You told me about your brother's stunt with 
formaldahyde and some vegetable blend. You're a friend 
of a friend. You were fresh into town and yet you never 
did strike me as green. The arcade pays you minimum 
wage but everybody knows you were born for the stage, 
in a bright green suit and some flamboyant boots, for 
your parents to cheer on some Connecticut road. I don't 
think I know your real name. Ever since you moved here 
they call you 'Anthony Flame,' but it's no big deal 
because names, they reveal much less than what a person 
is actually owed. At SE 35th and Belmont you looked out 
at the cars shuttling east and west below the 
streetlights on pavement black as tar. You wondered, 
'Am I destined forever to run?' I have asked myself 
that question, too. You're not the only the one. You 
traded me some nickels for dimes. We came to see the 
movie and we bypassed the line  we entered through the 
back as the loud soundtrack played some lame jam that 
all the rest thought was sweet. You told me about some 
cards you'd received. You expressed your satisfaction 
and told me how relieved that you felt to be gone, far 
away from the lawn where you played as a child with all 
the kids from the neighboring streets. I wondered how 
you'd stayed so long, because in my own experience, 
influenced by some songs, I left my hometown before age 
twenty rolled around for a place by the sea where the 
salt water flowed. I imagined all your family back east 
and I pictured them gathered for a big birthday feast, 
but they were all far away on that first birthday which 
you spent ten states from that Connecticut road. At SE 
34th and Belmont you pointed at the stars, shining 
faintly up above the streetlights, light-years from 
where we are. You admitted, 'Sometimes I think I'll 
never find my home.' To which I responded softly, 
'Tony, you are not alone.'