Another Nutter Butter Peanut Butter Sandwich Cookie

It was another scorcher. As the weatherman so smugly put it, 'the mercury has risen and sorry folks no help in sight'. It wasn't the heat he needed help with. Why would a man in his early thirties be wearing a long sleeved black tee shirt on such a summer's day? He had plenty of reasons. The court had asked that, because of a minor traffic indiscretion, he attend an information packed nine week course on alcohol abuse. Lucky for him alcohol was the least of his worries.

The tee shirt served two purposes. First the length of the sleeve. It seems at this point in time his arms were abscess ridden and although the class he was encouraged to attend was for folks unlucky enough to have received a D.U.I. for booze, it was also understood that they did not take kindly to intravenous drug users among who he did count himself. Then there was the color of the shirt; black. The black would come in handy if, as had happened a few times previous, one of the abscesses might want to vent some of it's puss and any shirt other than black would make that occurrence immediately evident. The court might not, in it's wise judgment, appreciate that possible misfortune.

He entered the nine story building on Highland just below Franklin Ave., from the ground floor parking garage. The building once housed the west coast offices of Rolling Stone magazine, they had long since fled. The building was like a sinking boat and was nearly abandoned save for the rats clinging to the alcohol diversion program. He felt okay, he wasn't too high to be a bust and wasn't too straight as to be sick, he was in the pocket. The intake process was a no brainer, show them the court's paperwork, give them a check, then sit your ass down in the little ten man classroom.




He felt no fear, shit, he'd been playing straight in public going on quite a few years at this juncture. The 'teacher' came in the room. A middle aged black woman, kind in face and ample of figure, her synthetic clothes clinging tight proudly. She set down some ground rules and none seemed too outlandish. Do not come to class with any alcohol in your system, shouldn't be too hard. Be on time, duh. No missed classes without advance notice, okay. That's it. Damn, this would be easy.

The other class mates ran the gamut form the young Asian girl arrested on her first drunk to the surly white businessman on his second go round. No one believed that they belonged there and most showed visible disdain for the entire affair. Except for him he felt lucky to be there, a short county jail term and a little diversion, no problem. He was hardly noticed in his black long sleeved tee shirt.

The class would constitute a brief discussion and then a alcohol related videotape. Only two and a half hours. No sweat. The discussion this day concerned how they had all come to be arrested. All the other 'students?' recalled tales of insensitive police and courts without justice, he copped to driving drunk; a lie. The Asian girl cried and shook as she told how after her first experience drinking, champagne, she got lost and pulled over to find her way and how the police took her to jail, in Beverly Hills, and how there were hookers and scary women in with her and how she was a good girl and...and...and.... It was pathetic. No one admitted to having more than two drinks. He said he's had four when really he hadn't even have one.




Just before the videotape was to start, a Hollywood movie called, 'When A Man Loves A Woman' with Andy Garcia and Meg Ryan, one of the program administrators came in the room. He was a bit shook and as if clockwork he bent his arm and an abscess burst soaking the shirt at the crook of his arm. Black. The administrator came to the 'teacher', whispered to her, and then a security guard made himself visible in the doorway. There he sat arm soaked waiting for the worst.

The movie wasn't that bad. Meg Ryan couldn't stop drinking and played her husband Andy Garcia like a string fiddle, the wimp. The middle aged black lady who had been sitting beside him had been led out of the diversion in cuffs. Rule one, don't come to class under the influence of alcohol.

Eyes Cast Downward

Today there are no flag draped coffins on display.

Today the pope went to Auschwitz.

Today there is a sale on beer.

Today there is a NBA playoff game.

Today there are flags on gravesites.

Sufferwords has no words for a day such as this.

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part XIII

"You're going to have to get a rebuild. That engine is shot. I see it so many times, folks just don't remember to put oil in the car and when the engine goes they act surprised."

"What's that going to set me back?"

"When all is said and done, somewhere's in the neighborhood of two grand, maybe a bit less if when we get her pulled apart there is some salvageable parts."

"Holy shit."

"Nothing a couple of quarts of oil couldn't have prevented."

"That's a lot of money."

"That's what it is, a whole lot of money. The car seems worth it, you don't see a lot of these on the road anymore."

"Do I have to give you all the money now?"

"Nah, I'll just need five hundred to open her up and then I can give you a more accurate figure, but I will need the five hundred to start the work."

"You take a check?"

"Is it good?"

"Uh, sure, of course."

Money was tight. He had his nightly playing bass with Marty and Elaine but that wasn't enough to keep him in the lifestyle he was living. He was going to need some help to get through this one. The truth was that the check he was about to write wasn't good, not by a long shot. He was used to this kind of predicament, his life had been a series of like situations and he prided himself on his guile and so he confidently wrote the mechanic a rubber check.




The mechanic held the check and examined it.

"Rene Navarette, what kind of name is that?"

"Its my name."

"Oh, I wasn't saying anything just making conversation."

"You want to see my I.D."

"Ah no man, that's alright I was just saying."

He was glad the mechanic hadn't required him to show his lapsed driver's license, it wouldn't have looked good. There were a lot of lapses in his life but he knew how to play the game, he had been doing it his whole life, sometimes musicians had to.

"So how long do you think you'll have the car."

"Well this is Monday, we'll get her in pieces tomorrow and then if all goes well you could be back on the road next week."

"Why so long?"

"We have to break it down, get it to the machine shop, rebuild it, it takes time."

"I suppose. Fuck, what am I going to drive for the next week?"

"You can always rent a car, Enterprise is right down the street."

"I wish, that would be great but I wasn't planning on a two thousand dollar outlay if you know what I mean."

"Right, right, sure."

There was an awkward pause as the two men stood there. The mechanic attached the check to a clipboard and then held it out.

"Going to need your signature right here...and here. This authorizes the work to be done and initial here for your down payment."

"Uh thanks. You can reach me at this number, it's my work number, if I'm not there just leave word for me. I'll check back with you in a couple of days."



"Sure, I should have it all worked out by then. Listen, if you don't mind I can lend you that Pinto over there. I know it aint much to look at but if you're in a bind..."

The Pinto was an ugly shade of green. The car was an abomination in every sense of the word but he was stuck. He would borrow it if only for the drive home.

The Pinto actually ran good. It had no power but it would do the job. As soon as he could he would be out of the Pinto and into something more befitting of the man he thought he was.

Who Is Clean?

"Can you grasp the concept of nothing?"

"Well sure I guess so. Why wouldn't I?"

"I mean really take hold of the concept. Absolute nothingness. Zero. Vacuum."

"Now that you put it that way maybe it is a little more difficult than I first thought."

"Okay."

"It might be impossible for me to consider absolute nothingness because my brain is so filled with thoughts that any idea of the void I might come up with will have a thought attached to it thus rendering the concept null and void."

"Oh really?"

"Well yea. In fact science has proved in a mathematical sense anyways that there isn't actually a void. They seem to be thinking that everything is of a whole and can not be separated therefore there is no nothingness just a greater lack of somethingness."

"What the..."




"Well you asked so hear me out."

"I guess I can do that."

"I suppose I am referring to quantum mechanics and I assure you I know very little of the subject but I believe it attempts to put forth the proposition that there is no space between anything, everything is interrelated so for me to consider absolute nothingness...well I can and I can't. I can conceive of relative nothingness but absolute zero, I don't know if that is possible."

"So what you are saying is that although you understand the concept, you, as a humble citizen of the earth, proclaim yourself unable to tackle such an unanswerable question."

"I suppose if you had to you could put it that way."

"I don't have to but being a man of free will I choose to."

"Free will?"

"Why yes, free will."

"Really?"

"And why not?"







"I refer back to my earlier proposition."

"You do? In what regard?"

"Perhaps if everything is interrelated then the whole of the universe is but a one. So in effect you are part of a whole and though you think you may have control, nee free will, perhaps you are really just fulfilling your function as a part of the whole, a function preordained not unlike the use of a thumb on a hand and it is only an illusion of free will which you experience which in turn may be a byproduct of your part of the whole."

"Holy shit what the hell are you on about?"

"I guess its a lot easier to consider nothingness then everythingness."

"Amen."

I Can't Remember Where I Am - Can You?

"Ya'all best get your asses in here or you aint getting no supper."

The day had been hot and like it has been said it wasn't so much the heat but for sure the inhumane humidity. Choking and steamy, a day best spent under the cover of a cool handkerchief. The foliage had long turned brown and in this, the depths of summer, there was no refuge indoors or out. A glass of lemonade might quench the thirst but nothing could dent the oppressive blanket that slowed ones movement and made molasses out of the heartiest of souls.

The sun still sat above the horizon holding on as if overstaying it's welcome in order to punish those unfortunate enough to be below. The small house was covered by the shade of large oak trees but with the air was so still no relief was tendered. Inside the home the lights were off and the prevailing thought was that the darkness might create the illusion of coolness.

The table was set and ready but there was no one to sit before it. Again the call rang out from the screen door on the front porch.

"You here me now. Don't make me come out there and find you, there'll be some tanned fannies if it comes to that."

Still there was no response.





The heat in the kitchen was even more unbearable. It would have been great to serve cold chicken and potato salad but they had had that for the previous night's supper and so a macaroni cassorole would have to suffice. There was ice cream in the icebox for dessert but what good would that be if there was no one there to eat it.

"This isn't funny children, now don't you play with me, I won't stand for it."

If not for the cicada starting in with their chirping the call home would have met stone silence.

The walk down the dirt road was eerie. There was no movement save for the dust that wrose with every footstep. There was no one on the porches. No one on the road. There were no dogs barking or cows in the fields. The corn rows stood brown and dead. There were no birds flying only the cicada. The male cicada on fire thier stridulation causing a buzz into a roar. Louder and louder from every direction.

The footsteps became hurried and there was a foreboding taking root that seemed to have ancient origins. At last the sun dipped under the horizon and the world came aglow in a golden luminescence. The shadows darkened and then blackened and ate the light from all around.

The steps were now close to frantic. As the cicada continued in their incessant screaming a slight breeze began to blow. The days was now history and only the night was left in it's stead. And then the moon crested into the night sky and a pale light was born.



Then it was silent. A mockingbird sang. Chirp, trill, chirp chirp, trill. There was movement in the dark down the road. Four little figures skipped along in the caste of the moon.

Later as the last of the ice cream had melted in the bowl.

"Sorry mama. We went to find you something to make you cool but we couldn't find it."

She tried to be stern but it was still too hot.

"Alright children."

Ten Will Get You Five Fifty

"I am trying my best not to do a Shecky Green. I am biting my tongue so hard I'll probably leave teeth marks."

"I'm feeling oddly maternal."

The actor cast to be in the Pizza Hut commercial came off at first as very unprofessional. He didn't know the few lines the creatives had dreamed up for him to say to sell thier pizzas. He sat quietly and composed in his chair as the crew lit the scene. It was a long set up but he sat patiently. When all the lights and camera were ready the director approached.

"Let's just try one and see how it goes."

Before the assistant director could call for sound the actor was already butchering his lines.

"You have to wait until we call action."

The actor hurriedly agreed. "Yes, yes. Sure, I got it."

Again he stumbled and blurted out the wrong lines. He would become frustrated with himself mid sentence and then start over and then mess it up again. The director kept his composure even though there was no way this scenario would work as he had hoped. The director huddled with the creatives and came back with cue cards for the actor to read.

"Here take your time and just read the cards."

The actor rushed through the cards in a wholy un-natural performance.




"That's okay just slow down and read the lines as written."

Again the actor failed. He ticked and rocked and became distracted and then apologetic.

"That's okay let's just read a line at a time."

The actor made it all the way through but a jet had passed overhead and the take was ruined by bad sound. The director encouraged the actor to try again.

"This time when you say 'in eight years he hasn't caught on', pass your hand over your head between 'eight years and hasn't caught on."

The actor tried and tried, ten takes and still couldn't complete the simple task. He was useless.

It was time to eat pizza and all the actor had to do was look at the pizza, take a big bite, then act as if it tasted good. Take after take failed. He looked into the camera or didn't smile. When the director went to consult the creatives the actor practiced biting the pizza faster and faster. The crew was dumbfounded by his actions.

Finally the scene was over. The director assured the actor that he had done well but perhaps he might work on calming down.




"I bet you think that I was thinking that this guy was the worst actor I have ever seen and in some regards that is probably true but I understand when you say you feel maternal towards him. He wasn't a just a bad actor, there was something distinctly wrong with him. At first when I was feeling like Shecky Green I was going to say that his performance was special, as in special education but on further reflection I really think I wasn't too far off the mark with that comment and rather than look at him with derision I actually feel sympathy for him."

The script supervisor was shocked at what she had heard because she couldn't have agreed more.

"Actually I think he had a slight case of Tourette's Syndrome and what he accomplished today was fairly remarkable."

As the crew left the location the actor stayed in the backyard and ate pizza. He looked at the pizza and smiled just like in the commercial.

Number One Second Week In A Row

"We have to come up with nicknames."

"Totally. Let's all get nicknames then we can make up shirts with our names on them."

"I can make the tee shirts" said Doogles the ex-tee shirt maven.

"I'm going to be Pee Pee Rodriguez because I pee on every fairway I go on." said Beans.

"I'm Black Nicklaus because Jack Nicklaus is my all time favorite." chimed in Doogles.

The other two players stood mute. They didn't dare name themselves. On the second green Jakers went to putt and he broke out a wood putter.

"That's it." said the now last golfer to be nicknamed, "Jakers is Woody Wood Putter."

That left only one of the four without a new moniker.

As the round went on many names were bandied about for the as of yet un-named fourth golf-a-teer but nothing took.

"How about Duff McKagen, because your are duffing the hell out of this course." Nope.

"How about Bye Bye Birdy because you always miss your putts." Nothing.

"How about Doggy Leg Right because you always slice your drives." Silence.

Nothing stuck.

"You know a nickname can't be forced. How many times have we seen someone dub themselves this or that but it doesn't catch on. Then there are those who pick up nickname after nickname and they all stick."




"It's crazy you're right."

"Do you really think someone is going to refer to you as Pee Pee or Black?"

Woody Wood Putter lined up his putt and pushed it right and past the whole by five feet.

"Nice putt Woody" said Doogles.

"Chowder" said Beans.

"I know I missed it but I kinda like being called Woody Wood Putter"

As they sat over their fish and chips and looked at the beautiful Malibu coastline the thought of nicknames never crossed their minds.

It seems that there will be four tee shirt bodies that will never know the feel of ink.

License Plates And Parking Tickets

"You amaze me."

"Why is that?"

"Well, three years on the inside and no trouble from you."

"Why would I make trouble?"

"Why do any of these idiots make trouble? Because they're animals that's why. You were looking at five to ten and you came up short because...well, because you didn't make any trouble."

"Good for me right?"

"Right, good for you. You think just because you're on your way back to the real world you can start to get smart with me. Try it. I'll write you up so fast you'll be back in a module wondering how in the fuck you got there."

"I'm not trying to play smart with you."

"That's good. Smart guys play smart in lock down, you don't want that do you?"





"That's the last thing I want."

"What do you want?"

"Really?"

"Why the fuck not. C'mon let me have it. What do you want now that you are going to be a free man."

"I just want to be out of here. I want to shit in my own toilet without someone in the room. I want to shower alone. I want to eat alone. I want to walk down a street without having to have eyes in the back of my head."

"That's it? Most guys want some quick pussy and fast set of wheels."

"I suppose they do."

"And you don't"

"Whatever."

"You think that you're not like the rest of these animals. You think you're different don't you?"

"I don't know what the rest of these animals are like. I stick to myself."

"You're also full of shit."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps my ass. You got anyone meeting you on the outside?"

"Doubt it."

"Where are you going to go?"

"I know, I'm going to go see my P.O. and then to the half way house."

"Good answer."

"Is this going to take much longer?"






"The fucking nerve. No. Get the hell out of here."

"Right boss."

He got up from the chair and quickly left the wardens office.

The Greyhound pulled over for a rest stop. There was a gas station and a fast food restaurant.

'Fuck this, I may be a free man and I may be hungry but I'll be damned if my first meal out is going to be McDonalds. Fuck a McDonalds I'd rather starve.'

Joe Pesci Lives In Pacoima

"You're not funny anymore."

"Do you mean funny ha ha, or funny smart."

"Well you're definitely not funny ha ha anymore but you're also not funny smart. You used to be so clever, now you come off as morose."

"Morose that's a pretty funny word. I'll have some morose of those please."

"See what I mean you've lost it. Making juvenile malapropisms isn't what I believe constitutes funny or clever."

"Gee clever weren't you a little hard on the beaver last night."

"My god is that a stretch. First off his name is Ward Cleaver so to say 'Gee Cleaver weren't you a little hard on the beaver last night' just doesn't work in any way shape or form. Secondly using cultural touchstones from baby boomer television shows is always a lame route to take."

"Pardon my blooper."

"If you think pummeling me with horrible gags qualifies as humor then you are sadly mistaken."

"Make mine with cheese, puleeeeze"

"Right, really good. What's funny about cheese?"

"Duck, quack. Duck, quack. Duck, quack."

"What on earth are you going on about that isn't funny."




"Poop."

"Not even close."

"Fart."

"Well you have me there. A fart is always funny. That's one out of seven."

"Fart."

"Two for eight."

"Fart."

"Three for nine."

"Fart."

"Four out of ten..."

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part XII

Marty awakened well before Elaine. He still felt a little groggy as he made his way downstairs but Marty always felt a little groggy in the morning until he had his coffee. It was an overcast day and the kitchen felt dark and cold as he entered. He ground the beans, Marty liked to make his own coffee from whole beans, Elaine didn't mind using the Mr. Coffee but Marty would have none of that especially in the mornings. Marty loved the ritual of making his coffee, it made him feel grounded and permanent.

As the coffee was brewing Marty headed out the side door and down the driveway to get the Los Angeles Times. This was another practice that gave his body a buffer to come alive. As he bent down to pick up the paper he had a fleeting feeling that the night before something had happened but as he stood erect that feeling faded. As he walked back he unfolded the newspaper and perused the headlines. 'Damn that George Bush', he thought, 'you didn't see gas prices rise in his first term. The bastard waited until he was re-elected then opened the floodgates.'

When Marty re-entered the kitchen he found Elaine sitting on a stool next to the coffee maker. She too had trouble in the mornings but hers was of a completely different nature. The coffee was well on it's way to being ready and the smell filled the kitchen.

"My God Elaine, can you believe this crook Bush."

"What is it now?" Elaine said, doing her best to hide the fact that her head felt as if it were going to explode.

"Well on top of everything else he's done, now it says here in the newspaper that the oil companies are making record profits. Its bad enough that we have to pay for that war but on top of that the oil companies are profiting by a situation Bush the oil man created. I don't know how those idiots in the middle of this country bought his load of crap?"

"Oh Marty, perhaps you shouldn't look at the paper if it upsets you so."

Marty poured them their coffee and as Elaine let the fluid begin to revive her she stood and got a couple of extra strength Excedrin from the cabinet. Marty continued to read in silence offering up an occasional harrumph when he came across an item that particularly irked him. As Elaine came closer to feeling human she began to think about the events of the night before.



"Marty?"

"Huh." Marty was still not ready to pay her any attention.

"How are you feeling?"

"What?"

"How are you feeling. That was quite a night."

Marty continued to ignore her but having read the worst of the news he looked up to Elaine.

"What was that you said dear?"

"I asked how you were feeling?"

"I feel fine."

Elaine wasn't sure if Marty was ignoring what had happened or actually couldn't remember.

"Well that's good you had quite the night."

Marty couldn't place what she was on about and then he remembered.

"Oh that's right. Listen I understand your feelings but you are going to have to let me sit with this for awhile. This is a major change you're asking me to consider. Like I said last night if you think we should move from here I will honestly think about it."

With that said Marty went back to the paper. Elaine was scared. 'Does he not remember sitting in the bathroom screaming as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels?' Elaine decided to wait. Perhaps Marty did remember but felt embarrassed. She would wait until later and then see is she could broach the subject anew.

"That's good Marty, I'd appreciate that."

"What was that?" Marty said looking over the newspaper at Elaine.



"Oh nothing dear you just go back to your paper."

Elaine got up and left the kitchen. Her first inclination was to go to her place in the garage but she thought better of it and instead went upstairs to bathe.

As Marty looked at the paper he began to have trouble focusing on the words. His head began to swim and so he shut his eyes for a moment. When he re-opened them he felt fine again and save for a slightly queasy feeling in his stomach thought nothing more of it.

The hot bath water rushed into the tub. Elaine stood before the bathroom mirror. She looked at the wrinkles that had come to crease her face and then deep into her own blue eyes.

No Smoking In The House Please

I know you're out there. I can see you watching me. I understand the concept of anonymity but let's be serious. Has no one a thing to say to me? Do I need to start calling you out by name? Do I?

The hills have eyes to be sure. Everywhere around me, eyes, cameras, recordings. This is not my imagination, that is on all the other days. This is not paranoia for paranoia is about perception and it's abuse. No this is fact and I challenge any one of you to prove me wrong. Come inside my head for a while and tell me if you like it in here. What, are you afraid? Well isn't that just too bad.

I have seen severed limbs and so what if I have. I didn't say that I enjoyed it because to be honest I'm not altogether sure if I did or not. For safeties sake let's just assume that I was horrified and leave it that. I have yet to encounter a dead body, corpse, or any human form devoid of it's life force but when I do, and that might be sooner then you think, I'll be sure to report back with my findings.






Talk to me damn you. Don't just hide there in cyberspace alone with your uncontrollable voyuerism. Show your face. Leave your mark or be cursed. There are strangers out there but even more there are friends hiding in the shadows. I can tell by the way they look at me. There are those sideways glances and fast excuses. I see right through you.

You may want me to shy away, but no, that would be far too easy on the both of us. I am the scab, the rotten tooth, the sunburnt skin. I am the migraine headache and the churning bowels. The irritant that would make you a pearl instead of an oyster.

It is so silent now. So quiet in here. I want some action. Some stimulation. You think that if you freeze me out then I will just ball up and like the pill bug and roll away? How naive of you. In this silence I grow stronger and more venomous. You needn't fear me. You see I don't hold you at fault. You can't help who you are as I can't control who I am.

Close your eyes.

Do it.

Now you can't hear me. Now you know how it feels. My voice disappeared as your eyes closed. Now I can say the things about you that I really want say, but I won't. Do I mistrust you? Of course I do. If you hear me now then I know you didn't follow my simple instructions. You can never trust anyone especially you silent watchers.






Do you feel guilty? Is the description a little to on for comfort?

You can open your eyes now I don't care. I'll be here tomorrow and the day after ad nauseum.

Sufferwords now returns you to your world.

Blue 42 Blue 42 Set

The brass doorknob was cold to the touch and it's roundness felt good in his hand. It was an old fixture and it's patina was dark with the more exposed parts burnished bright from wear. He pulled on it yet the door wouldn't budge, it was stuck fast. He released the handle and gave the door a swift kick. The wooden door shuddered in it's frame and then as he stood watching in disbelief it opened.

The room looked as if untouched for forty years. The curtains on the small window were torn and what little light filtered through came in a bolt and was strong emphasizing the dust motes that hung in the still air. The room had but spare furnishings, a single bed, a desk, a bureau, and a small folding table with two wooden chairs. There was no kitchen but along the wall there was a door that led to a cramped bathroom. There was no shower in the bathroom just a toilet and a basin. A sliver of soap, browned by age, still sat on the edge of the basin. A small hand towel lay casually on the floor as if thrown down only days before.

The hotel room was a museum. It was a moment frozen in time. As he stood there he was flooded with images. It wasn't a matter of anything parapsychic, it was only his imagination.



The young couple sat at the table. He wore coveralls and she a white dress with red embroidery. Her brown hair was pulled back in a bun and he was clean cut yet covered in grime. He pulled on a can of beer and she leaned towards him balancing her head in her hands and watched him. She obviously adored him.

"They're taking away my overtime. Seems they can get by with running just two shifts so us new guys don't get the hours."

"That's alright, we'll get by."

"Get by. I don't want to get by. I want to get you out of this hellhole. It just isn't right."

"They probably have a good reason for what they're doing."

She hated to see her man suffer. He was a hard, honest worker and did his best. When they had met he was so full of dreams. They would have a house and raise a gaggle of kids. He would work and she would stay at home tending to the youngsters. There would be Christmas' in the snow and summers at the shore. Football games and movies on the weekend. It didn't happen that way. He never moved up at the plant and she was barren.

She got up from the table and moved over to the bureau.

"It's time for 'The Shadow'. You know how you love 'The Shadow'.

She switched on the radio that sat upon the bureau and it began to hum to life. As she turned the tuning dial the radio crackled with a rich static.

'...who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men...The Shadow knows...'

They lay upon the bed in the cool darkness and were quiet as on the radio 'The Shadow' battled evil doers.

'...who is that. I can hear you but I can't see you.'

'It is me, The Shadow and I know everything you did.'

'This can't be, there is no way you could know.'

'Believe me, I have been here the whole time. I saw you push Cyrus Cause under that bus Dr. Phillips, and now you will be brought to justice as you deserve...'

She got up and turned off the radio. He had fallen asleep before The Shadow had broken the case. She came back to the bed and gingerly pulled his coveralls off him. She went to the bathroom and when she came back she had a wet cloth and she delicately cleaned him as he soundly slept. She thought how lucky she was to have such a good man.




She went back to the bathroom and tossed the hand towel on the basin edge. As she lay down beside him the towel fell to the bathroom floor.

He looked around the room one last time.

'I'm sure glad I didn't have to live in a place like this', he said to himself.

He grasped the brass doorknob and gave it a sharp tug. The door shut fast and the room was once again sealed against the present.

The Paw Paw Negro Blowtorch

'People come and go and forget to close the door and leave their stains and cigarette butts trampled on the floor and when they do, remember me, remember me.'

Dirge, drone, dirge.

'Lucy you're my girl. Lucy you're a star. Lucy please be still and hide your madness in a jar..."



Dirge, drone, dirge.

Scratch, pop, scratch, pop, scratch.

Smoke rising ashtray. Shmarvin is up on Hilldale off the Sunset Strip. He's been there all these years. He'll never leave.

Shmarv used to hang in the Rainbow parking lot. He would go there after bar closing and pick up drunk girls and take them back to his 'pad'. He would play them Eno records to impress them. Then he would have sex with them and when they would leave he would make a point of never speaking to them again.

Shmarv had two teenage daughters that he had fathered before his twenty first birthday. He rarely if ever saw them. The oldest was over weight and had her own drug problem. Shmarv smoked weed everyday and used to like to toot coke. For money he preyed on Hollywood hopefuls. He was a photographer and he took headshots of the aspiring actors and actresses in his Hollywood Hills 'pad'. He had sex with more then one of the actresses.

His neighbor up there on the fifth floor was mysterious. One day Shmarv saw a police raid of his mysterious neighbor's 'pad'. The police took out an oil drum size container of a then legal synthetic heroin. The drug was outlawed later that year. Shmarv never saw the mysterious neighbor again after that day.

Shmarv wanted to be a rock star. He had a band that played Goth rock. It was called 'Screams For Tina'. They weren't bad if you liked 'Sisters Of Mercy' but Shmarv was already to old to make it as a rock star. He took headshots of star blind actors.

Shmarv seemed like a happy guy. Maybe he was.

The Rainbow is still there and drunk rock and roll hopefuls still flock there hoping to become the next David Lee Roth. The girls still go there to find the next Davis Lee Roth and sleep with them. Some things will never change.













'Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Living so close to danger, even your friends are strangers. Don't count upon their
company.'

Dirge, drone, dirge.

Scratch, pop, scratch, pop, scratch.

Stockholm Syndrome

"They're holding me hostage."

"Who is?"

"They are."

"You're being paranoid."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"I don't lie."

"Okay then who is holding you hostage, and if they are holding you hostage then why are you free to talk to me? Shouldn't you be sequestered in a basement or something?"

"Its not just one person."

"Its not. Then like I said who is it, or should I say who are they?"

"First its my landlord and then the utilities."

"Huh? Your landlord and the utilities. Do you mean to say your landlord and like the Gas Company and DWP are holding you hostage?"

"Also the car insurance people and the grocer, the cell phone guys and the cable company."

"That's either impossible or the most bizarre conspiracy ever."




"Think what you will but those people are holding me hostage and they send ransom notes almost every day."

"Oh I get it you mean bills."

"Is that what those are?"

"Very funny."

Perhaps The Valley

Edgar bent over a twenty foot putt. His belly, now enlarged by age, protruded over his waistline and that made lining the shot up all the more difficult. The hole had been placed at the back of the green and broke right from where Edgar had left his chip.

The leather grip of his putter was smooth and gave the club a solid feel. This was a very tough shot to be sure and Edgar needed to sink it to save bogey. He had been having a fairly good round as far as he was concerned, bogey golf was about as good as he could expect and today he had been flirting with double's the whole round. Time and again he had been able to lag long putts close to the hole for an easy finish. If not for his putter...

When Edgar would suffer a day of double's his whole life would seem as if wasted. How much time and money had he spent on the pursuit of his golf addiction? Too much but it was his to spend so as far as he was concerned the world could be damned.

This was the last hole of the day, the 18th and the rest of the day hinged on it's outcome.

Edgar took a few dainty practice strokes then stepped away and checked the break once more. The dance floor reeled to the right and in the heat of the day had become as fast as if hitting on a glass surface. A drop of sweat made it down from the crown of his head and into his eye.



Edgar made his approach to his ball once more. In his mind he traced a serpentine path along the grass that with all good luck his putter might encourage the ball to follow. If all went well the little white dimpled golf ball would hug the contour of the green and then fall oh so delicately into the hole.

Edgar tried to clear his mind. Concentrate on the ball. Concentrate on the club striking the ball evenly. Don't force it but nudge it, give it a start and let the break do all the work. Forget about the failures in your life for at this point in time they matter not at all. Push from your mind the suffering around the world, the death of your father, your wife leaving you for a woman. Make it all go away and just let the ball release.

The putter first hit a lower branch and then careened wildly higher up and became wedged in the upper reaches of the oak tree. It had cost Edgar close to two hundred dollars and now it was just a piece of twisted metal, irretrievable and gone forever.




As Edgar sat over his fourth cold one at the 19th hole he had an epiphany.

"Maybe I should switch to Callaway balls. Those Top-Flites never do what I want them to."


"Hey Edgar you want another."

"Sure, Bud Light."

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part XI

Marty drifted and then fell. It was a strange discent. He was falling through a gauze, like spider webs, and he felt no fear. It was if although he were plummeting something was there to make sure no real harm came to him. He was but a passive observer in this uncontollable plunge into the void. He looked around and in the sinew he came to recognize patterns. There was an image translated through the fibers. It was Elaine. Her form shifting and changing as if it were a calvacade of time, it was her fiber, her essence that protected his fall.

Marty sat erect in bed. Elaine lay next to him far off in a sleep he wished not to disturb. He tried to remember his dream but all he could come up with was the image of landing in a field of lupen. The purple expanse went on for as far as he could see and he did remember feeling safe there. He arose from the bed and as he attempted to stand he thought himself to be still asleep. He was trapped somewhere between slumber and consciousness. There was fog over him and as he tried to make his way to the bathroom his motor movements were restrained and he was barely able to walk.

Marty sat upon the commode and tried to urinate. It had become increasingly hard to do so as he gained in years but this was different. He had the urge but he could not feel his body. He was disassociated form his human form and trying to concentrate though he was, nothing happened. As Marty sat there in the darkness his mind began to take flight once more. His eyes were still open and he thought himself awake but his dreams forced thier way in and then took precedence over his waking mind.



He was back in the field of wild flowers and the beauty awed him. He heard a noise, a shreik, not human but avian perhaps and so he turned to see it. As he turned he saw where the sky was filled with rain baring storm clouds. Wondrous gray clouds round and pregnant. The bottoms were deep blue and black and they were slung so low that they made union with the ground. The front roiled and and then spun and spiraled. The angry mass began to take charge and move on him. He looked about for some safe harbor but saw that the flowers were now gone and he was in fact in a barren landscape. He spun around to check the progress of the ever worsening storm and saw the sun break through but only in a flash. Lightening began to strike in a circumfrence about him and the brilliance blinded him. Eerily the only sound to be heard was the shrill call of the unseen bird.

Marty knelt and began to pray. As he opened his heart to G-d he was surprised to find his prayers were for Elaine and not himself. 'Oh G-d do with me as you will but please share your ever knowing mercy on Elaine. If this be the end of days please take her as your own.'

This first drop of rain hit like a stilletto. Then again and again, each drop a dagger of pain. He was being pummeled and beaten and he screamed aloud in agony.

"Marty dear are you okay?"

Elaine stood over Marty then pulled his head to her chest. Marty came to. He was still on the toilet and had no idea how he'd gotten there.



"Marty are you okay? You were sitting there with your eyes wide open screaming to wake the neighbors."

"I'm okay. I don't remember a thing."

Elaine held Marty close. She didn't say another word, she just held him. Marty was confused. This had never happened to him before. What it was that had happened he wasn't exactly sure but he knew it couldn't be good.

Major Tom Moves To San Julian

They took away the phone booths from the Union 76 gas station on Beverly. They were special phone booths. The kind that could receive return calls, a dying breed in Los Angeles. They were tired of finding two phone booths together so they could call one from the other in order to verify it's incoming call status. The 76 had been solid for years. On weekends long passenger vans would show up filled with Central Americans. A man who seemed to be running the show would give these people little cards and then they would get in line and start making calls. They guessed that those special 76 phones could be used for more then one illegal activity.



It had been years since they had seen Beto or Pepe. Jose number one and Jose Jr. were but long ago memories. Mali was surely in jail or dead. It had been a while and in their absence it seemed the rules of the game had changed. They reconsidered the last thought and both agreed that although the rules may have changed, there were still rules and the differences were in the details. It was still a dirty game and now, though it may have been rearranged, it was still for the most part 'the game'.

The exchange on Cahuenga was no longer open, closed by skyrocketing real estate values and not the police. Now you could just go to a pharmacy and get your works. They thought how they had it so much easier these days. In some ways they were right and in others they were wrong. The proliferation of cell phones had most assuredly streamlined the trade. In the days of pagers there was always the waiting but there was also the anonymity. With the popularization of the cell phone there was an ease of communication but also a fear of having your number in the man's phone to be used as evidence against you. You still needed a number to call and they no longer had one.

As they cruised Bonnie Brae and Sixth they kept their eyes out for signifiers. There was a day when you would be set upon by peddlers but not these days. The street was a quiet, just another immigrant neighborhood and the once ubiquitous police cars were nowhere to be seen. They were at a loss. Getting back in wouldn't be as easy as they had hoped when they set out upon their mission.

They pulled over to the curb and waited. Nothing. A Mercedes Benz pulled beside them. On this day it seemed out of place. There was a day when this street would be clogged with high end cars. As the Benz came even with them the driver lowered the window and after looking nervously both ways spoke.

"You guys get any action today?"

They immediately knew what he was talking about but knew not to let on so quickly.

"What do you mean?"



"You know, is there anyone working out here?"

They considered the situation and decided to come clean

"We haven't seen a thing. Do you know where it's going down?"

"Well, I know it's going off down on San Julian and 7th but it's pretty hot down there and I was just hoping there was a holdover around here who could hook me up."

"7th and San Julian, huh. What side of the street?"

"Oh it's the whole block. The only difference is that they do downtown and westside all in the same place. You have to be specific or you might not get what you need."

"Got ya."

"I suppose I'm going to have to go there, see ya."

The Mercedes rolled off. They sat there a moment and considered their options.

"Well we could give it a try?"

"Yeah. Let's just go for a drive and see what happens."

"Sounds good."

As they approached San Julian they were shocked. This wasn't the apartment lined neighborhood of Bonnie Brae. This was skid row. Everywhere they looked they saw street people. There was no order, it was anarchy. This wasn't the old stop and cop they were used to. There were people openly using on the street. There was filth everywhere. There were people lying on the sidewalks and the smell of human waste was thick in the air. A young girl walked by. She couldn't have weighed eighty pounds. Her head twitched sideways and up as she jerked down the street. There wasn't any glamour for miles in any direction.

They watched as a deal went down. The participants were as casual as if exchanging business cards. An empty police car sat across the street. The police were a few doors away tending to a psychotic man. The man was a well dressed middle aged white man. He was gesticulating wildly and screaming at the top of his lungs about Jesus and David Bowie.

"BOWIE, BOWIE, BOWIE. THE SON OF GOD JESUS HAD A SON. BOWIE, BOWIE, BOWIE THE SON OF JESUS. THEY ARE THE DEVIL."

The cops watched calmly.

Their earlier bravado started to wane.

"I don't know it looks pretty hairball."

"You're telling me."

"What do you think?"

"I don't know."



"I wasn't ready for this."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not really good at this. I liked it when I knew who I was dealing with. I mean, I worked with Beto and Pepe for years and that was safe as could be and I would still be scared shitless every time I met them."

"I wasn't that bad but I know what you're talking about. Listen, how badly do you want to do this?"

"I guess not badly enough to go out there."

They sat there awhile and though they didn't say it aloud they thought about their predicament. Was it worth it? What lengths were they really ready to go to to get it together? If they did get it together they would undoubtedly find themselves back down on San Julian the next day and the next day after that. Were they ready to do this?

"Let's bail."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I guess I'm just not just not set up for the new scene."

"I suppose you're right."

As the car pulled from the curb they were filled with a sense of loss. These weren't the good old days.

Everything Seems To Be Up In The Air

"You sure talk a lot."

"You thinks?"

"Oh c'mon, you know you do. I'm not saying that it is a bad thing, I'm just stating what I think you know to be the obvious."

"Uh, huh."

"Don't take offense. I wish I was able to be so eloquently verbose. It is a real talent that not a great number of people are able to pull off with such aplomb."

"A plum?"

"Now don't go getting smart with me. You know what I am trying so uncomfortably to say. You have a definite flair for the spoken word and I feel you should take a copious amount of pride in this incredible talent."

"You do?"

"I wish I was able to express myself with such fluidity and circumlocution. I myself am most oft times at a loss to express myself with the amount of unadulterated verbiage that flows so effortlessly from you."










"Oh, stop."

"It's true. I am cursed with succinctness. When I attempt to speak I am struck mute and my words are clipped and in the end the brevity of my statement leads me to feel I haven't actually said clearly the ideas that I mean to relate whether by association or actuality."

"That's easy for you to say."

"Oh shut up. Like I said you sure talk a lot."

"Ok."

"Ok."

Iran Is Filled With People

"I miss you baby. New York is great but I can't wait to get home and be with you. New York is wonderful but I could never live here...xoxo"

He snapped his phone shut and just let himself breath in the depth of the text message he had just read. It had been only a week but he had been down this road before. 'What if she finds what she's looking for there?' He had heard the story from so many of his friends. The girlfriend goes off to New York or Austin, maybe San Francisco and at first she's all 'I miss you, can't wait to get home' and then the calls get less and less frequent, until...'I'm not coming back'...'No I didn't meet anyone, I just need to do this for myself.' Right.

Two weeks later you here the real story. Rich guy, splendid new friends, and then the news of the spiraling drug habit. He knew she meant what she had said. When he reached her by phone later she told him how the nights of excessive drinking were wearing her out and how she would need to take a vacation from her vacation. She mentioned quitting the booze forever, he didn't respond but felt that the cutest thing he had ever heard.

Preparing for her arrival he decided to do a few things for her return. New blinds, shower curtain, bath mat. Flowers, that's right, don't forget the flowers. Most pressing would be to wash the sheets no self respecting girl wants to come home to dirty bed linens.

He sat there for awhile with Garnold his next door neighbor and they spoke about nothing.

"Dude, that's awesome. She's gonna dig you doin' all that."

"Spose so. I 'aint bein' puss am I?"

"No dude. Yer bein' totally rad."

"Awesome I thought so but ya know sometimes you here bout how yer sposed to treat your lady bad or else she'll stomp ya."


"That's bullshit. Any gal who aint getting treated right don't deserve it in the first place. Yer lady's sweet bro why wouldn't you rip up her world?"

"I know I figured so. You ever do anything for yer girl?"

"Oh shits I want to but I'm totally flat these days. When I get on top you know I'm goin' 'na flow her. She's cool, she's down with it."

"Yeah spose I am doing all right aint I?"

"Yeah bro, yer smoking shit up."

"Fuck yeah."

"Fuck yeah."

Call It A Draw

Four tires, four flats. Two windows, two cracks. Twelve eggs, a twelve egg omelet. Things were breaking left and right and try as she might there was no good reason for this series of bad happenings. She searched her memory, 'No I didn't break a mirror, probably the only thing I haven't broken, no black cats, my horoscope does not portend this misfortune, what on earth could it be?'



It had only been the last few days but from the looks of it this run of confounding bad luck was in no way beginning to ebb. It was worsening. It got so as she decided she needn't venture forth from her domicile lest the ravages of the outside world visit upon her the wrath of her unknowable misdeed.

She lay in the bed, blinds drawn tight and tried to be still. Outside in the world people were going about their daily routines. Killing and maiming each other, stealing, raping, hating. She wanted no part of it. Perhaps she could just lay there forever. She could order groceries to be delivered, pay all her bills online, watch TV if she needed any stimulus. It was settled she would never venture forth again. Just as she came to this well considered decision the phone rang.

She toyed with idea of just letting the phone go unanswered but her curiosity got the better of her and so she answered.

"Hello." She said cautiously.

"Linda, hey what's up." It was Louis a casual friend.

"What do you want?"

"Geeze, I was just calling to say hi and to see what you were doing?"

"I'm not doing anything...I can't."

"What do you mean you can't. Do you mean you can't or you don't want to?"

"I can't. I can't ever leave my house again."

"Whoa, fuck. What on earth are you talking about?"

Linda was calm and collected, the facts were the facts, no reason to get emotional about it.

"It has been proven to me time and again that the world is a far too dangerous place for me to venture out into and so I have made a decision to never leave my house again."



"Sounds a bit extreme. Are you hearing what you are saying?"

"Oh I know it sounds a bit crazy but I know what I'm talking about and I would appreciate it if you would respect my decision."

The line was silent for awhile and then Louis spoke.

"I was just seeing if you wanted to go and get a pizza at Pizza Bouno."

Without hesitation Linda replied.

The pizza looked fantastic. As Linda bit into the first piece the roof of her mouth exploded. The hot cheese welded itself to the roof of her mouth and when she tried to pull it off she pulled the skin free.

Linda laid in bed, blinds drawn tight and tried to be still.

Dave Brubeck And Chet Baker

The elevator rumbled and shook in the oppressive dark humidity. He was gaining altitude fast and he couldn't wait to breath fresh air again. The elevator was lit by a bare dirty lightbulb encased in a wire cage and it threw very little light. He looked at his friends and could hardly make out their features for the coal soot. What he could see were their tired red veined eyes.

It was the end of the work week and by his account he had been underground about sixty hours over it's course. He knew the overtime would come in handy but at what cost. Mining was no fun. Some of the guys played up the macho everyman heroics of their task but to him it was a hole, literally and figuratively. Sixty hours in a hole in the ground barely able to raise above a crouch was not what he considered heroic, it was back breaking.

The elevator continued it's assent and as they neared the half way point one of his fellows crossed himself in prayer. He had no need for prayer, he had need for a paycheck and a day off. As he watched his workmate pray he thought to himself 'We're not out of the woods yet'. Earlier in the year a group of miner's in West Virginia never made it up, alive. He wasn't sure the OSHA regulations were followed with any more stringency here in Pennsylvania and so there was always an under lying sense of doom fighting to be heard in his mind until he finally was back on top.



The elevator finally cleared the shaft and he got his first shot of clean air. As he got out at the landing and stepped off he thought to himself, 'I'm not going back down there again'. He always said that to himself when he stepped out onto his weekend. He wouldn't go back down, at least until not until Monday.

TBS 51 5/8 7:30 WIN

Elton Brand moved his six foot eight frame down the winding drive. It had been a long journey but as he surveyed his mansion on the long tree shaded drive in Beverly Hills, California, he thought how fortunate he was. A kid from Chicago now a big time player in the National Basketball Association.

Elton was near the street and he bent down to pick up the Los Angeles Times newspaper. He knew he could read the Times online but he liked to feel the weight of the paper in his hands. He pulled the plastic protection off the paper and unfolded it. There were surely front page headlines and he would read them eventually but what he wanted to see and what he always went to first were the Sports pages. It was here he could gauge what the local media was feeling about his team the Los Angeles Clippers.

For years the Clippers had been the punchline of every sports related joke. Elton Brand didn't like being the butt of someone's, anyone's joke. A humble man though he was, he still didn't like it when his team was held up to ridicule and scorn. That was then and this was a new era. The Clippers were no longer that team. Although the press had made it immentily evident that Elton was the reason the team no longer suffered second class status he took very little personal credit. 'The team played great' was most often his reply when sports writers asked what the secret was to the Clippers success.



It was the day before the Clippers first trip to the second round of the NBA playoffs and Elton was ready. True his jump shot had been a little off the last few games of the first round but he felt with the fortuitous week off between games his leg strength would be back and his jumper would be back on. Monday the Clippers would show the world they belonged.

The Phoenix Suns were a run and gun team but Elton knew that with his buddy Chris Kaman at center the Clippers could pound the inside game and keep the Suns in check. The Clippers had thoroughly crushed the Suns in their previous meeting and in that game veteran leader Sam Cassel hadn't even played. Surely the Clippers would prevail especially with Sam running the show.

Elton knew that the game of basketball at the professional level was not a game of physicality but of the mind. Elton Brand's mind was still. He felt no nervousness and he hoped his demeanor would be a calming factor to his young team and they too could rise above the din of the Phoenix crowd and keep their mind on the business at hand.

It wasn't too long ago that the local press had relegated the Clippers to the back sports pages wedged there between ads for tires and golf clubs. No more they were front page news now. With the Lakers playoff collapse for the first time ever Los Angeles had a team in the NBA playoffs that wasn't the Lakers. Elton welcomed all the bandwagon jumpers.



As he turned back and made his way up the brick driveway he saw his fleet of shiny new cars. He saw a home with more rooms then there were in the entire apartment building he grew up in. Elton Brand was home. It was a long road from modest beginnings but today the world was his. He stopped and said a little prayer. He thanked G-d for all that he had been blessed with and then for G-d's love for those less fortunate. He didn't have to pray for his basketball team he would take care of that himself.

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part X

"Marty, are you still awake."

It was past midnight and Marty and Elaine had just gone to bed. Marty had fallen asleep as they watched the film 'The Gene Krupa Story' on Turner Classic Movies. Marty felt Sal Mineo was too feminine to play Krupa. He had met Krupa when in the early seventies Krupa had come out of retirement.




The gig was at Hotel Plaza in New York and Marty was amazed that Krupa still had it. 'Mineo is too soft, too confused.' Marty thought to himself. He knew not to speak these words aloud because he would never disturb the movie for Elaine. Elaine didn't like it when Marty acted like an expert on music matters, she thought it was just so much sour grapes.


Marty wasn't asleep but he wished he was. He couldn't fake it and so he answered his dear wife.

"Yes, barely."

"You know Marty I was thinking, stop me if you think I'm being crazy but I just can't help but think that maybe we ought to think about selling the house."

Marty rose on an elbow. In the darkness of their bedroom, the bedroom they had shared for all these years, Marty looked with shock to Elaine. Elaine knew she had broached an unspeakable subject but she felt she had to say something or she would burst.

"When did this all come about? I mean what on earth could cause you to have such a thought?"

Marty was both angry and perplexed. Their home was their sanctuary.

"I was just thinking that with property values they way they are that this would be a good chance to cash in. Who knows what the economy is going to do in the future and with the prices they're getting now..."



Marty cut her off. He couldn't believe what his wife was saying.

"Elaine, this house is our retirement. What would we do? Where would we go?"

Elaine had been practicing this speech in her mind for a year. Perhaps she brought it up this night because she had been able to enjoy more wine at dinner than usual.

"Marty we are not getting any younger. This house is much larger then we need. It is such a chore keeping up with the housekeeping. I just thought if we were to get something smaller we could..."

"Where could we get something smaller? We couldn't afford to stay in this neighborhood. I've seen what they are getting and we couldn't afford anything but a mousetrap. We need to stay here, close to the restaurant."

"But Marty, couldn't you just think about it?"

"Fine, there goes my rest. I am going to be thinking about this all night. How can I go to sleep with this on my mind."

Elaine got up out of bed and went to the bathroom. When she returned she had a glass of water and then held her hand out to Marty.

"Here, take this Ambien." Marty didn't want to take the pill but he would do anything that Elaine asked of him. Anything but to sell the house.

"Just do me a favor and think about it."

Elaine took the glass of water from Marty, placed it on the nightstand and got back into bed. She curled up next to him and put her head on his chest. Marty kissed her forehead.

"How long have you been thinking about this?"

"For a while, I don't know, for a little while."

Marty was softening. Elaine knew how to calm him. At times like this Elaine seemed like the little girl he first fell in love with. She was so soft and she smelled so good.




"I just want you to know that I think this is a bad idea but if you really think it is something that you want then I will think about it."

"I know you will dear."

Elaine thought she would be relieved but she wasn't. Her mind raced. As she began to drift off in her mind she saw that place under the work bench in the garage. Her special hiding place. Had she left something out? Had she remembered to hide the bottle?

Marty thought about what Elaine had said but he couldn't focus. Try as he might he couldn't form thoughts. He could feel the weight of Elaine next to him and he began to float away. He was a young man and the world was out there waiting for him.

Middle School Was Junior High

It was 7:59 a.m. and Officer Stines was at the ready. His doctor had told him he was twenty pounds from being technically obese but he knew he just needed to stick to his diet better. His pencil thin moustache looked like a dead caterpillar and he thought his new crew haircut made him look official. He wore the drab brown uniform of a Los Angeles Department Of Traffic parking enforcement officer. He liked the uniform, he felt it gave him authority and people had to respect authority.

He thought he was well over the disappointment of being rejected by the L.A. Police Department. 'I mean really' he thought, 'who needed to get assaulted for a living, being a parking enforcement officer was so much better'. In his deepest moments, the time before he fell asleep at night he still felt shame for not having made the cut with the L.A.P.D. but this was daylight and he would continually tell himself he had made out for the best.

Officer Stines sat cramped in his little patrol car and waited impatiently for the clock to strike eight. At eight the parking on the east side of Commonwealth Avenue and all the streets in the area for that matter would go in to street sweeping mode and parking there would become illegal. This was a weekly occurrence; Wednesday was the east side and Friday for the west.

Officer Stines loved to write tickets to all the cars whose owners were either too lazy, too forgetful or just unable to move their cars. He especially loved to write citations in this part of town. The neighborhood had gentrified and rents were getting out of control. Officer Stines couldn't afford to live around Commonwealth Ave. It wasn't a rich neighborhood but it was filled with young people doing things with there lives. People with dreams and aspirations. He also didn't like the cars they drove. Sleek foreign cars and classic American muscle lined the street. Officer Stines drove a Caprice that had once been a police car. He had bought it at auction and when he drove it veered to the left.

It was just about eight and he looked up the street. A beautiful woman in her early thirties, still dressed in loose fitting robe and slippers exited an apartment building and ran to her car. 'Damn' Stines grumbled, 'Thought I had that one'. The woman drove towards him and as she passed she smiled and gave a little wave. Stines ignored her.



At the far end of the east side of the street Officer Stines saw a car. It was past 8:00 a.m. and that car was now officially in violation. He gunned his patrol car's little four-cylinder engine and raced as fast as he could down Commonwealth Ave. He didn't know why he always started on Commonwealth. There was the black Saab that he had ticketed at least four times by his recollection, perhaps subconsciously he wanted to ticket that car again. All he knew was that come Wednesday morning he felt compelled to start his rounds on Commonwealth Ave.

As he approached the car he found it to be a Volvo wagon. It wasn't new and shiny like most of the other cars. It was light blue, dented and easily an early nineties model. He pulled his patrol car over grabbed his electronic ticket pad and exited. As he walked to the Volvo, Officer Stines went to the rear of the car to check the registration tags on the license plate. He loved it when the tags were outdated he called it a 'twofer', two citations on the same ticket. Sadly the tags were in order. He circled back to the street side and peered in the car. In the back seat were two infant restraint car seats. Officer Stines didn't have a girlfriend. He wanted kids but he just couldn't find a girl that he liked. He didn't like girls much but he did want a child.

The car was in disarray like so many cars that transport children are. There were toys and food stains on the seats. Officer Stines thought that when he had a child he wouldn't let a mess like this accrue. He would make his kids clean up after themselves. He would teach them a lesson and they would surely respect his authority. He walked to the left corner of the front window where the Vehicle Identification Number was and noted it. As he began to write the ticket he noticed a young man in his early twenties approaching hurriedly.

"Yo man, hey, wait a second." The young man yelled to him. Officer Stines had been in this spot before and he tensed. He had never come to blows with a disgruntled citizen but he had been trained to expect it might happen one day. 'Would this be the day?' He thought.

Breathless the young man came to stand next to him.

"Yo man, can you cut Shirly some slack? She's my neighbor and she was up all night with the kids, I heard them coughing and I'm sure she didn't get to sleep until dawn."

Stines looked at the man with that cold bureaucratic look that only civil employees can manage.

"This car is in violation."

"Yeah man, I know but she's a single mom and she can't leave the kids right now. I mean these tickets are expensive. I'm sure she doesn't have the money to cover it."

"That's not my problem."

"Aw shit, hey look, give me a minute and I'll go get her keys and move it." The young man was gone off running before Officer Stines could answer him.



The young man returned with the keys just as Officer Stines was placing the ticket under the windshield wiper bade. The young man stopped feet short of Stines and stood there consumed with defeat, exasperation and anger.

As Officer Stines got back in his patrol car the black Saab drove by. In the back seat was a baby in a car seat. Officer Stines fired up the little four-cylinder. 'Maybe I'll have better luck on Hoover.'

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"She would do anything to get attention."

"Aw shit man, I hear that, I really do. Damn."



The line moved slowly outside the White Lotus. The girls shivered on the cool night dressed for the interior of the club not for the wait to get in. The queue snaked down Cahuenga towards Hollywood Blvd. Everyone dressed in their best get laid's. There was much eager anticipation and posing. The White Lotus was one of the new clubs in Hollywood along with Geisha, Rokbar, Shelter and too many others. All these clubs sold celebrity and their was no shortage of people willing to pay for it.

Jimmy and Slick were already in the mood. A couple of joints, a split pint of Courvoisiere, a few Columbian bumps and they were primed.

"That whore, I swear, she just didn't know a good thing. I stepped up and shook her world and what the fuck do I get."

"You got yourself curbed man."

"Aw yeah, and so what. I coulda just kept flippin' that shit but I jetted. I mean that shit was good but..."

"Right, right, you kicked that shit out. Uh huh. But damn, that fool woman was a nightmare. When we were up in the Tropicana that night and she was making out with that lawyer chick, that was cold man, really some fucking off shit..."

"Aw that wadn't nothin'. Shit, that was nearly civil compared to some of the shit she done when we was out. I took her by my folks place and the bitch gone and went and cleaned out my mama's medicine chest. Girl's full on ralphing by dessert, had to carry her outta the place."

"What was you thinking bringing her up on your folks? Man were you buggin or what?"

A new massive BMW rolled up directly in front of the club entrance. It had LCD monitors where the rims were supposed to be. The rims/monitors were showing girl on girl pornography. The crowd in the line excited. Three dudes in baggies and fresh ball caps fell out and were rushed past the crowd.

"Ah shit man, those bro's be rolling like shit."

"Oh hale yeah. Damn."



Jimmy lit a smoke and looked around. Maybe she would show up tonight but then again what were the odds of that. She had started working in the business just after she left him and hearing this news had hurt him. It still hurt.

"Damn I sure hope she don't show up here tonight."

"Aw man. She prolly with those porno folks she runs with. I hear that crew hangs out in the Valley. This joint be straight up class."

Slick remembered the rims of the BMW and the way the crew was spirited in and then felt foolish for saying what he said. He knew his buddy was still hurting.

"There gonna be some honey's up in here tonight."

Jimmy knew Slick was saying that to make him feel better.

"You right on that." Jimmy started to dance. "I'm going to get me one and I aint talking about well or call brand, I'm all about the top shelf."

"That's right, that's right my brother. We going to hook up the two nastiest whores we can find and then turn that shit out."

They both forced a laugh.

The line began to move and as they came closer to the doorman they quieted. Another group of unrecognizable celebrities were led in the door and then they were at the front of the line. The doorman put up his hand and then stood there like a tree. They stood there in a kind of purgatory.

Finally the doorman spoke.

"Who's list you on."

Jimmy and Slick looked at each other then at the doorman.

"Aw man, we always come here."

"Give me a name." Came the dispassionate reply.

"Aw I'm Jimmy and this here is Slick."

"And who's list would I find your names on?"




Two guys walked up. They could have been Jimmy and Slick's dopplegangers. The doorman pulled the velvet rope aside and they entered the club. Jimmy and Slick looked at each other.

"Listen guys give me a name or you gotta get out of line."

"Like I said my name is Jimmy and this is Slick and we just want to come in and check the place out."

"Hey guys I'm not trying to say anything but why don't you try another club tonight. I'm sorry it's a private party, guest list only."

Jimmy and Slick moved away from the door.

"Fuck this place. Let's go over to Fatburger."

"Sure Jimmy. Fuck this place. Probably just a bunch a skanks in here anyways."

Gas Prices And Baked Beans

"Aw c'mon Dad tell us some junkie tales."

It was after dinner and because it was no T.V. Tuesday the kids thought Dad owed them a story.

"Now, now there, you know how you're mother doesn't like it when I tell you stories of when we were younger."

"Daaad, c'mon. It's not like it's some big deal, we know all about you and Mom. Uncle Tony tells us all the time."

"I'll have to speak to your Uncle about that."

"C'mon Dad, we won't tell Mom."

There was a call out from the kitchen.

"The cookies will be ready in about fifteen minutes."

She was a good wife and a great mother. The kids were well adjusted and happy.

He motioned for the three youngsters to move close and then he spoke in hushed tones.

"It was a night like any other. Uncle Perry and Uncle Martony were over. We had all been to Smalls, the bar Uncle Jon used to own. The bar had been unusually exciting that night. I think Pete Shelley famous for being the lead singer of the Buzzcocks was there drunk as a skunk."

"Oh, oh Dad", the oldest Sara interrupted, "I love that song you play 'Everybody's Happy Nowadays."

"Right, right. So the four of us are back at the pad on Rossmore. We were all sitting around and were very surely drunk in some degree or another."

"You guys were always drunk." Sara laughed.

"Sara, if you want me to continue then you are going to have stop interrupting already, understood?"

"Sure Dad, sorry."

"Okay so of course when dealing with Uncle Perry and Uncle Martony in those days you knew there were going to be drugs and this night was no exception. Uncle Perry used to cook up coke and put in piles on a large piece of tinfoil."



"Ooooh gross."

"Sara!' He scolded.

She looked back sheepishly but she knew she was Daddy's girl.

"He used to call it bubblegum."

"Why?"

"Uncle Perry, are you kidding? I'm sure there was some obscure reason but it was a mystery to everyone but him. So we were all getting high and then again higher. Your mother was playing hostess, pouring drinks and cleaning ashtrays. She was always so hospitable, that's why people would want to come over not to see my foolish self."

"Dad." The kids laughed, they thought his modesty cute.

"We were talking miles of nonsense because when you get high it's all nonsense. We were making big plans, telling each other what was wrong with the world, just the most ridiculous things. Uncle Martony took a big hit and then went over to the balcony and barfed. Five stories down."

"Wow that's cool."

"So at about five in the morning your mother told them it was our bedtime and that they had to go. Your mother was always good about that. If you don't tell people to go they will stay forever and if the drugs run out and they are still in the house, well, no good ever comes out of that situation. Uncle Perry and Uncle Martony were always respectful of your mother and so they said their goodbyes and left."

"Daddy, I love Uncle Martony." Said Suzy the youngest.

"I do too dear. Well your mother and I got ready for bed, brushed our teeth, got in our jammies and jumped into bed. We sat there awhile, after a night like that it is hard to quiet your mind. I remember we were very loaded and then it happened."

"What happened" The kids eager to hear shouted as one.

"The room began to shake. Then it began to roll and rock and sway."

"What was it?"

"It was an earthquake. Your mother had never been in one before, she used to laugh at me when I got nervous at a little temblor. This was the real thing and she was scared like crazy. Your mother was right next to me and when I reached out to hold her I missed by a foot the room was moving so much. Remember we were on the fifth floor and the building was swaying so much. It was as loud as bomb explosion and of course the power went out and it was pitch black."

"That sounds scary Dad. Are we going to be in an earthquake?"

"Maybe, but look it isn't anything to be scared of. Your mother and I are still here aren't we?"

"Yeah."

"Well there you have it. If there is an earthquake, or I should say when, you just do what we taught you to do understand?"

"Yes Dad."




"So it seemed like it would go on for ever but it stopped. All you could here in the silence was all the car alarms that the shaking had set off. Your mother, bless her soul was half hysterical but she quickly calmed down..."

"Come and get it. Hot cookies and super cold Moo Juice." Came the warm call from the kitchen.

"What next Dad, what next?"

"We'll have to pick that up later. Now not a word to your mother, understood?"

"Yes Dad."

The toll house cookies were warm and chewy and just when he thought it couldn't get any better he looked over at her and their brood. Nothing like cookies and milk. Super cold milk.

August Busch Believes Budweiser Select

Jerry walked slowly down the street. It was May and Los Angeles was blanketed in a grey gloom usually reserved for the early months of summer. Jerry's pockets had been recently turned out and he was feeling none the better for it. Hollywood Blvd. was chocked with tourists all looking for the magic, cameras in hand just in case they came across it. Jerry had held the magic but now it had slipped through his fingers like so much Santa Monica sand.

With nothing much better to do Jerry had decided to walk. He started on Sunset Blvd. far to the east. Outside the Scientology
building on the corner of L. Ron Hubbard Way, he noticed the sign advertising Diantetics had broken. The lights no longer informed the reader of the free personality test that awaited inside but merely blinked in a random nonsensical display. He saw patients being wheeled in chairs back and forth from one building of Kaiser Permenente hospital to the other. He saw the veiled sadness of the Children's Hospital compound. Jerry felt fine he was just assed out.

In little Armenia he could smell the garlic as he made his way past Zankou Chicken. Jerry remembered a day where he would have been able to order anything on that menu he so desired. That wasn't this day. Jerry wasn't hungry, he was well passed that. He mightn't have been hungry but he was surely empty. At the corner of Western and Sunset he felt tired so he rested. Leaning against a newsrack he decided to look at the headlines. Mexico was legalizing drug use. Heroin, cocaine, acid, whatever. In Mexico it would all be fine just as long as you weren't dealing. Sounded good to Jerry. Anything sounded good at this point. The Immigrants had just marched hundreds of thousands strong. Jerry wanted to march. He wanted to march his ass out of here and back to the good times.



At Vine he saw the new Borders complex, the Arclight Theaters, and just past that the the Amoeba record store. He was so far from being able to enjoy these places that he made a right up Vine just so he wouldn't have to walk by all that out of reach bullshit. On Vine he walked by the DMV. People were flowing in and out pink slips and registrations in hand. Jerry had had a car. He had had a nice car. Jerry was sick of the word had. Up on Vine, past the Juices Fountain that still featured pictures of his famous friends decorating it's walls. Jerry had even had famous friends. Had.

He turned left onto to Hollywood Blvd. and suddenly felt better. The stores on both sides of the street were shuttered, their metal gates pulled down tight. It struck Jerry, that was how he felt. Shuttered. This part of the street was being phased out. The new Hollywood would soon take the place of these outdated businesses. Jerry kept walking.

The further west Jerry traveled the more activity there was on the street. Fancy new nightclubs had deliveries speeding in and out. Jerry remembered being in nightclubs. The Starbucks was teeming. Jerry felt alone again.



Standing in front of the Chinese Theater Jerry stood and watched the wash of people. From all over the world they came. They toted children and obesity. They were awed by the handprints in cement. Jerry once again felt okay. He was but a handprint in cement. He did have something. He had permanence. He had a chance.

Jerry walked slowly down the street. It was May and Los Angeles was blanketed in a grey gloom. Jerry wondered if the grey gloom extended to Mexico. Jerry had to find out.

Police Seize Suspect In High Speed Chase

"I don't like to read."

"Are you joking me. C'mon everyone likes to read."



"Well I don't. God knows I love the pictures but why should I care what someone else has to say. I have enough thoughts in my own mind."

"Well that is truly a novel concept. What are you afraid that if you read then you will have too many ideas in your head and you won't be able to make sense of them all?"

"I don't think that's it. It is more like, this is my life and I don't want another person's experience to influence mine. I started to read 'On The Road' by Kerouac but I had to stop. He was polluting my experience. When and if I came to find myself in the middle of nowhere speeding down the highway blazing drunk and hell bent I didn't want Kerouac's recollections to take precedence over my own."




"Well when you put it that way, but don't you think that when Kerouac was in the same position, you know the first time he road in the back of an open truck across the plains, don't you think he compared his own experience against the pantheon of great writers that he had read? Damn, isn't that what being human is all about? Tapping into the acquired knowledge of the ages and then extrapolating this knowledge into personal experience."

"Man all I said is I didn't like to read."

"Sorry."

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"How much cock would a woodcock suck if a woodcock could suck cock."

The boys fell all about themselves. The asphalt on the schoolyard blistered and you could see the waves of heat distorting the classrooms across the yard as if looking at an oasis in the Sahara.

"The one who smelt it dealt it dude." Billy French tightened and try to blow a fart. "I almost shit in my pants." A true air of failure corrupting his words.

"The one who denied it fried it." Spat Richard Burowski proudly one upping him.

It was another lost day on the playground after school. Although perfectly clear the sky held poison and the harder the boys laughed the more their lungs burned. It was early September and the boredom that accompanied the final weeks of summer was quickly being supplanted by the boredom of the school year.

"My dad says the riots are going to spread and he is going to buy a gun." Stevie List said out of the blue.

"What's a riot?" Billy French was the naive one of the three. His mother, a devout christian, was forever in service and he was cocooned by her presence. None of the other boys had met his father if there was indeed such a person.

"Didn't you see all that smoke coming over the hills the other day. My dad says they are burning down their own neighborhoods. They even shoot at the firemen who come to fight the fires"

Stevie List filled with pride. He felt he was more grown up then the other kids.

"Isn't he just your step-dad?" Richard said. Richard was famous among the three by announcing his presence by running full speed then sliding baseball style while yelling his last name, Burrrrrrrrrowskiiii.

"Well he's my dad now, shut up."

"I was at the Dodger game and when they played the national anthem the long haired kids didn't stand up at all. I thought there was a law against that."

Billy fell mute, there wasn't much of this conversation he could join in on having neither a father nor having ever been to a professional sporting event.

"My dad says..."




"Step dad."

"He says that the long haired kids and the Negroes are going to get together and try and take over the government."

The boys went silent. This was a lot more then any of them including Stevie List could comprehend. Every morning at assembly the honor guard, eight kids with american flags in hand, would stand before the school and they would all say the Pledge Of Allegiance together. America was the greatest place in the world. Nothing could change that.

"I really like that song 'A.B.C.' by the Jackson Five." Billy French said trying to lighten their mood.

"That's sissy music." Shot back Stevie List.

"No it's not."

"Yes it is you fat sissy." Stevie List knew where to hurt Billy French.

"You're a retard." Billy yelled half in anger half in fear.

Stevie List gave Billy the larger boy a shove and he fell to the ground.

"Your mom's gonna pay the doctor's bill." Billy whimpered.

"What the baby's gonna cry? C'mon Burowski let's go."

The two boys walked off slowly Richard happy that Stevie hadn't turned his anger towards him. Billy lifted himself and followed a few steps behind.



"Get outta here tubby." Stevie said with all the bile he could manage.

"I don't have to its a free country."

Billy sat down and began to cry. Stevie List and Richard Burowski never saw him. They walked away over the scalding blacktop. They walked towards the riots and assassinations. They walked toward the war and manhood. They walked across the burning blacktop their form transfigured by the heat.