About the writer
Johnny Day’s stories have appeared in many national publications, including The Masters Review, Black Warrior Review, Third Coast, and Indiana Review. He’s currently working on the dopest novel of the 21st century. Johnny lives and teaches in Portland, Oregon.
About the person
According to three women drinking outside a sooty dive bar in SE Portland, Johnny Day's "ethnically ambiguous," "too skinny," and "more cute than handsome."
All, he decided, were compliments.
Johnny Day passes for Caucasian most of the time and is therefore invisible to the police and able to join a yacht club if he so chooses.
He does not so choose.
In 1989 Johnny went to the circus for the first time and shook hands with the ringmaster, a sallow man who had the presence of a wraith and the white gloves of a mortician.
Deep down, Johnny considers the hummingbird to be irrefutable proof that we're living in a computer simulation.
Perhaps he realizes it's no longer fashionable to believe in the soul, but there you go.
Johnny's cold heart grows 3X in size when learning about untranslatable words like cullacino (Italian for the condensation mark of a cold glass on a table) or utepils (Swedish for enjoying a beer outside).
Johnny Day should not be mistaken for the English dramatist John Day, who wrote the fantastically-titled The Parliament of Bees, nor is our Mr. Day the same bloke as the 18th-century carpenter John Day, who was the first person to invent the submarine, but, in a major historical bummer, is best remembered as the first person to die in a submarine.
Adding swear words to aphorisms pleases Johnny to no end.
Should our Mr. Day ever be murdered via defenestration (the action of throwing one out of a window), the obituary writer (and funeral attendees, and police detectives) damn well better use the word "defenestrate" at every fucking opportunity.
He believes that it was Mahatma Gandhi who once said, "A coward is incapable of exhibiting love. It is the prerogative of the goddamn brave."
Johnny once read that many centuries ago, the Aborigines made constellations using the darkness between the stars, not the stars themselves: he thinks of this often.