What Jimmi did

       Jimmi walked through the door.  This would not have been as alarming had he walked through merely the doorway, but there I stood stunned and as an afterthought impressed having just witnessed the miracle of intangibility.  We had both wanted the ice cream to be sure, and yes, I had not expected Baskin Robbins to be open at this hour but something had drawn me out into the rain this evening with my brother Jimmi besides the arm of my brother Jimmi.

       I watched through the store window as he reached through the impotent sentry glass into the pail of Tiger below and scooped up a handful.  Would it... no, the ice cream came through the glass with his hand.  It could still be a hallucination or dream, but at least the idea of my brother being dead was checked off of the myriad of possibilities reeling through my mind.  I should have been more concerned with those and less with the idea of eating ice-cream Jimmi had handled.  We made eye contact and, in a rare moment of compassion he grabbed a scoop with his clean hand, reached through the glass with it and scooped a nice ball of vanilla into a bowl.  His went into another.  Before leaving the store, he grabbed a 10 from his pocket and left it on the counter.  A pointless gesture I noted, as whoever opened would probably just pocket it but it was the price of an easy conscience.

     Now, as we walk home I try to phrase the obvious question.  This may be damn good ice cream but clearly the ends did not justify the means.