Never Odd Or Even

"Have you ever done anything else besides this?"

"What do you mean? This isn't good enough for you?"

"No, this is great, I just mean have you ever written anything else, a movie script maybe? Everyone in this town has a written a script haven't they?"

"You got me. I have collaborated once or twice but I really sucked at it. Besides I like movies and that doesn't necessarily mean I have to make them. I'd rather be on the side where you just sit and eat popcorn in the dark. I wasn't always like this. I used to think that I had such a unique vision that I needed to share it with the world, you know, look at me I have it all figured out, I'm so smart, sensitive and and funny but now I've come to realize that maybe I don't need to be recognized on a mass level."

"Why not?"

"I don't know maybe its because I have come to a point where I realize that fame 'aint all its cracked up to be. Having a bunch of complete strangers idolizing me might not be the pay off I was once led to believe it was."

"You think not? I think it would be awesome."

"I don't think it works. The thing is, for me, I think the overall goal of fame is sex. You know, man if I become famous then I could fuck any girl I wanted, they'd be throwing themselves at me. I suppose that there is some primal instinctual element to this, you know, procreation, spreading the seed etcetera, but when you compare that to the reality of what that really means I can see where the whole equation is wrong."

"You mean you wouldn't want to be able to sleep with anyone you wanted?"





"My base instinct tells me that it would be great but when I've actually seen that scenario played out in all it's dehumanizing variables I've come to realize what a vacuous and hollow place that is. There are times in every day where my instinct tells me I'd want it otherwise but my experience tells me something else."

"What a puss."

"Hardly. Maybe just the opposite. Its just that I don't need the validation that most people believe a long list of conquests affords."

"Alright, I guess. So you admit that you have written scripts, that's a start. What else?"

" I wrote some articles, an intro for a friends rock photo book, a lot of copy for my boy's Doogles' hipster clothing company and a novel."

"Errrrrrt. What? A novel?"

"Yeah, so."

"How long is it?"

"That is the funniest thing. Whenever I mention that I wrote a novel the first thing people ask is how long it is. Not what is it about or what is it called. Not did you get it published, just how many pages. Crazy right?"

"Well how long is it?"

"One page."

"Shut up. Really how long?"

"I don't know it was never type set. Maybe somewhere in the two hundred plus pages range, I can't be sure."

"Did you try to get it published?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. For a second there I thought that I might like to see it in print, you know to reap those rewards we discussed earlier in our conversation but then I came to realize the futility of such a ridiculous construct and begged off the idea. Also I've read so many incredible novels that I felt mine to be a mere trifle and so I just left it at that."

"Where is it now?"

"Sitting in my computer, I gave out all the printed copies."

"Did anyone read it?"

"Sure, maybe fifteen people."

"What'd they think."

"A few thought it was incredible, I never heard from most people which I took as a fifty-fifty situation and then three people gave it back having only read some of it."

"Why'd they give it back?"




"They said it was bugging them out too much. One guy who himself was a freak writer thought it so off that he was afraid to go on."

"Heavy."

"I thought the book, or should I say manuscript, it having never actually been published hence never making it to actual book status, was a beautiful, if not phantasmagoric and psychotically twisted, story."


"What is it about?"

"Why don't we leave that topic for another day. I'm not being precious, its just right now I'm a little sick of talking about myself. So let's change the subject."

"Alright."

"So, how are you?"

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part XXI

It should have been easy. Right turn on Sunset, left on Hillhurst and then north to home. Marty had made this drive so many times it was like second nature. Marty always took the same routes any time he went anywhere. He didn't like surprises and by going the on the same streets he knew it cut down on his chances of being involved in a traffic accident. Marty knew every driveway and danger zone on his ride home and he could navigate these streets in a stupor if that were ever to be the case. It was never the case because Marty never got into a stupor. Marty always said 'There are no accidents, no way, just mistakes made by bad drivers.' There were no accidents.

When he got to the corner of Sunset and Vine he found himself in the left lane and then as if by an act of providence the Allante moved even further to the left and into the left hand turn lane. The light at first red shown green and before the oncoming traffic could pass Marty gassed it and made a dangerous left turn, a pedestrian flipping him off as he sliced through the crosswalk. He was now traveling west on Sunset with no destination in mind.

At the corner of Sunset and Cahuenga Marty stopped the Allante and pulled into the parking lot of the 'Jack in the Box'. As if on autopilot Marty spoke to the disembodied voice.

"Two Jack Tacos and a small diet Pepsi please."

Marty sat in the parking lot and hurriedly finished his meal. Elaine would never let him eat this way and he rarely if ever did but he wasn't thinking about Elaine today. He wasn't thinking anything at all. Marty balled up the wrappers and threw them to the floor of the passenger seat and then moved the Allante back onto to Sunset, west on Sunset.

Marty was driving sloppy as if drunk. He wasn't courteous and his rate of speed was well over the laws of the day. He caught the last of the yellow at Highland and sped dangerously past Hollywood High. He was in a hurry to get somewhere but specifically where was unknowable, he didn't question his actions, he wasn't thinking, his mind a blank. Marty wasn't thinking of the events of the previous night, not of the proposed sale of his home, not of his night terror, not of Elaine's fidelity; he was lost in the day.






At the corner of Sunset and La Brea he caught the red light. The corner was heavy with tore up street people. The twenty four hour internet cafe that had opened there recently was famous for the large amount of speed freaks that hung around and they could be seen on all four corners of the intersection. A tattered man walked between the lanes of stopped vehicles with a hand made sign that read 'Behind on my mortgage anything will help $$', Marty took him in and was overcome with compassion. When confronted with panhandlers Marty always knew within a second if he was going to help out and he reached into his pocket for a dollar. Just before the man reached Marty the light changed to green and the man raced for the sidewalk. Marty gripped the dollar tight in his hand and joined the flow of traffic.

Marty continued west past the Guitar Center and as he passed for a moment he remembered the Oriental Theater that once was housed in that building. He thought back to the Sunset Grill that was once next door and how he used to get a burger then go see the double feature but he couldn't remember Elaine being there with him. For the first time Marty placed himself. What was he doing? Where was he going? The Allante continued was past Fairfax. As the Allante approached Crescent Heights he slowed and then again moved left and came to rest in the left hand turn lane. What had happened to Schwabs? Hadn't 'The Gardens of Allah' been on this corner? Before Elaine he had spent many nights at that famous apartment complex with a pretty blonde b-girl that might have been his wife if not for...

The intersection seemed foreign to him. Nothing was recognizable. It was new, movie theaters, fancy restaurants, even a McDonalds. Had it been that long since he had last been by here? When he was younger this area was central to him. Well before he had made the move to Los Feliz he had lived in West Hollywood, this was where he would have made his mark. He made the left south on Crescent Heights. He passed the endless rows of nondescript apartments past Fountain. Marty was now time travelling.

When Marty got to the intersection of Santa Monica and Crescent Heights he pulled over to the curb. There was a small grassy park and big trees for shade. Why he had stopped he wasn't sure. He looked to his right and he saw a mini mall. It was just another mini mall, he had passsed a hundred of it's ilk on his drive but this one had a strange allure. Then he started to remember. This corner like so many others had been transformed and looked nothing like it had in the past. It struck him. Although there was only one wall left of the original structure Marty now recognized the location and more importantly what the building represented.

Marty unclenched his hand and the dollar bill he had been holding fell on the seat between his legs. This was where PJ's once stood. This was the nightclub where Marty played his first gig in Los Angeles. Before Johnny Rivers recorded his solo record, before the hoopla. It was where a drunk Frank Sinatra had bought him a drink. It was where he had met that blonde b-girl. This was the best place Marty had ever been. He had been in the house band for two years and those were the two best years of his life. It was a time where men wore suits and women dresses, smoking and drinking weren't the ills they were today and a young man making a hundred and seventy dollars a week was on top of the world.



Marty woke from his reverence and looked in the rear view mirror of the Allante. His gray roots showed under the dye at his temples and his eyes were creased with wrinkles. He suddenly felt old. What was he thinking coming here? It had been fifteen years since he had last come to see the joint and now it just made him sad. Why did those days have to stop? Why couldn't they have gone on forever? Elaine. Elaine. Elaine.

Messages From Strangers?

"Is that what you want for me?"

"Yes, yes. I swear I've never wanted anything other than that for you."















It was a Friday night in the bowels of an overly earnest summer. For most the novelty of the heat and humidity had been well played out but he knew there was a lot more to come and he was jacked. Conflagration and pestilence reigned from on high and as far as he could tell things were pretty much in order. A phone call came through...'Dodgers are killing, movie in the cemetery tomorrow, bring a pillow', he was sorry but movie or not, cemeteries were serious business and the longer he could forestall his arrival at one the better. While all around him chicken little and his minions becried the anger of the planet he knew there was always the sun, always the sun, it was summer for christ's sake, worry not a chance.

"What are you going to do?"

"Do, what do you mean, do? Am I not doing right now?"

"What are you doing right now?"

"Why, I'm talking to you."

"I know that, but I mean, what else are you doing? What are you going to do?"



"Are you trying to say that talking to you isn't good enough, that I should have something better, bigger to do? Or that talking to you isn't enough and that I should be doing something else at the same time maybe in order to maximize my time?"

"No talking with me is plenty and yes in a literal sense I know what you are doing right now, that's obvious but what I mean to say is what are your plans?"

"Concerning what?"

"Oh I don't know, how about after we stop talking?"

"Haven't any."

"Why not?"

"Why should I? I'm not trying to be obtuse or difficult and I hope you don't think I'm trying to fuck with you, its just that I've come to a point where I don't make plans."
















"Why not?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I think so, unless you are going to say something that hurts me, like you just don't want to make plans with me or something."

"Its nothing like that."

"Okay then shoot."

"Okay, now I don't claim to be some spiritual giant or even religious or spiritual in any way but for some reason all that talk about being in the moment so to speak has recently taken deep root inside me. Maybe its the summer, I don't know, but its like there is no difference between one experience and the other. Everything is just part of the story of my days, no one thing takes precedence over the other, the mundane rivals the exciting in order of prominence."

"That's pretty deep water."

"You misunderstand me, it isn't that big of a deal."

"You're just saying that to belittle yourself."

"No but humility is a great part of the equation. I don't claim to have mastered humility but if you total up my life experience you will see I have good reason to be humble. I've had to come to a place where I can see the value in my time here on earth in relation to others by not relating it to others. My experience is just as valid as any one who has lived because it is the only experience I know and once I stopped comparing my world to others it opened up and in a sense I have been freed."

There was a silence as both parties tried to comprehend what had just transpired between them.

"Are you into some new age shit I don't know about?"

"Hardly, geez what do you take me for. It is just that maybe because I'm a little longer in tooth then I once was I've grown up or something, its probably something as simple as that."

"If that's the case I want to grow up too."

"Can't force this shit, patience I suppose is in order."











"Well at least enjoy your cooler overcast weekend."

"Is that what you want for me?"

"Yes, yes. I swear I've never wanted anything other than that for you."

Take A Deep Breath Its Dark Out There

And you won't see me.

And I won't be there.

And you can keep on looking.

And I won't be there.

And all the oceans will empty.

And I won't be there.

And everyone will love you.

And I won't be there.

And tell it on a mountain.

And I won't be there.

And ask me if I want to.

And I won't be there.

And you drink from endless bottles.

And I won't be there.

And take the day in rest.

And you won't be there.

Sufferwords reserves the right to be frivolous. Any complaints should be addressed to Sufferwords via the usual means. If today's writing leaves you wanting then Sufferwords suggests you scroll down or read through the archives. Sufferwords will return tomorrow with more 'Daily Fiction?', for your reading enjoyment. Until that time please feel free to amuse yourselves.

A Twenty Will Get You Life Or Worse

"Shit I don't believe in conspiracies in practice but this shit is just too off not to be valid."















"I'm really not that sure of anything anymore. I might think I believe something but then a minute later something will throw me off and I'll change my mind. There was a time in the not too distant past where I'd bet that I knew just about all there was to know about just about anything you might want to talk about but today I'm not so certain."

"Well I'm really certain of this one."

"What makes you so assured this time? I mean really, what is it that gives you such confidence that you can say for positive that this thing is for real?"

"It's just too obvious, things like this seem random and then someone sheds a little light on the subject and the next thing you know the whole picture becomes crystal clear."

"Whoa, shed some light, who on earth shed light on this topic? I mean it truly is a preposterous proposition you're trying to hand me."

"I know the whole thing sounds ludicrous and when you hear who told me it might even get a little harder to swallow but this shit is for real."

"Okay, open up, who told you?"

"Woody."

"Fucking Woody?"

"Yup."

"Aw c'mon."

"I know the source is a little fucked up but he knows from which he speaks."

"I doubt it."

"Then explain what's happening."

"Some shitty dope hit the street simple."

"Right, that's some explanation."

"Alright then amuse me what does the wise one Woody say, a guy who hasn't had his shit together for as long as either of
us have known him?"

"Okay so he is a fuck up but bare with me and be informed,"

"Surprise me."

"Alright this is how it sets up. You know there is this huge gentrification going on in downtown L.A."

"Yeah, sure."

"We've talked before how the dope spot has moved east from Bonnie Brae and now is all the way over on San Julian."

"Okay."

"Well it has gotten out of control over there. Remember that slew of celebrity busts, there was that movie guy and a child star or two."















"Go on."

"Right, right. Well the powers that be, the city, the developers, the folks with the large dollars, wanted to get the riff raff, our people, out of the neighborhood so they can build it up. They have already bought up all the land and now they need the property values to soar so that they can take out loans against it and build all their new shit. They already tried to scare everyone away with a few high profile busts but it didn't work. Shit just got fired up to a new level."

"True."

"When they saw that wasn't working they needed a new strategy so they started up with this shit."

"So you are saying that because they couldn't chase the trade from the neighborhood the bad unknowable rulers of wealth and commerce introduced bad dope onto the scene?"

"I'm telling you, every hospital is filled up with people with endochronitis, o.d.'s, flesh eating streptococcus just the vilest illnesses known to man. There isn't a bed in town. People are dying left and right"

"Yeah, I know, I've heard."

"And you think this is just because some bad dope hit the street?"

"Maybe."

"Listen, the dope that hits the streets is controlled by the very same rich people who are now making their fortunes building all these new lofts, restaurants and the like."

"You got me there. I mean the banks are in it all the way that much we all know."

"Right, right. Remember when Woody got those bricks of weed. They had those eagle emblems on them."

"I remember. The eagles came in three colors, and supposedly each one represented a clan in the Golden Triangle."

"That's right and why did they have those emblems with the gold, red and blue eagles on them?"

"It was for the C.I.A.. They kilos were marked because if the C.I.A. busted one color too many times then that area's warlord would be at a severe monetary disadvantage and then that entire region of the Golden Triangle would become imbalanced and war would break out."

"Right, so the C.I.A. knew all about the drug trade and I hate to say they know all about it today."

"So you think that it goes all the way to the C.I.A."

"And the D.E.A."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"Think about it. Who stands to profit?"

"If the junkies die they lose their customers."

"Think man. The junkies aren't going to go away they will just lay low for a few years and by then the gentrification will be complete. The junkies will pop up somewhere else and everybody wins."

"That is some sick shit. Are you sure Woody told you this."















"Yep."

"I didn't think he had it in him."

"You really think he came up with this shit? You know someone alse broke it down for him."

"Just like you did for me?"

"Now you got it."

"Maybe?"

Size Ten Sadness

He sat in the shade of the large conifer afraid or unable to move. The day was blistering and maybe he, in his short life, just didn't care any more. It was that kind of day. His skin was mangy, an open sore spread from his abdomen to his hind quarter.


His mother and family were nowhere to be seen but were known to be in the area, but here he was absolutely alone.





The manicured lawns stood in contrast to the brutality of nature from which he was suffering. At his tender age there was so much wonder to be had but that would have to wait for another time. Right now he was fighting for survival. Groups of people chasing little white balls passed and most turned their heads in horror, he was that much of a sight. Some thought him the ugliest little dog they had seen, his hairless body and open pink wound causing offense to even the most sympathetic eyes. He was no domestic house pet. He was a denizen of the wild, a coyote.

Under the watchful gaze of the stately Griffith Observatory his battle for survival played out. Just like James Dean in 'Rebel Without A Cause', he was the outsider, outcast by family and by nature, outside of all rules except of survival. Traps had been laid for him, the lure of cat food not sufficient to supersede his instinct not to be captured. He was of a proud race and perhaps death was part of his tradition although he was too young to know, whatever the price, he knew enough not to enter a metal cage no matter how badly his hunger pleaded with him to do so. Vigilant against restraint even at the peril of his own salvation he fought on.

Now all he could do was fearlessly walk beside the passing people. Unafraid and defiant, at times a smile crossed his face but then the stare and the blankness of the pain would consume him. Abandoned before he had learned to fend for himself he was at the mercy of those he instinctually knew to run from. And now destroyed by waste and heat he laid down once more. His head bowed low and rested on the domesticated lawn. It would be the better part of the day before the night would come and with the night a whole new set of fears.





He was a proud coyote. This was his home now and through the wounds and the heat and the indifference he would fight for his existence. He was alone in this world, abandoned and injured. He struggled and once agian pulled his head from off the ground and then the smile returned in diminished form. He lifted himself aright and stood unsteadily. His first steps tentative and then a quicker gait as he disappeared into the brush. He was a proud coyote.

Can I Say It Any Clearer?

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"No problem."

"I mean it."

"Why wouldn't you?"
















"I just meant to say I appreciate it."

"Right and?"

"And what?"

"I don't know."

"Then why go on?"

"Go on?"

"Yeah, go on."

"Go on with what?"

"Thanking me."

"I just said thank you."

"All I said was you're welcome."

"But your you're welcome trumped my thank you."

"Alright."

"It kind of diluted the intent of my thank you."














"Isn't it customary to say you're welcome after someone thanks you? In Spanish they say gracias and then the other person says de nada. Thanks and then its nothing."

"And your point is?"

"I haven't a point I guess I'm just saying..."

"Well thanks for clearing that up for me."

"No problem."

"Oh shit..."

Join The Club

"Yo man what the fuck are you doing?"

"Just trying to rub two sheckles together to make a ruple bro."

It was past midnight and the corner of Sunset and Virgil was as quiet as it was going to get on a hot summer's night. An ambulance and accompanying fire truck exploded from the fire house just north of the intersection and their sirens screamed and barked for right of way. Across the street slumming valleyites smoked and looked uncool in front of the Goodluck Bar. The last of the Vista movie theatre patrons were making there way to their cars and all was as normal as could be.

There were still cars in the parking lot of the twenty-four hour Vons supermarket. The security guard mainly stayed inside the front door of the market, happier to check out the female customers under the harsh flourescents. Customers came and went unknowing of the game being played in their midst.

"What the fuck man, what are you looking for on the ground like that?"

"Give me some room bro."

"Fuck that, tell me what the hell you're doing. It just don't look right you walking around this lot staring on the ground. What'd you do drop a rock last week and come back to claim it as yours?"

"Aint nothing like that holmes."

"Then tell a brother what's up with the freak show."

"I don't think you really need to know."







"Oh I do bro, I aint got nothing else to do and this is my lot for window washing."

"I'm not here to wash no windows bro."

"What's up man, maybe you oughta jet outta here."

"I'm not cutting in bro just leave it at that."

"Hale no."

"Alright man this is the deal, but get this shit straight this is my deal and don't you go fucking up my program."

"Right, right man, what gives."

"Okay, now listen I aint going around this more then once."

"Awright."

"See, I'm collecting receipts."

"What the fuck?"

"This is the deal. This store has a policy that involves this thing called a Vons card. Your customer type uses it to get bargains on their food, you know the average guy pays a buck but if you have a Vons card you only pay like sixty-five cents and this goes for a whole bunch of shit. This card, well man, a gent can save lots of dollars every time he goes in here."

"What the fuck has that got to do with you bro?"

"The deal is you see, say a motherfucker forgets his Vons card."

"Yeah, so what?"

"Well that motherfucker can come back at another time with his Vons card and that receipt saying he could have got that discount and the motherfuckers at Vons will give him that discount he didn't get before in cash."

"So how is that going to work for you?"

"Shit bro you're thick like a motherfucker. I just got me one of them Vons cards for myself. I check around for a receipt or two where the fucker might have saved himself some big dollars had he used his Vons card, I go inside and say that I'm the motherfucker and that I got my card now and then they have to throw me the money."

"Fuck that."

"Right. You gotta be sleek to do this bro so if I were you I'd stick with the window washing. Motherfuckers get straight with what I'm doing and I'm fucked, I'm fucked then you going to be fucked too."







"Right."

"So get outta here and go wash some windows."

"Hey man how do I get me one of these Vons cards?"

"Fuck."

Across the street in the dark of the night, illuminated only by the theatres neon signs, a worker for the Vista was changing the marquee. A bright banner was moved into place proclaiming that 'You Me and Dupree' would soon be showing.

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part XX

It was three o'clock in the afternoon and Marty had not come home from his errands. Elaine was well back from the market and after having her afternoon repast, she knew to stop lest she become drunk and obvious, curled up on the bed with a copy of the latest New Yorker and planned to take a little nap before it was time to go to the restaurant. She was reading an article on Zubin Mehta, whom she had met when he was the conductor of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi Elaine."

"Oh hi Rene, how are you?"

"I'm fine I guess, how are you and Marty doing?"

"I'm wonderful and Marty is out but I'm sure he's fine too."

"Listen Elaine I need to ask a little favor of you."

"Now Rene if you need to take the night off its okay with me but you know you have to clear that with Marty and I don't think he's going to be too pleased."

"Oh no, its nothing like that. I heard Marty loud and clear the last time I missed a date."

"You didn't even call to tell him in advance."

"I know, I know, and I tried to apologize but Marty was pissed twenty ways to Wednesday but that's not why I'm calling."

"Well what is it that you need?"

"Elaine I'm kind of in a bind and actually I'm glad I got you on the phone because I doubt Marty would be too happy to hear what I have to say."

"What is it Rene?"

"You see my car broke down and I took it to the shop and they said it was going to need a new engine and it was going to be a thousand dollars."

"That's a lot of money do you have that much?"

"Now here's the rub, I needed to write the mechanic a check for five hundred dollars to start the work, now I know I'll make enough by the time the car is ready to pay for it but I didn't have the five hundred so I wrote him a bad check."

"That's pretty serious business Rene."

"I know Elaine and I promise I've tried everything to get the money but I just can't..."

"Rene?"

"I hate to do this Elaine but is there any way you can lend me the money, I know I shouldn't be asking and all but I'm just going crazy over here. I know Marty would say no, and I tried Sal, and well I'm desperate Elaine."

"Oh I don't know Rene, I mean that is a lot of money."

"Elaine I know you handle the money, Marty always says so, I mean you're the one who pays me, so he wouldn't even notice, you know I'd pay you back as soon as possible."






"I really don't think I can Rene..."

The phone went quiet for a while. Elaine wasn't even sure if Rene was still on the line but then he came back. When he started talking Elaine noticed the tone of his voice had changed, he no longer sounded weak and vulnerable, no, now he sounded cold and forceful.

"I thought maybe we could meet for a drink and we could discuss it."

Elaine knew something was off.

"A drink? Rene its only three thirty in the afternoon."

"Elaine, I think you know what I mean, and what I mean is that it is probably a good idea for you to meet for a drink and to bring your checkbook."

"But Rene."

Elaine was scared. She knew exactly what Rene had meant and it shocked her. If she met him for a drink he would reveal his plan, his blackmail as it were, as well as proving his assertion correct because she knew under this stress she would have to have a drink. If she didn't meet him she wasn't sure what he'd do but she knew from the tone of his voice it wouldn't be good.

"Listen Rene I'm very busy today so what I can do is leave you a check in the mailbox. You know where we live so just come by and take it. It will be our secret, Marty doesn't have to know so that way he won't get mad at you or me for giving it to you."

"Thanks Elaine."

Rene was back to his old self on the phone acting as if he had never threatened her.

"Rene, that was five hundred right?"

"Say Elaine, why not make it the full thousand, you know I'm good for it."

"But Rene."

"Great, thanks Elaine see you tonight and have a great day."

The line went dead. Elaine felt sick to her stomach. She went downstairs and got her check book. She was just about to make the check out to Rene Navarette but thought better of it. She made it out to cash. She put it in an envelope and walked out of the house to the to the mailbox. She took the house mail out and put the envelope in. In the house mail was a solicitation from a local real estate agent, 'Sell Your House Now Its A Sellers Market'.
















Elaine opened the garage door and let her self in. When she closed the door it was dark. She fumbled across the smooth concrete and flipped the light switch. She moved over to her secret place.

'Now where is Marty?'

NHTSA And The NFL

"What are you some sort of sissy."

"Sir, no Sir."

"Then quit your bellyaching. No one said it was going to easy."

"Sir, yes sir."

"Do you think me an asshole for making you work for 29 straight hours?"

"Sir, no sir."

"Then why are you mad dogging me maggot?"

"Sir, I am not mad dogging you, sir. I just am just tired after working 29 hours straight, sir."

"Son do you love your country?"

"Sir, I think so sir."

"You think so?"

"Sir, yes I think so, sir."

"That was not the answer I wanted to hear. Now tell me do you love your country?"

"Sir, that depends sir."

"Depends? What on the groomed green grass of G-d's blessed earth could you possibly mean by that statement?"

"Sir, I just meant to say that I have mixed feelings sir."

"Son you better unmix those feelings and make yourself clear before I plant this government issue size ten up your ass"

"Sir yes sir. I just meant to say that I was not sure I loved my country sir. I know I love a lot of the people sir but there are many I don't like."

"And who might the people you don't like be?"

"Sir I don't like the racists sir."

"Who else?"




"Sir I don't like the government sir, and I don't like the major corporations and the military industrial complex and the Christian right, and the mainstream press, and the record companies and the multi-nationals, and the medical profiteers and..."

"Son you have a point there."

"Sir, yes sir."

"As you were."

"Thanks dad."

Solomon's Riddle

There was a casual clinking of bottles and glasses, the walla walla of the patrons played coolly with the canned samba music. It was another warm summer eve and the lightly dressed evening crowd was relaxed forgoing the usual histrionics so associated with hip watering holes. The patio allowed smoking and large trees hung low giving the entire scene an elegant backyard atmosphere. They were seated at a table near a small fountain and had a great view from which to watch as the beautiful people flitted by. A waitress, soon to be actress, dressed in black form fitting slacks tight white dress shirt with a black apron, approached their table...

"Good evening folks can I get you anything from the bar?"

They looked about and smiled in the round. She was sweet and too good to be waiting on them but they were thirsty so...

"Yes, please." He was single and so thought he might have the inside edge if you could precede the other orders with proper amount of flirtatious bravado...

"What would you suggest?"

The waitress surveyed the table and saw that she held their rapt attention...

"Well that all depends on what you like. Tonight being that it is so warm out the Kier Royale seems to be quite popular, it's champagne with a Creme de Cassis, a black currant liqueur."

"That sounds delicious..." he quickly replied, "but I don't think that would be manly enough if you no what I mean."

"That sounds great I'd like one." She knew what she was doing. She didn't mind the overtures her friend was making but still felt a playful need to slow him down...
















"Great, good choice and for you?"

He looked at his friends and then leaned forward for emphasis...

"I'll have a water cocktail."

"A water cocktail?"

"That is correct. I'll have an incredibly delicious, amazingly fantastic, good and good for you, water cocktail."

The waitress was of good sport and though she felt the need to hurry the order she inquired on...

"I'm sorry do you mean bottled water we have many choices?"

"Oh, I will need the water bottled that's a good start to any water cocktail."

"Do you have a preference we have Evian, Fiji, Perrier, Ogo..."

"Tonight I prefer flat, so let's start with your favorite and work from there."

"My favorite?"

"Right, what is your favorite water?"

"I guess I like the Fiji."

"Great let's start with a Fiji water cocktail."

"I don't understand how is that a cocktail?"

The waitress had now spent entirely too long taking the order but she was a playful sort and now didn't seem to be in any great rush so she indulged his whimsy...

"This is how you make a Fiji water cocktail." A bemused look was exchanged about the table...

"The thing that separates the water cocktail from your average water drink is the ice. Now you can use just about any ice, ice made with filtered water is preferable of course and I am sure this fine establishment does filter the water they use for ice..."

"We do that here."

"Great. Now it is even better if you have your cubes made from your water of choice but that is not essential. What is essential is that the ice, and here is the trick, you must place the ice in the glass and then rinse it off with the selected water in this case Fiji. Fill the glass with ice then fill it half way with the Fiji, shake as if a martini and then pour out the water leaving the ice."

They all laughed except the waitress, she looked as if someone were imparting upon her the knowledge of the ages...

"Why do all that?"

"I'm glad you asked. Have you ever had over ripened ice?"

"What's that?"

"Ice when left in a freezing unit has the unfortunate ability to pick up on any smell or taste in the environment, that is over ripened ice. Therefore the tainted ice used can flavor the water with unwanted tastes and smells a very unfortunate experience for the refined water drinker. When done correctly the water serves to remove the outer layer of the ice leaving a pure unmolested cube ready for enjoyment"

"Wow, I never thought of that but I really do know what you mean."

"So if it is not too much trouble I would like to experience one brilliant Fiji water cocktail."

"One Fiji water cocktail it is."

"If you have the time I sure would like to buy you one when you get off."

The table exploded in loud guffaws that turned to looks of incredulous wonder when the waitress gave her answer...




"Perhaps, good and good for you..."

And then she was off not having taken the orders of the others at the table. He watched her go and he swore he thought he saw her walk imbued with a little extra wiggle.

He looked to his friends...

"Good and good for you..."

Baby Gus Gets A Black Eye

"One thing for sure is that you can't count on anything and you especially can't count on anyone."

"That's some rosey outlook you've got there pal."

"Trust me I like roses just fine its everything else that stinks to high heaven."

"So what are you getting at?"

"I can't say for sure where this is leading. I do know that I have spent five minutes sharing the wind with you so far and something tells me you are just like the rest of those creeps out there."

"Whoa buddy, where is that coming from?"

"I believe I have a keen insight into the motivations of others and right now you just seem to be some blowhard trying to get one up over on me,"

"Are you for real or are you just flapping your jaws?"

"For real huh? I have two hams some people politely refer to as fists connected to my arms that say I aint just cracking funny."

"Would you mind stepping back just a bit? At what point did I cross the line and send you into throw down mode?"

"Listen sonny boy, I woke up ready today. You are just a number to me and if your number comes up I'm gonna punch your ticket."

"I don't know anything about numbers or waking up halfcocked but if you want to continue on with this macho threat business then I might just have to plant you in the garden. Like a rose."

"You think so?"




"I'll plant you so fucking deep in the dirt you'll be able to see the feet of Chinamen and then just for fun I'll fertilize the ground and then for good measure I'll water the spot too."

"Maybe I got up on the wrong side of the bed?"

"I put my bed against the wall so I never run into that problem."

"That's some good advice."

Virago Sees The Green Grass

It was the last tea service. No more treats after this; no this was final. For all best intention it seemed that the service could no longer go on as it had in the days gone by. Every effort had been expended by all parties involved yet it was obvious that the time for such a congress was no longer viable. Many tears were shed but in the end all looked back with fondness on those wonderful days.

Madam packed up her teapot and strainer, her sugar cubes and chamomile and bade us all her fondest adieu. She tried with all her might but try though she did she could not stop the tears. The future was open and it scared her. The service at first exhilarating had become an albatross, a preordained order and at this stringency she rebelled. She did not know with what she would replace this, her life for the past year, but she could no longer abide the situation as it had become.



The rest of us marveled at her resolve. It took a great deal of will to break up our party and though some of us knew it would not last forever we are all taken aback by her somewhat abrupt decision. To walk forth into the void showed a determination that the rest of us lacked. We, in all our contentment, would never think that something better might be out there. We might have stayed seated sipping the teas and eating the cakes until sweet life had culminated and we made our dear remove.

Perhaps it was a series of events that led up to this occasion. The Madam had become fussy and this did not go unnoticed. The water was either too hot or too tepid, the cakes too sweet or laden with fruit not to her specificities. We dismissed these early signs much to our own detriment. In the days leading to the end it had become clear that change was afoot but not of the grandeur that transpired. We tried to ignore the situation and hope that the Madam was just easing herself through some internal changes but we were sadly not as sensitive to her station as we should have been.





In her manner as she closed her eloquent parting words she expressed concern for only us. What we would we do? Might we be lonely? Could we ever forgive her selfishness? We did our best to assure her that we would indeed soldier on and in time perhaps reconvene the service with new people at the table. The one thing we were undoubtedly sure of was that the tea
would not be as sweet without her seated by our side.

Skilled In Making Mole Hills

"How was the beach?"

"It sucked. There was a bunch of sand and when the sand ran out there was water for as far as the eye could see."

"Sounds horrible to me."

"Trust me it was but that wasn't the worst part."

"What was pray tell?"

"Well after I ran out past where the sand ended and the water started, and trust me I don't know how it happened, I got wet."

"What a shame. How did you survive it?"

"I've had training in staying afloat and I brought a towel with me just in case I met an unfortunate circumstance such as this."

"What did you do after you survived the water."

"I found that lying in the sand somehow speeds the time it takes to dry off."

"Wow what a mystery."

"I know, strange isn't it."

"I don't recall ever having heard anything stranger."






"You haven't, well I have."

"What would that be?"

"Maybe not as strange but equally as stupid."

"Alright already, so what would that be?"

"How about someone asking me how the beach was."

"Oh."

"Oh is right."

Sacagaweea Eats Pringles

As the door opened a sliver of light was thrown diagonally across the darkened and littered floor. The house rats scrambled for their lives leaving the cockroaches, who as whole were much slower, lurching for cover close behind. As the door swung wider the webs left by what must have been a colony of latrodectus tredecimguttatus pulled easily apart like so much circus cotton candy.

Before he had time even to hit a light switch it hit him. 'It' was a stench born foul and accusatory. Robust and pungent and by any description angry and putrified. A world of soiled underwear and kitchen science projects united in their purpose of ill intent, attacked him and rendered his olfactory senses corrupt. He gasped once, flipped the light switch, then ran helter skelter across the room to the window and struggling to lift it caused the Venetian blind to dislodge and splay across the bed. The window now open offered him little relief but it was a start.

As he breathed deep, his head pressed to the window screen, he heard the clicking of the last rat scrambling across the kitchen floor. And then it was silent. As the air thinned he turned to survey the room. Clothes set in piles, separated only by their varying degrees of past use, sprouted from every available surface. One bold cockroach sat demurely in the middle of the floor being either too brave or too dumb to fathom the foolishness of his action. His first thought was to drop a boot and send this ridiculous roach to the place G-d has reserved in the next world for his species but he was taken by the brazenness of this particular periplaneta americana and so thought only to ignore this creature and move on.




The bathroom was dark and when it was lighted he saw that in his haste he had failed to deliver the last of his movements to it's prescribed destination. He pulled the lever and a whoosh of brown water filled the bowl and thankfully the whole mess was vanquished. He turned on the faucet over the sink and it too flowed with a rust brown liquid masquerading as water. He left it to run and then caused the tub to do the same. He looked in the mirror but only briefly. There was nothing in his reflection that surprised him in the least and so he looked away. The tub and sink now ran with real water and he splashed some to his face. The lack of a proper towel neither upset him nor slowed him. Wasn't that what shirts were made for anyways?

The kitchen was a lost cause and he knew so even before setting step one across it's threshold but he was undeterred and so enter at his own risk he did. There was no need to look in the sink he knew what awaited there and this was no time to tackle that proposition. He wished to cleanse from his mouth the taste left by the rude and noxious odors that has blessedly evaporated to some degree. Inside the refridgerator was little that might be described as sustenance by anyone save for a few in the sub-sahara. Amongst the waste sat one lone can of Pepsi Free left by a person who he could not remember their presence in his abode tragically not worthy of a redux and most likely due to the gift of said Pepsi Free on their premier visit.




The Venetian blind stubborn and unwieldy, slats gone akimbo, would not gracefully return to it's rightful place over the window and so was laid to rest at the foot of the bed. He used a strong arm to hurry every manner of book and periodical off the bed and to the floor with a vibrant haste. His clothes dropped righteously where he stood and left only in his undershirt he laid down upon the bed.

'Gee it was swell to be home', thought he.

Same Bat Channel

Sorry, the conspiracy against Sufferwords was taken up by various government and corporate enemies.

Sufferwords is happy to report his security clearance has been restored.

Marty and Elaine will be back next week.

The Expanding Waistline

"We're not speaking anymore."

"Why not?"

"I can't stand these long distance relationships."

"What do you mean?"

"Well you're over there and I'm over here and it just makes it really hard."

"What's so hard about it?"

"First off there is the whole communication thing. I hate phone conversations, you say something and the other person takes it the wrong way because they can't see you and if they can't see you they can't tell that your words are tempered and affected by your facial expression and in the end it just never works out and then the misunderstandings just multiply and then, well its just a damn mess."

"Okay. What else?"

"It helps to have some human contact, that non-verbal communication that can only be relayed by touch. A person can only love themselves, if you know what I mean, for so long."

"You got me there."

"So I am sorry but I guess that's the way it has to be."



"Can't we work it out?”

"How do you propose do that?"

"How about I get up off the couch and walk into the next room and sit next to you."

"I suppose we could give it a try."

"Then lets do."

The Clotted Cream Went Off

"I've known him as long as you've been alive."

"That's right, I'm just a youngster."

"You're pretty on track for being so young."

"Am I?"

"Why sure. That picture you showed me of the Jesus on the crucufix with all the hebrew writing, I doubt most youngsters wouldn't key on to the dichotomy of such an image."

There was a sudden influx of over moneyed people. Men in pinstriped business suits and women belaboring under the heft of jewels too extravagant for the time of day. The waiter came by to see if another twenty dollar bottle of water was needed. It wasn't, nor was the first for that matter. No chance for a glass out of the tap at this place.

"You know I have abortions older then you."

"That's disgusting."

"It may be but as you might have heard in those few years you've been alive 'sometimes the truth isn't pretty."

"Don't try to patronize me."

"That's a big word for such a little girl."

"I am not a little girl."

"You're certainly not a big girl."





An ice fell over them. He was in fact an overweight man, grey of hair and somewhat boorish of nature. The afternoon was muted by the airconditioning of the five star hotel but under his collar the ice began to melt with the fire of a rebuke.

"You're an ageist and I don't appreciate your insinuations."

"I didn't mean to offend but if the truth be honored, facts are facts and really what did I say that was so objectionable."

"I really don't feel the need to detail every greivance I have with you but if you really want me to, then here it is. Every complement you have paid me was accompanied by a caveat concerning my age. It is obvious that you are a foolish and lecherous man upset at his lost youth and frustrated by his inabilty to seduce me."

"Young lady, and I stress young, there are things in life that, in your short years, you have yet to comprehend. You have taken my meanings and attentions and distorted them in order to align them with your own percieved and probably overwhelmingly unidentified shortcomings."

There was a long pause.




"So do we have a deal young lady?"

"Send the papers to my lawyer."

With this she stood and made her way to the elevator. A tourist bus pulled to the front of the hotel and parked for a moment before security chased it off. The concierge made a spa arrangement and the hotel reception agent busied herself changing dollars to pounds.

Spicey Beef Fun Ho

It was a fine Irish morning. Dublin was warm and the rain that had threatened failed to materielize as it had on the Saturday. The cafe proclaiming 'American Breakfast' served a fine cup of strong coffee so he took an outdoor seat on the sidewalk and began to come back to life.

The night before had started quiet and uneventful at The Bridge Inn on West Merlin Street. It was a small pub full of older Irishmen each with the requisite Guinness glued so poetically in their hands. He had meant to just stop and grab a quick pint then head off home to his flat but alas it wasn't to be. As he came near to finishing his pint the man next to him, grey of beard and hair, a weather creased face and a gap toothed smile, enjoined him in discourse.

"Tis a right shame it tis."

"What might you be on about then sir?"

"How the Italians propose to call themselves the champions of the world when in truth the whole match came down to penalty kicks. Aye it being a World Cup final and all, well it should never have come down to this foolish modern contrivance."

"You are right sir and I must agree with you on that point that you made so eloquently."

"More so, would not it have been proper to let these teams sport against one another until one vanquished the other without regard to the length of the match."

"Again a point made so well that I wish, if you might let me, stand you to another pint."

"That pleasure sir I will not begrudge you."

So it was two pints enjoyed at The Bridge and with a clap on the back and a hearty farewell from his gap toothed pal he made his way on. As he walked happily down Wellington Quay he had cause to pass Fitzsimons. He paid that bar no mind for he was well on his journey homeward and in good faith might have continued on but as he came shoulder upon the doorway he looked through the glass door and in that crowded bar he thought he saw a special girl he might like to know. It was an impulse to enter. It was an impulse that put two more pints in him before he had chance to see the girl walk out through the very door he had espied her through.

The streets of Dublin were well alive as the victory of the Italian football squad sent it's fans out to revel. He followed the girl off the Wellington Quay and after a turn down an alley she now walked alone along the river Liffey. There was still plenty of traffic at this now late hour for without his knowledge it had become early Monday morning. They walked some ways along the river and then she crossed a bridge towards Esssex Street West. His gait was a bit off by drink but his mood was still light and there was no malice in his heart as he followed her but then again it was late at night and he was following a girl that was still a stranger. When they came to Essex Street West she turned left down the cobblestoned street that was more alley than street and then continued on past Rory Gallagher Square.

As they went on further the streets began to fill with people celebrating the Italian futbol team. There was the sound of drums and cheering coming from somewhere down the street. A large group, flag draped in the colors of Italy, came dancing down the street toward him. As they approached, one of them, a young man, face painted and drunk, broke free of the pack and with the utmost glee leapt into his arms, and hugged him with all his might as he jumped up and down fevered with passion for the World Cup champions. He was not put off with this and returned the boys enthusiasm. He had never travelled to Italy nor was he a fan of their squad but he was a fan of joy. The boy unclenched him and then produced a pint of Scotch. The boy took a long draught and then held it out for him to follow. He obliged and the whiskey heated him. The boy drank again and then passed the bottle back.

"All the way. ITALY! ITALY! Go, Go, Go, finish that bottle."




He tipped back his head and drained the bottle of it's contents. When he brought down his head the boy had run on dancing down the street waving his flag screaming 'Italy, Italy'. His head began to swim and through the uneven street he saw that she was gone now too. Onward down Essex toward Temple Bar Square he stumbled. Crowds now filled the streets. The drums increased in volume and now became tribal and controlling. Then he came to Temple Bar Square. The square was filled with a thousand or more people dancing, drinking and waving flags. 'ohhhh, oh oh oh oh ohhhhh, ohhhhh oh oh oh oh ohhhh,' They had all congregated in the center of the square pressed close at the center were the drummers. The crowd was whipped into a fever pitch.

He stood at the edge of the circle but did not sing or dance nor cheer Italy. As he walked away he slipped on the curb and tumbled to the cobbstones below. The gutter ran of urine and now his pant leg was dirty and soiled. He righted himself and moved to a building on the side of the square. He leaned there, unsteady of his feet, as revellers yelled and cheered in his besotted face. He collapsed and then it all became a blur. This wasn't his victory. His victories awaited elsewhere.

It was a fine Irish morning. Dublin was warm and the rain that had threatened failed to materielize as it had on the Saturday. The cafe proclaiming 'American Breakfast' served a fine cup of strong coffee so he took an outdoor seat on the sidewalk and began to come back to life.

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part XIX

The phone rang loudly and could no longer be ignored. Sheri had gone back to sleep after Rene had so interrupted her earlier that morning and now as she looked at the clock radio she saw where it was well past two in the afternoon. She often slept late, in fact it was the rare day when she arose before two in the afternoon. Today she had wished she could have slept until night fall. The phone rang on and she blearily grabbed the cell and opened it.

"Yeah..."

"Sheri?"

"Oh hi Mel. What's up?"

It was Melanie the other cocktail waitress. They had become good friends after a rough beginning. There was at first a jealousy that erupted between the two but the more they worked together the more they found that they were extremely similar and so a tight bond was formed between them.

"Nothing really, I was just waking up and thought I'd call and see if you were up yet."

"Not really but its okay. I was up once earlier. Do you want to hear some fucked up shit?"

"What?"

"Do you remember me being really drunk last night?"

"Not especially wasted, I mean it was dumb for both of us to be on shift for a Sunday, I don't know what Sal was thinking scheduling us both on a Sunday night when Marty and Elaine weren't playing."




"That's what I thought too but besides that I wasn't slammed was I?"

"I got a little wrecked, I mean there wasn't much to do but I didn't get slammed. I remember at the end of the night you and Rene had some shots but you didn't seem trashed."

"That's what I mean. I didn't think I was that out of it but it seems I was gone. I get awakened this morning with a pounding on my door and its Rene."

"Not really? Like what's up with that?"

"Oh yeah, really."

"What was he doing at your house?"

"Well as he tells it the night before I gave him my address and told him to stop by, the funny thing is I don't remember anything like that ever happening so I must really have been out of it."

"What did he want?"

"He said he just came over to see if I wanted to hang out."

"Right, hang out."

"Mel I tell you I don't remember anything of that sort ever happening, I was totally freaked when I opened the door and it was him."

"That guy is a freak."

"He's not that bad is he?"

"I don't know if he's that bad but he has creeped me out a few times. I mean once I thought I saw him taking tips. I came over to him and he just laughed it off but I swear I thought he was grabbing money off the bar."

"He's kinda cute."

"I guess? But really"

" I know...what are you going to do today Mel?"

"I don't know do you want to get a cup of coffee?"





"How about the Coffee Bean?"

"What time?"

"How about an hour?"

"Geez Sheri an hour."

"Mel, I just got up."

"Okay see you there in an hour. Bye."

"Bye."

Sheri closed the cell phone and held it to her chest. She laid back in bed and contemplated falling back to sleep but her mind wouldn't stop spinning. She got out of bed and went to the shower. The water cascaded over her and she started to leave the night behind.

'Now what should I wear today?'

A Sardine Sees Daylight On The North Atlantic

He meets his lady friend and she says 'Good morning love'. It was hard to discern if it was in fact a good morning for the night had bled into day and the piano wouldn't be quiet and the words kept on coming and it was someone's birthday wasn't it and he was the modfather and all.

The estate was long lorded and now in the hands of those who didn't give a toss about landed gentry. If you landed with enough dosh then your were just about as gentry as you needed to be. It was a far cry from the streets and the pubs and the uppers and the scooters and the guys and all that youthful misery. Was this a new misery or just life and the progression of his legend?

The morning tea crowd sat about their scones and tried their best to act as if they belonged and he could only land on the sofa and then alight and head for the garden. He paced about the manicured lawns trying to loose the constraints the pints had strapped to his body. 'You're alright son yes you are. This is what we always wanted isn't it?

The carriage awaited and he did his best to stall off the inevitable. Again the push and pull, the crowds and the adoration, the exaltation and deflation.

'See me walking around I'm the boy about town that you heard of.'

Later that night seated at the piano another pint and another day nearly set down, his mind began to wander.






'Love reign 'oer me.'

Wasn't that what it was all about really? It all became so clear and for the first time that day he knew why he did the things he did. As he plinked the keys and then sang those words he became filled with the spirit, with the love and he knew he could do it one more time .

Say It Aint So Schmo

"You've really become a bore."

"What because I didn't want to get out of our excellent seats and race down and dance to Belle and Sebastian?"

"Yes."

"For one thing I don't normally dance. I will on a really special occasion but only at that rare time."

"This was a rare time, they were playing with the L.A. Philharmonic for christ's sake."

"I know but I also know how it works at the Hollywood Bowl. Everyone races down and then they pack the aisles, the folks with the good tickets get pissed because their expensive view is blocked and then the beef comes in and chases you out."

"So, you could have done it with me. I didn't know all that would happen, maybe you've just done this so much that it all seems passe'."

"No, its just that I was enjoying watching the show and I knew moving would just be an unnecessary disturbance."

"You never do anything spontaneous, you're just jaded."

"I never was that spontaneous, that just isn't me. I'm sorry."

"You should be."

"Well I am. Are you still pissed"

"I would be but that was such a great show that not even your stick in the mudism could dim the experience and that good feeling is overriding your ridiculous restraint, so count your lucky stars that I just don't clip you and that would be the end of that."






"Which ones are my lucky ones?"

"Which ones what?"

"My lucky stars."

"Don't try to butter me up by being silly it won't work. You're still in the abode De'Canine so watch it buster."

"Yes ma'am."

"That's better."

Drop In Fast Tropical Twelve Noon

"They've taken my legs."

"What do you mean? I can see your legs."

"Looks can be deceiving."

"Who took them."

"I wish I had that answer."

The cafe con leche was perfect for the summer day when served on ice as it was. Zanku the Chicken King was at his usual table, now known as his office and save for the absence of poor street drunk Tony Pony, everything was perfectly in place there on the corner of Parkman and Sunset in Silverlake.

"Well it started with my back, in fact it is my back that is the problem. I can't sit anymore and I can't use my legs to drive a car."

"That sucks."

"No it doesn't, it hurts."






"What do they say it is?"

"Something to do with the nerves."

"What exactly is the problem?"

"The problem is that they can't find the source of the pain. They say its like trying to plug a leak. As soon as they find one spot it pops up somewhere else. If it were structural that would be one thing but the science on what I have is really medieval"

"Speaking of medieval, have you tried acupuncture?"

"Acupuncture works really good if there's nothing wrong with you."

"I suppose, I personally have never tried it."

"So now I have to find a way to travel without the use of a car so I was thinking maybe I could adapt a Vespa so that I could kneel while I drive."

"Wow I guess that would work. The new Vespas don't have a clutch or gear shifters so it might work."

"The pain is one thing but the inability to travel is the real drag."

A Silver Japanese compact sat in the intersection, the small lady driver, barely able to see over the steering wheel, was frozen unable to pull the trigger on an open left turn. The car behind her, an overwrought faux race Japanese compact, it's driver, his hair jelled into little spikes, leaned on his horn and screamed out his window at her.

"That's really going to help the situation."

"Fucking jerk."

"Which one?"

"Speed racer, the broad just doesn't have any skills, that guy leaning into the horn is an ass. I don't need to listen to that noise. Just because he can't make a turn we have to be subjected to his horn? Fucking asshole."

"The pain makes you a little sensitive I suppose?"

"Yeah."




"It seems we really take things for granted, that on most days are mundane, until they are taken away from us."

"Its really been bummin' me out. I get this rage that I never had before."

"I betcha."

"I take it a trip to the beach is out?"

"Thanks a lot."

"Bummer."

"Yup."

Hardy Har Car

Zero, zero, zero balance. For how many years did his bank account suffer? So many checks, mere paper transformed into numbers and then to shelter and sustenance. What about those days when the numbers didn't add up, what happened then?

All those nights at the ATM. Please machine give me the two hundred I need. The day he learned of the overdraft protection, hell, take a five hundred dollar loan for thirty bucks, give it to me.

"We're sorry there is a ten day hold on this check. Half the funds will be available after five days and then the rest following that."

"But don't you understand I need that money now."

"That may be the case but we have a policy that I can't..."

"Could you get the manager?"

The sheer humiliation of going in to the bank and the teller seeing just how broke you are and have been. The funny thing is that you look left and right and the people at the other tellers are telling a similar tale. Really who goes into the bank anyhow? Certainly not the people with flush accounts, they have money managers.



A big check floats in sent from high above. There is much rejoicing and for a moment you feel like a human being. Oh but then the car catches wind of your good fortune...

"Excuse me sir, might I indulge you for a new transmission?"

1929, Black Monday and there are besuited birds flying from the windows of Wall Street. There is no longer room in this life to consider monetary things. If there is roof over your head and grub in the furnace then all bets are paid.

"Did you here, fucking Brian bought a house."

"Fucking impossible. How did he do that?"

"The bank owns Brian now. He has to post up each month for the foreseeable future."

Who owns who here? Is there permanence in land owning? Can you really own anything?

All those times when the end of the world was at hand. Zero, zero, zero balance. Well it couldn't have been that bad; we're still here.











Breath deep. Inhale. Swim in the ocean. You are rich.

I Can't Hear Them

"Excuse me but did I say you could have a day off?"

"Well, um, I...no."

"Then explain yourself."

"It was just that I..."

"Listen, don't offer me some lame excuse. The only valid excuse would be that your hands had been chopped off and you hadn't the time to learn to type with your nose, or that you were dead and unable to write form the dark beyond."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"What do you think this is a union job? Gimme a break. Fair? Writing is not fair. You said that you would write daily fiction and daily means everyday, does it not?"

"Well yeah, but..."

"Here you go again trying to weasel out. You had an unauthorized absence yesterday and now you must deal with the consequence."

"What consequence? I'm not going to get paid?"

"Of course you're not going to get paid. You never get paid, you do this for free."

"Oh, that's right."





"Aren't you ashamed of yourself? You made a vow and you spoke it, you broke it."

"The Guess Who, 'These Eyes'...great song."

"Nice reference catch, at least you're starting to pay attention again. But understand this, just because Cash has a rock gig, or the Madam needs your help, Pops goes a little fruity, or perhaps you travel overseas, that is no excuse for missing a day."

"What if I fly say to Scotland and it takes the most of twenty four hours, what do I do then?"

"You would never fly to Scotland."

"I know but what If I did?"

"Don't they have the internet on airplanes?"

"Not yet."

"Well maybe you shouldn't be traveling to Scotland then."

"I didn't say I was going to, just that maybe, what if I did."

"Whatever, the point is no more excuses mister writer pants big shot Sufferwords."










"Wow you're tough."

"Its all for your own good."

"Gee thanks."

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part XVIII

"Oh hey Marty, how's tricks?"

"Hi Bob, oh things are fine I suppose."

It was early in the day and Pro Drum was quiet. The traffic outside on Vine was at a constant as all Los Angeles traffic, especially in Hollywood, had become.

"Damn there's a lot of cars out there." Marty was easy with Bob, they had known each other for too many years.

"Remember back just a few years ago when it wasn't like that."

"Do I ever. Now everywhere you look there is permit parking this and no parking that. I have to break out my reading glasses just to park the car."

Bob had a good chuckle at this and Marty felt good having made him laugh.

"So tell me Marty how's things with the act."

"I guess pretty much the usual. I tell you we are really sounding great these days, Elaine is as amazing as ever, she just keeps getting better. The youngsters keep showing up G-d bless their hearts so the money has been good and steady. The only deal is we have to cut that kid Rene in for a share."

"That's right you have the bass player now."

"Been a while it has, it was management's idea at first but I have to admit the kid is a pretty good player if only..."

"If only what?"

"Well let's just say he's not my favorite guy and leave it at that."

Marty moved away from the counter and back into the store proper. There were drum kits stacked bass drum to snare like six layer wedding cakes everywhere. Marty stopped before a '70's Rosewood Gretsch kit.



Bob yelled out to him from behind the counter-

"Don't get much better then that."

Marty fumbled with the price tag-

"My goodness Bob, thirty five hundred, I don't mean to say but isn't this a little..."

"Hey I'm in business here, what ever the market can handle but I tell you Marty those drums are bargain at that price. The kids that come in here spend way more but they don't know about drums like you and me. Twenty people will come in here and pass that kit right by but you come in and its the first very first thing you notice."

"Of course, that's a quality instrument."

"You're so right but those tubs are used. The kids today want something new and shiny."

"Listen to us like a couple of old farts. Hey Bob could you get me some Vic Firth 2bs, to roll?"

"Sure thing."

Marty walked back to the counter and Bob placed about a dozen drumsticks on the glass countertop. Marty took each one and rolled it back and forth. There was a wobble in the fifth stick.

"This one's no good Bob."

"Seems there are more and more warped ones each year, no quality control, bad workmanship, nothing I can do about it, Vic Firth, Zildjian, every company is that way now."

"What do you do with the warped ones?"

"We used to send them back but we always ended up getting screwed on the return so now I just cycle them back into stock and I hate to say it, some chump who doesn't know any better will buy it. I know its wrong but like I say this is a business."

Marty handed three sets to Bob.

"I'll take these."

"Should I put them on your account or do you want to pay up."

"Just mark them down."

"No sweat."

"You want a bag for those Marty?"

"No I'll just eat them here."

Again Marty got one in on Bob and they both smiled.







"You take 'er easy Marty and say hi to Elaine would you?"

"Sure, sure Bob. You have a good day too."

As Marty walked back to Allante he began to feel a sadness. 'What the hell am I doing? I didn't need any sticks.'

The Allante started up and rolled north on Vine, past Cactus, past Santa Monica Blvd. and then to Sunset. Instead of making the right turn back towards home Marty made a left on Sunset. He didn't know where but there was someplace to the west he needed to go.

90 Degrees And Rising

"What did you do today?"

"Went to the beach."

"You mean the beautiful Pacific Ocean."

"Yup, that very one."

"What'd you do?"

"Swim."

"In the water."

"Umm, yes?"

"I haven't been in years."

"Isn't that something, folks like you live right next to one of the greatest beaches there is yet you never go. Some people travel thousands of miles to swim in the Pacific yet you, who live but nay ten miles away, never dip in. Crazy."

"Now that you put it that way."

"Surf's up. Brian Wilson is touched by magic. May summer be endless."

"Amen."