Game 63 Germany 3 vs. Portugal 1
Some people have called the third place game the most useless sporting event in existence. But it hasn't always been like that. When the World Cup started way back in the 30's it was seen as a footballing extension of the Olympics. And winning a bronze medal wasn't all that bad. In the 70's as the World Cup grew in prestige and importance the final prize was all the mattered. Teams gave so much effort to get to the final that when they went out in the semi's they were too spent to give a toss. Many teams sat their stars and starters. The pinnacle of all this was in 1982, when the French lost to West Germany and their coach declared, “We didn't come here to play for third place.†And that is the way it pretty much stood for the two next decades, until maybe 2002. Korea really wanted to finish third in front of their hometown fans.
This past month, as the German football team has gone through positive transformation, the culture has followed pursuit. All reports are pointing to a new patriotism and proud lightheartedness that has prevailed from the Rhine to the Black Forest, from the Munich beer halls to the hot springs of Baden-Baden. Prost to that.
I'm sure Germany wanted to win this game. And maybe this trend will continue. After all, there are 64 games played, not 63. I can understand the bitter disappointment of the teams who end up playing for the consolation prize but hopefully there will be a way to increase the nobility of third place.
The best Portugal has ever finished was 3rd place in '66 behind the glowing magic of Eusebio da Silva Ferreira, the Black Pearl, who had a tournament high 9 goals. He was a highly superstitious player who wore the lucky number 13, and Eusebio is still the best man to ever don the maroon top. You'd think the modern day Portuguese would want to tie the best finish their country had achieved.
Usually these third place matches are high scoring. You wouldn't think it though the way the first half was played. Neither team forced any stand out competition and slowly went through the drill. But you know Klinsmann wouldn't stand for it. Germany came out in the second half and got three goals, and the Kooky Kalifornian jumped up and down the sidelines, his enthusiasm infectious. Figo came on as a late sub and set up the lone Portugal goal to ruin Oliver Kahn's clean sheet.
One game left.
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game 64
Game 64. France 1 vs. Italy 1 (shootout 3-5)
After Brasil won in 1970, over the Italians, they took the original Cup home for good. And it made perfect sense too. Brasil 1970 was the best World Cup team ever. In the next World Cup, Germany 1974, they introduced a new Cup, the same one still used today. It was designed by an Italian. In a sense it is going home as well.
I thought this was shaping up like 1982. And like in 1982 Italy won. It was a curious sight to see the German players with Danke on the front and 82 on the back. The 82 on the t-shits referred to the population of Germany.
Going into the game I though Italy had the better team. But France was actually the better team on the day. They never stopped pushing forward, and even if Italy had a slight advantage at the end of the half, in the second half and into extra time France deserved to win the match. Zidane had a brilliant header that took an even more brilliant save by Buffon to keep out and Ribery made a great run into the box and his kick missed by less than an inch.
Within the first ten minutes France received a penalty kick. Zidane took it with sheer audacity, total confidence and a little luck, he got Gianluigi Buffon going the wrong way and put it to the right where it hit the crossbar and just went in over the line. Italy countered almost immediately on a header by Marco Materazzi that came in from a corner. And that is the way it stood. France was always giving the effort to win. Italy fizzled out and walked around in clumps. And in penalties anything can happen and the better team didn't win. Though it could be argued that Italy deserved it more, or that it meant more to them and their fans.
What started out as total glory for the French ended in disaster. By the time penalties were taken Ribery, Vieira and Henry (Henry will always be remembered as a great club striker but never a World Cup one) were all regulated to the sideline with injuries or fatigue. Oh yeah, and Zidane was sent off with a red card.
Tête-à -Tête. It was a game of heads. Zidane almost took the lead with his header that was the best chance of the tournament that didn't go it, Marco Materazzi scored with his header and then the red card Zidane got for head butting Materazzi. No one knows what Materazzi said to provoke Zidane but it would be a sad irony if it was a racial slur in a World Cup that was devoted to fighting racism. Also no one knows what Zizou was thinking, but it might have been that he saw Figo give out a head butt in the Holland game without any action taken by FIFA, or that his head butt was away from the play and that no one would see it until after the match, and since it was his last game there would be nothing they could do to him when he was retired. But me and a billion other people, including the referee's assistant did see it.
Who hurt ZZ'z shoulder and how much did the magic spray help? Did ZZ have a God complex and the burden of France's hopes got too much or like Jesus, did Zidane sacrifice himself for the team, thinking his being sent off would inspire them to go on to win. I doubt it. But in the last two sleepless nights I have thought it all over.
The next day as I lay in bed weeping (not really) Zidane and the rest of the team had lunch with Chirac, who had words of comfort for the midfielder, acknowledging that it was an “intense†and “difficult†moment in his career. “You are a virtuoso, a genius of world football,†said Chirac. “You are also a man of heart, commitment, conviction. That's why France admires and loves you.â€
In case you are wondering, Bush didn't call me with condolences.
No kind words for me, however, French sport minister Jean-Francois Lamour was critical of Zidane. Lamour said he didn't know what Materazzi had done to anger the French captain, but “we can imagine that there was a provocationâ€. He added that Zidane's act was “unpardonable.â€
Maybe “unpardonable†but in another twist, this was the first time they waited until the end of the final to vote for the Golden Ball winner, the best player of the tournament. And Zidane actually won it. Zidane polled 2012 points in the vote by journalists covering the tournament, beating Italians Fabio Cannavaro (1977 points) and Andrea Pirlo (715 points) in the ballot.
Many people thought Cannavaro should have won it, and his stoic stance during penalty kicks was classic, as was his jumping up on the table and hoisting the World Cup. But I agree that Zidane gave the best performances. Against Spain and Brasil he played as well as anyone ever has in a World Cup.
Anyway I thought it was a great World Cup. I like them all. 2010 seems a long way off. And I'll be in my forties. Ugh.
After Brasil won in 1970, over the Italians, they took the original Cup home for good. And it made perfect sense too. Brasil 1970 was the best World Cup team ever. In the next World Cup, Germany 1974, they introduced a new Cup, the same one still used today. It was designed by an Italian. In a sense it is going home as well.
I thought this was shaping up like 1982. And like in 1982 Italy won. It was a curious sight to see the German players with Danke on the front and 82 on the back. The 82 on the t-shits referred to the population of Germany.
Going into the game I though Italy had the better team. But France was actually the better team on the day. They never stopped pushing forward, and even if Italy had a slight advantage at the end of the half, in the second half and into extra time France deserved to win the match. Zidane had a brilliant header that took an even more brilliant save by Buffon to keep out and Ribery made a great run into the box and his kick missed by less than an inch.
Within the first ten minutes France received a penalty kick. Zidane took it with sheer audacity, total confidence and a little luck, he got Gianluigi Buffon going the wrong way and put it to the right where it hit the crossbar and just went in over the line. Italy countered almost immediately on a header by Marco Materazzi that came in from a corner. And that is the way it stood. France was always giving the effort to win. Italy fizzled out and walked around in clumps. And in penalties anything can happen and the better team didn't win. Though it could be argued that Italy deserved it more, or that it meant more to them and their fans.
What started out as total glory for the French ended in disaster. By the time penalties were taken Ribery, Vieira and Henry (Henry will always be remembered as a great club striker but never a World Cup one) were all regulated to the sideline with injuries or fatigue. Oh yeah, and Zidane was sent off with a red card.
Tête-à -Tête. It was a game of heads. Zidane almost took the lead with his header that was the best chance of the tournament that didn't go it, Marco Materazzi scored with his header and then the red card Zidane got for head butting Materazzi. No one knows what Materazzi said to provoke Zidane but it would be a sad irony if it was a racial slur in a World Cup that was devoted to fighting racism. Also no one knows what Zizou was thinking, but it might have been that he saw Figo give out a head butt in the Holland game without any action taken by FIFA, or that his head butt was away from the play and that no one would see it until after the match, and since it was his last game there would be nothing they could do to him when he was retired. But me and a billion other people, including the referee's assistant did see it.
Who hurt ZZ'z shoulder and how much did the magic spray help? Did ZZ have a God complex and the burden of France's hopes got too much or like Jesus, did Zidane sacrifice himself for the team, thinking his being sent off would inspire them to go on to win. I doubt it. But in the last two sleepless nights I have thought it all over.
The next day as I lay in bed weeping (not really) Zidane and the rest of the team had lunch with Chirac, who had words of comfort for the midfielder, acknowledging that it was an “intense†and “difficult†moment in his career. “You are a virtuoso, a genius of world football,†said Chirac. “You are also a man of heart, commitment, conviction. That's why France admires and loves you.â€
In case you are wondering, Bush didn't call me with condolences.
No kind words for me, however, French sport minister Jean-Francois Lamour was critical of Zidane. Lamour said he didn't know what Materazzi had done to anger the French captain, but “we can imagine that there was a provocationâ€. He added that Zidane's act was “unpardonable.â€
Maybe “unpardonable†but in another twist, this was the first time they waited until the end of the final to vote for the Golden Ball winner, the best player of the tournament. And Zidane actually won it. Zidane polled 2012 points in the vote by journalists covering the tournament, beating Italians Fabio Cannavaro (1977 points) and Andrea Pirlo (715 points) in the ballot.
Many people thought Cannavaro should have won it, and his stoic stance during penalty kicks was classic, as was his jumping up on the table and hoisting the World Cup. But I agree that Zidane gave the best performances. Against Spain and Brasil he played as well as anyone ever has in a World Cup.
Anyway I thought it was a great World Cup. I like them all. 2010 seems a long way off. And I'll be in my forties. Ugh.
Last edited by mccutcheon on Wed Jul 12, 2006 7:28 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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what was said?
From the Guardian--
Marco Materazzi has admitted he insulted Zinedine Zidane prior to the butt that earned the Frenchman a red card in Sunday's World Cup final.
Theories have abounded as to what Materazzi might have said to provoke such a response and the former Everton defender conceded he did make an offensive remark. "I held his shirt for a few seconds only, then he turned to me and talked to me, jeering," said Materazzi. "He looked at me with a huge arrogance and said, 'If you really want my shirt I'll give it to you afterwards'. I replied with an insult, that's true."
Marco Materazzi has admitted he insulted Zinedine Zidane prior to the butt that earned the Frenchman a red card in Sunday's World Cup final.
Theories have abounded as to what Materazzi might have said to provoke such a response and the former Everton defender conceded he did make an offensive remark. "I held his shirt for a few seconds only, then he turned to me and talked to me, jeering," said Materazzi. "He looked at me with a huge arrogance and said, 'If you really want my shirt I'll give it to you afterwards'. I replied with an insult, that's true."
Materazzi has not elaborated on what he did say, but one report suggested he responded with: "I'd rather take the shirt off your wife." He has, however, denied that he insulted Zidane's mother or called the son of Algerian immigrants a terrorist. A lip reader employed by the BBC claimed Materazzi said: "I wish an ugly death to you and all your family," and then told Zidane to "go fuck yourself". Paris-based anti-racism group, SOS-Racism, had earlier said that "several very well informed sources" suggested Zidane was called a "dirty terrorist".
"I did not call him a terrorist," responded the Italian World Cup winner. "I am not a cultured person and I don't even know what an Islamist terrorist is. For me the mother is sacred, you know that."
Zidane himself is yet to speak on the incident, but his agent yesterday claimed the reaction was due to a "very serious" comment. He was given a hero's welcome in Paris yesterday, with thousands of people filling Place de la Concorde and chanting "Zizou! Zizou!" A sheepish-looking Zidane was then pushed forward by his team-mates and acknowledged the crowd with a nod of his head.
Suggestions that Materazzi's remarks may have been racist in nature have raised the issue of whether he should face some sort of retrospective action himself. Tournament organisers Fifa have given no indication they might pursue such a line but English referees chief Keith Hackett sees no reason why such a principle should not be established. "They are reluctant to take action after the game but here is a situation where, if there is proof, for the good of the game, action should be taken," said Hackett. "I am pleased the Football Association, in May, wrote a circular to all clubs, through the PFA and LMA, reminding everyone that racist remarks constitute a sending-off offence."
Meanwhile, the fourth official who was responsible for alerting the referee that Zidane had butted Materazzi has said he saw the incident as it happened. Spaniard Luis Medina Cantalejo said television replays played no part in his decision to inform referee Horacio Elizondo of the Frenchman's aggression as the two players trotted back after a corner. "I saw it happen live, I didn't invent anything," Medina Cantalejo told Spanish radio station Cadena Ser. "The ball was elsewhere and that was where the referee was looking, while the linesman was getting back into position. I always tell my fourth official to keep an eye on the players because things can happen as the players get back into position and that is all I did."
Marco Materazzi has admitted he insulted Zinedine Zidane prior to the butt that earned the Frenchman a red card in Sunday's World Cup final.
Theories have abounded as to what Materazzi might have said to provoke such a response and the former Everton defender conceded he did make an offensive remark. "I held his shirt for a few seconds only, then he turned to me and talked to me, jeering," said Materazzi. "He looked at me with a huge arrogance and said, 'If you really want my shirt I'll give it to you afterwards'. I replied with an insult, that's true."
Marco Materazzi has admitted he insulted Zinedine Zidane prior to the butt that earned the Frenchman a red card in Sunday's World Cup final.
Theories have abounded as to what Materazzi might have said to provoke such a response and the former Everton defender conceded he did make an offensive remark. "I held his shirt for a few seconds only, then he turned to me and talked to me, jeering," said Materazzi. "He looked at me with a huge arrogance and said, 'If you really want my shirt I'll give it to you afterwards'. I replied with an insult, that's true."
Materazzi has not elaborated on what he did say, but one report suggested he responded with: "I'd rather take the shirt off your wife." He has, however, denied that he insulted Zidane's mother or called the son of Algerian immigrants a terrorist. A lip reader employed by the BBC claimed Materazzi said: "I wish an ugly death to you and all your family," and then told Zidane to "go fuck yourself". Paris-based anti-racism group, SOS-Racism, had earlier said that "several very well informed sources" suggested Zidane was called a "dirty terrorist".
"I did not call him a terrorist," responded the Italian World Cup winner. "I am not a cultured person and I don't even know what an Islamist terrorist is. For me the mother is sacred, you know that."
Zidane himself is yet to speak on the incident, but his agent yesterday claimed the reaction was due to a "very serious" comment. He was given a hero's welcome in Paris yesterday, with thousands of people filling Place de la Concorde and chanting "Zizou! Zizou!" A sheepish-looking Zidane was then pushed forward by his team-mates and acknowledged the crowd with a nod of his head.
Suggestions that Materazzi's remarks may have been racist in nature have raised the issue of whether he should face some sort of retrospective action himself. Tournament organisers Fifa have given no indication they might pursue such a line but English referees chief Keith Hackett sees no reason why such a principle should not be established. "They are reluctant to take action after the game but here is a situation where, if there is proof, for the good of the game, action should be taken," said Hackett. "I am pleased the Football Association, in May, wrote a circular to all clubs, through the PFA and LMA, reminding everyone that racist remarks constitute a sending-off offence."
Meanwhile, the fourth official who was responsible for alerting the referee that Zidane had butted Materazzi has said he saw the incident as it happened. Spaniard Luis Medina Cantalejo said television replays played no part in his decision to inform referee Horacio Elizondo of the Frenchman's aggression as the two players trotted back after a corner. "I saw it happen live, I didn't invent anything," Medina Cantalejo told Spanish radio station Cadena Ser. "The ball was elsewhere and that was where the referee was looking, while the linesman was getting back into position. I always tell my fourth official to keep an eye on the players because things can happen as the players get back into position and that is all I did."
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Summertime.
Well, now that the World Cup has ended I've rejoined society. Many people have told me it was a shitty World Cup, one that had the fewest goals and the most cards. I didn't really care. I got caught up in the competition. I still loved it. But now, here comes summer. After all when summertime hits that means music fests and sex on the beach. In Manhattan with a broken air conditioner it also means lots of sweat.
I hope everyone gets to see and hear some great music this summer and gets laid in sand or anywhere else. Music means a lot to me, and if you are reading this it probably means a lot to you too. I've learned that most people who bother to read this, bless you all, like your music. Here is a ditty about me going to Glastonbury. It happened a long time ago. Around the same time I built Stonehenge.
“I remember being at Glastonbury in the year of our lord. I had met this model in Greece and she flew me up to London. I stayed at her flat for a week and then we went to Michael Evens music festival. She wore high heels. She had never been in a tent before. Along the way, we got engaged. It didn't last. She only stayed a day- she had a photo shoot back in town. I stayed until the end. On Sunday night I saw John Prine and then Spirtualized. At different site locations, but at the time there was this very strong connection. It must have been the drugs. On the way home back to France I was hitchhiking to the ferry. A guy picked me up. He asked, “Do you like the Smiths?†I said, “Yes.†Then he tried to grab my dick. My next ride was a family of five. I paid for the petrol. When I got to Le Havre the border cops could tell I had been up to no good. They strip-searched me, but I had already taken everything. The cops knew I'd miss the last bus to the last train into Paris. I had to sleep in the train station. It was a tough come down. But worth it to hear 'Sam Stone' and 'Walkin' with Jesus' live.â€
Sex on the beach. She looked good enough to eat. I was just starting to look real good in my Brazilian style Speedo when I discovered S'Mac on East 12th street, only six blocks from where I live. This is a modern Macaroni + Cheese joint that does the old fashion comfort food to perfection. Besides the classic American style, they offer European versions as well, like Goat Cheese, Brie, Mozzarella, Gruyere (my favorite- anyone who loves fondue will savoir this), Manchego, and also Hamburger, Cajun and Garden varieties of the heaping creamy stuff.
Luckily for my waistline I've been spending many long days in the parks around New York playing footie. The spontaneous games in Volunteer Park, Brooklyn, are always fun affairs, while the organized Manhattan matches played in the blistering heat leave me gasping for the Gatorade. A shout out to Nick Cain my old DJ partner and all who gave the Punk Rock Picnic. Summertime fun indeed. Highlight was palying soccer with Tony Fletcher.
My summer soundtrack: recorded 7.16.06 by me naked and sweating, in my air-conditioned-less apartment with nothing but Cotes De Provence Rosé and Marlboro Lights to lead the way.
The Fiery Furnaces- Here Comes The Summer
Dead Kennedys- Funland At The Beach
Jimi Hendrix Meets Spritualized At The 4th of July Fireworks- McCutcheon Goes Bang Remix
Flaming Lips- It's Summertime
Galaxie 500- Summertime
Death Cab For Cutie- Summer Skin
Granddaddy- Summer…It's Gone
Futureheads- Let's Dance
Teddy Riley featuring Guy- My Fantasy Bonus Beats McCutcheon Eats Sal's Pizza Remix
Devendra Banhart- White Reggae Troll
Stone Roses- Elizabeth My Dear
Daniel Johnston- The Beatles
Primal Scream- Gimme Some Truth
Undertones- Here Comes Summer
Radio 4- Dance To The Underground DFA Remix
PiL- Radio 4
Dandy- Message To You, Rudy
Artic Monkeys- When The Sun Goes Down
Delia Gonzalez & Gavin Russom- Relevee Baby Ford Remix
Sammy Lewis & Willie Johnson- So Long Baby Goodbye
I hope everyone gets to see and hear some great music this summer and gets laid in sand or anywhere else. Music means a lot to me, and if you are reading this it probably means a lot to you too. I've learned that most people who bother to read this, bless you all, like your music. Here is a ditty about me going to Glastonbury. It happened a long time ago. Around the same time I built Stonehenge.
“I remember being at Glastonbury in the year of our lord. I had met this model in Greece and she flew me up to London. I stayed at her flat for a week and then we went to Michael Evens music festival. She wore high heels. She had never been in a tent before. Along the way, we got engaged. It didn't last. She only stayed a day- she had a photo shoot back in town. I stayed until the end. On Sunday night I saw John Prine and then Spirtualized. At different site locations, but at the time there was this very strong connection. It must have been the drugs. On the way home back to France I was hitchhiking to the ferry. A guy picked me up. He asked, “Do you like the Smiths?†I said, “Yes.†Then he tried to grab my dick. My next ride was a family of five. I paid for the petrol. When I got to Le Havre the border cops could tell I had been up to no good. They strip-searched me, but I had already taken everything. The cops knew I'd miss the last bus to the last train into Paris. I had to sleep in the train station. It was a tough come down. But worth it to hear 'Sam Stone' and 'Walkin' with Jesus' live.â€
Sex on the beach. She looked good enough to eat. I was just starting to look real good in my Brazilian style Speedo when I discovered S'Mac on East 12th street, only six blocks from where I live. This is a modern Macaroni + Cheese joint that does the old fashion comfort food to perfection. Besides the classic American style, they offer European versions as well, like Goat Cheese, Brie, Mozzarella, Gruyere (my favorite- anyone who loves fondue will savoir this), Manchego, and also Hamburger, Cajun and Garden varieties of the heaping creamy stuff.
Luckily for my waistline I've been spending many long days in the parks around New York playing footie. The spontaneous games in Volunteer Park, Brooklyn, are always fun affairs, while the organized Manhattan matches played in the blistering heat leave me gasping for the Gatorade. A shout out to Nick Cain my old DJ partner and all who gave the Punk Rock Picnic. Summertime fun indeed. Highlight was palying soccer with Tony Fletcher.
My summer soundtrack: recorded 7.16.06 by me naked and sweating, in my air-conditioned-less apartment with nothing but Cotes De Provence Rosé and Marlboro Lights to lead the way.
The Fiery Furnaces- Here Comes The Summer
Dead Kennedys- Funland At The Beach
Jimi Hendrix Meets Spritualized At The 4th of July Fireworks- McCutcheon Goes Bang Remix
Flaming Lips- It's Summertime
Galaxie 500- Summertime
Death Cab For Cutie- Summer Skin
Granddaddy- Summer…It's Gone
Futureheads- Let's Dance
Teddy Riley featuring Guy- My Fantasy Bonus Beats McCutcheon Eats Sal's Pizza Remix
Devendra Banhart- White Reggae Troll
Stone Roses- Elizabeth My Dear
Daniel Johnston- The Beatles
Primal Scream- Gimme Some Truth
Undertones- Here Comes Summer
Radio 4- Dance To The Underground DFA Remix
PiL- Radio 4
Dandy- Message To You, Rudy
Artic Monkeys- When The Sun Goes Down
Delia Gonzalez & Gavin Russom- Relevee Baby Ford Remix
Sammy Lewis & Willie Johnson- So Long Baby Goodbye
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mccutcheon
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Burnt Roof of Mouth- Serial shit #3
5!
When I get home Mike is sitting with Grandpa. They are arguing about the number of gravestones visible in the cemetery across the street. Grandpa spends most of his time looking through the leafless trees and counting. Mike has a bottle of Vodka in his hand. The little Christmas tree that Mike brought home has the twinkling white lights on. It's the only Christmas decorations we have, a plain tree with white lights. Under the tree are a few presents that Mike and Grandpa have bought. I haven't done my shopping yet.
Grandpa has silver hair that is always messed up into unruly tuffs. He has never yielded to baldness. I'm glad for this because I'm not likely to go bald either. His skin is now loose flesh around his chest and arms and neck. He wears old cardigans and occasionally gets arrested at the supermarket down the street for harassing the ladies who work there.
“Hey Trevor, how were the roads tonight?â€
“Fine.â€
“How many graves you see?†asks Grandpa. It sounds like Mike has been sharing the bottle. This pisses me off. Mike knows grandpa is not supposed to drink.
“I don't know?â€
“Michael says he can count thirty-seven but I know that for a fact that when it snows like this more than half get buried. It's cheating when you count the ones you have memorized.â€
“You guys work it out. I'm going to bed.â€
I go down to my room in the basement. I put on one of my dad's early Tom Waits records and crawl under the covers. After the first song Mike staggers into the room.
“I put him to bed.â€
I don't answer. I close my eyes.
“Don't fake sleep. If you were really asleep you would be snoring.â€
“I don't snore!â€
“Yes, you do.â€
“Great, another thing I have to worry about.â€
“It's not that loud.â€
“You know you shouldn't give Grandpa anything to drink. He's too old.â€
“Trevor, he's isn't afraid to die.â€
“Yeah, but I'm afraid he'll die. He is the only family I have left.â€
“What about me?â€
“What about you?â€
“I'm family.â€
“Yeah.â€
Mike isn't related to me. But he has no family of his own. The story is he ran away when he was ten. His family never found him. Mike says they never looked too hard. I met Mike on the way home from school one day. He came over one afternoon and never left. Grandpa liked him right away.
Mike takes his clothes off and uses the sleeping bag in the corner of the room as a bed. He likes sleeping on the floor. He turns the light off.
“Good night, Trevor.â€
“Night, Mike.â€
Then I fall asleep. I don't know how much time has passed when I wake. It doesn't seem that I have been asleep long. The record is no longer playing. I hear the needle in the run off groove. If Mike was the last one awake it's his job to turn off the turntable. I get up to lift the needle. I think Mike asked me a question.
“Mike? You say something.â€
“No.â€
His voice cracks like he is crying.
“What is it, man?â€
“Love.â€
“Yeah.â€
“I mean nothing free is worth paying for. You know?â€
“Yeah, um, I guess so.â€
“Do you think Bonnie will ever love me?â€
“I guess so.â€
“Thanks, Trev.â€
I don't yell at him about taking care of the records.
6!
The next morning I wake up late. It's easy to sleep-in down in the basement because it doesn't get any light and Grandpa doesn't make much noise upstairs. And my schedule usually allows it, my first class is at noon, and I never start work until four in the afternoon. I go upstairs and Mike is making grandpa oatmeal. I have a long piss. Then I grab a glass of orange juice and walk back down to the basement. The breakfast of pizza guys.
I play Bob Dylan's Blonde On Blonde while I get dressed. Rainy Day Woman #12 & 35 always gets me in a good mood. 'Everybody must get stoned.' I smile despite feeling juvenile.
I wish I had a new shirt. My wardrobe is limited. I wear Levi jeans, t-shirts, or plain button down shirts, and tennis shoes. My favorite fashion items are my brown leather trench coat from my dad and a scarf I found at Goodwill. Once I'm dressed I inspect myself in the mirror. I try to resemble Dylan. Though I don't have the Jewish afro. I head back upstairs.
“Morning.â€
“How's it going,†Grandpa says. “Michael tells me you met a nice girl last night.â€
I look at Mike who turns his back on me. I wonder if he is embarrassed that I heard him crying. He has seen me cry plenty.
“Yeah, I did. I'm seeing her today.â€
“I heard she has green eyes.â€
“Yeah, they are really cool.â€
“Cool like Big Trouble In Little China,†says Mike.
“Whatever.â€
“Come on down stairs with me,†Mike says.
“Why?â€
“I want to play you a song.â€
In our bedroom Mike looks through the thousands of records. He goes through the H's and picks out John Hartford. It's an album I'm not sure I heard. He puts on 'The Six O' Clock Train And A Girl With Green Eyes.' The guitar twangs like Duane Eddy and the singing is delivered like Lee Hazelwood.
“Like it?†Mike asks.
“Yeah.â€
“Thought you would. Janis is cool, you have my approval.â€
“I don't need your approval.â€
“I know.â€
After we listen to the song twice we go back upstairs to check on Grandpa.
“What are you going to do?†Grandpa asks me.
“Maybe go into the city. I have to see what Janis wants to do.â€
“Have a good time. Oh, here you go,†Grandpa hands me Dick coupons. “I got some three dollars off.â€
I drive the pizza pickup truck to Janis's house. She comes out the door before I even turn the truck off. She hops in and gives me a kiss. It isn't as long a kiss as last night; this is more of a peck on the cheek.
“I didn't want to start off awkward,†she says.
“Yeah, uh, where do you want to go?â€
“I need some caffeine. Let's go to the Counter Café.â€
“Okay. Where is it?â€
Janis gives me directions as I drive the truck. When we arrive I park along the curb. We walk inside the café and most of the people are dressed in black. It's a clean academic dark, not in the fashion of Tommy and Timmy. Instead of clunky biker boots and leather jackets the style runs to beat up wing tips and worn out suit jackets with holes in the elbow. Some of the people, both guys and girls, are wearing turtleneck sweaters. Is it the cold winter weather or to cover up hickeys?
I wonder if it was like this in Greenwich Village when Dylan used to play the coffeehouses. The Sixties seem aloof and cool, maybe because it was so long ago. Maybe it is the black and white photos I've seen of that period. People look better in black and white.
I bet people were not that different. I bet the girls weren't all sexy. I'm sure some of them were bitches. Dylan wouldn't have written 'It's All Over Now Baby, Blue' if all the girls were cool.
Two guys are playing bad chess in the middle of the room. A few people watch them. The games Mike and I play are much more advanced even though I always move my Queen too soon and Mike usually wins. I'm too aggressive from the get go and don't have the patience to build a good defense.
People have laptops, maybe somebody from Jersey will write the next great American novel or at least write a screenplay to rival Kevin Smith. We walk up to the counter and Janis gets a double shot something with soymilk. I order coffee but this isn't good enough. They don't serve simple drip. The clerk stares blankly back at me. Then I see him check out Janis's tits. Sometimes I wish Tommy and Timmy were around to wipe the smirks off the faces of fucks like this.
Janis tries to help me out. She asks what kind of coffee I like, I say strong and black, and she orders me an espresso. I'm not stupid. I know what that is. Mike has an espresso maker at home, and it's what I use for my Irish coffees.
We get our coffee and sit down.
“I know what espresso is, I use it in my Irish coffees.â€
“I didn't say that you didn't.â€
“I just don't get my coffee at Starbucks.â€
“Okay.â€
“These people seem like assholes with attitudes.â€
“Look, for a lot of them this is all they have. They are too weak to play sports, to ugly to dress nice and too screwed up to have a social life.â€
“You mean this is like the revenge of the nerds or something.â€
“No, that's Bill Gates and all his buddies. These people aren't intelligent as much as they are misfits. Do you understand what it is like to appreciate art above everything else but not have the ability to create it yourself?â€
“No.†I love music more than anything but I have no desire to be in a band. Being a fan of the music is enough for me. I shake my head. My answer disappoints Janis.
“Do you?†I ask. “I mean I thought you made films already?â€
“Do I what?†asks Janis.
“Do you feel you have some sort of phobia with creating something?â€
“I'm afraid I'm starting to,†she says. “I think it's where my fear of famous people comes from. Trevor, I've never been more afraid in my life than now. I always wanted to do films; if I wasn't watching them I was making up stories for them. When I was little I would make dream casts of all the actors I liked. I would have pop stars and Ingrid Bergman in Vampire love stories. I loved Ann Rice. Even before that when I was a little girl, and other girls were asking for tea sets, all I wanted was a script-writing program. The thing is I never paused in my pursuit. It was my dream. Now I don't know what the fuck to do.â€
“Why, what's changed?â€
“Rejection, or even worse, total lack of any interest whatsoever.â€
Janis' body deflates and she puts her head down. Her dirty fringe hides her face. But I see a tear splash into her hot cup of deluxe coffee. Mike is the only person who has ever confided in me. I never had an honest conversation with a girl. I put my arm around her. She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. I give her a cigarette. I want to comfort her.
“Thanks,†she says lighting the smoke. Her dark green eyes blink away the tears.
I always hated scenes in public, when couples broke up in restaurants or babies cried in movie theaters, but I don't worry about anyone else right now but her.
She looks at me. I can feel her need. The way I felt Mike's last night. We never know if we are going to make it. It's scariest facing it alone. I want to stay with Janis.
7!
Janis and I are back in the truck. I'm driving toward her house even though we didn't talk about a destination. Her head is resting on my shoulder. I've never felt this close to a girl before. I've dated girls of course, mostly so I could get laid. There was never any emotional commitment. I've never been a heartbreaker. Whenever I've broken it off with a girl they never minded too much. If I stopped calling that was it, no return phone calls wondering why.
I feel intense and purposeful. Someone needs me. I always thought something was lacking in my relationships. I never bothered to figure it out. I was playing it safe, doing it for the sex. This is a whole new level that I haven't been to before. I wonder how Janis got to me so fast. I'm scared I might be falling in love. It would be the first time.
“Hey, Janis?â€
“Yeah?†she looks up at me.
“Why did you like me, I mean why were you intrigued by me?â€
“In film class, when we were doing the week on Hitchcock.â€
“Yeah?â€
“When you raised your hand and said you thought the opening shot of Rope was too long.â€
“Oh.â€
Janis starts to laugh. Her short giggles are helping her. They light up her face. I'm glad I can help. But it's kind of irritating to be the butt of a joke you don't get.
“What do you mean?â€
“Well,†she says. “I liked the way you thought for yourself. You came late that day, right before the film started. You missed the professor telling us about the famous opening shot before we even saw it. Everyone automatically liked it but they were just regurgitating what they had been told.â€
“Cool. I think it is important to have your own opinions on things,†I say agreeing with her.
I drive up to Janis's house and park along the curb.
“What do you want to do?â€
“When do you work?â€
I look at my watch. “I have about an hour.â€
“You could come in.â€
“Okay.â€
I follow her up to the front door. In the daylight I can see the really is rundown. It needs a paint job, new gutters and shingling. Like last night I run into her as she stops before entering.
“What?†I say a little defensive. I hope Janis isn't a tease.
“Boy you are impatient.â€
“I only have an hour.†As soon as I say it I feel like a complete asshole.
Janis turns her back on me. Then she checks the rusted mailbox barely hanging on the right side of the door. She looks through the postage.
“Shit,†she says.
“What's wrong?â€
“I sent out a script and never had a reply. I know it's the worst way to go about it but I wanted to be disconnected from the whole process. I didn't write a summary, I just don't have the energy to sum up all my artistic work in one sentence. In my mind I always thought I was good enough, that I would get lucky. I was hoping I'd be that one in a million discovery.â€
“Maybe it will come tomorrow.â€
“I doubt it, Trevor.â€
“You never know.â€
“You ever feel like your time is slipping away?â€
“Yeah, yeah I do.â€
“It sucks doesn't it?â€
“Yeah.â€
“I don't know if time goes too fast when you don't know the future or too slow when you know what everyday is going to be like until you die,†she shrugs.
“Yeah, I don't know.â€
“Come in.â€
She grabs my hand. We walk inside the stale booze smelling house and she throws the mail into the kitchen garbage can.
“Wait,†I say
“What?â€
I reach into the trash to retrieve the junk mail. There is nothing else in the trash besides empty bottles of Vodka. I pull out the coupons and search through the fabric softeners and advertisements about how you can have cleaner fresher breath, and other stuff offering two for one, even when you don't need the one. Janis looks at me.
“What are you doing?â€
“Hey, it's extra money. If I use a coupon on a delivery that doesn't give me one I make the difference.â€
Janis leads me to the basement. I follow her down the creaky steep staircase. I reach out for the handrail that isn't there. I stumble into Janis and grab her right breast by accident trying to keep my balance. She grabs me and places her hand over mine, keeping it on her breast.
“We are almost there,†she says.
I hug her from behind. We walk down the last few steps cuddled together.
“My room is in the basement, too,†I tell her, whispering in her ear.
“What would you like to listen to?†Janis says. That's a question for me. Having great taste in music I like to choose what is played.
Janis reaches over to her boom box before I can reply. She chooses some funky psychedelic ambient music. It is bass heavy and I usually don't listen to this kind of music but it sounds sexy.
Janis stands next to her bed. She doesn't turn off the lights and starts to get undressed. When she takes off her black sweater she isn't wearing the Bukowski tee shirt, or a bra. Her breasts stand up proud and round, they are firm and slightly sloped, the deep auburn areoles pointing upward. Her nipples are as big as gumdrops, brownish red like candy raisins. She wiggles out of her pants and then slides out of her panties.
A naked girl is standing in front of me. And I'm sober. I don't know what to do. Janis sits on the bed. I feel awkward being fully dressed.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,†I say.
“Oh, I'm sure you say that to all the girls who take their clothes off for you.â€
“No, I don't.â€
“Funny, but I believe you. Come here.â€
“What?†I look down and see I have an erection.
“Come here,†repeats Janis.
I slowly step over to Janis. Anxiety creeps into my pleasure. I'm hard, that's never been a problem, but I'm afraid I'll come too soon. I wish I had time to masturbate this morning to relieve some of the build up. I want to be a good lover. I want Janis to feel the same way about me. The way I feel about her.
The friction of the blue jean fabric isn't helping me keep control. Janis sits down on her bed and I stand over her. She undoes my button fly with her fingers. After the third button my cock is set free, that's the advantage of never wearing underwear. There is only one layer to get through.
Janis puts my cock into her mouth. She takes long, slow sucks going down to the base of the shaft. She stops when her nose hits right below my bellybutton, then she works back to the head. She pauses to give the tip of my penis a flick with her tongue and then works back down again. She does this for a few strokes and then leads me on top of her. She lies on her back and with her hands she glides my dick between her big breasts. I start pumping with the same slow motion Janis used to suck me off. My dick feels rock hard as Janis holds her tits together and I keep pumping. With every forward thrust the head of my cock lands on her out stretched tongue.
I'm not sure how long this tittie fucking goes on. Sex makes you feel alive because you become aware of the moment, but I'm lost in bliss and couldn't even tell you the time of day. It is easy to get lost in basements. I am going to come. I'm not sure if I've lasted long enough to impress her.
“I'm going to come,†I grunt losing all hope and control.
“Please do.â€
I thrust forward and explode. I come all over Janis, her breasts and her neck and I even get some on her eyebrow. Janis takes me back into her mouth and sucks what is left. After she is done with me I watch her index finger as she wipes up some of my ejaculate off her breasts, like she is dipping into the last of a custard container, and licks her finger clean. I roll off her unto my side. We are inches apart and face to face- me panting wildly- Janis licking cum.
“I never knew a girl who liked the taste of cum,†I say. “I mean I always thought girls hated it.â€
“It's all part of the process. I know it doesn't take much to get guys off but I worked for it, that cum,†she says licking her lips. “Besides I find come very sexy. Don't you?â€
She kisses me and I can taste my salty self on her lips. She slips her saturated tongue into my mouth. It tastes like gooey paste but it is mine so I can't complain. And it is very sexy. This keeps me hard. I reach my hand down between her legs. She is wet and glistening. I take two fingers and slowly slide them inside of her.
I keep the fingers inside of her and with my thumb I slowly move it round her clitoris in a circular motion. Janis puts her head next to mine and her short breaths are going into my ear. Every pass I make with my thumb her grip slightly tightens around my neck. We keep this rhythmic motion going until her thigh muscles tighten and her back arches. I don't stop as Janis bucks against me. Finally she pulls away and it's her chance to pant. I kiss her long, mouth on mouth, tasting my cum on her lips.
8!
I get to work late. As I pull into Dick's back lot Ricardo Junior rushes out in a huff. I get out of the truck and he puts his face in mine. He might try to hit me. I make a fist.
“Where in the fuck were you?â€
“Fuck off.â€
Ricardo Junior leans into me. I don't back down. He puts on a sneer, trying to be menacing. After I realize he isn't going to punch me I relax. His act is annoying. Violence is the last thing on my mind. I don't want to get into it with him again.
I want to think about the pleasure I shared with Janis. We didn't officially sleep together, but it felt like making love. I wonder if she likes me yet.
“Answer me asshole.â€
Ricardo Junior won't go away.
“A few more minutes and I was gonna call the cops!â€
“What the fuck for, Suave?â€
“Stealing the truck.â€
“Yeah, I'd get far in this thing.â€
“If you ever touch me again you are dead meat, motherfucker.â€
“Yeah, yeah.â€
“You're late.â€
“I know, so you said. I have a good excuse.â€
“What?â€
“None of your fucking business.â€
“Maybe I'll make it my businessâ€
“Yeah, what where you doing with Bonnie last night?â€
“None of your fucking business.â€
That's the end of the conversation. Ricardo Junior turns and walks away. I follow into the back entrance of Dick's. A few of the other pizza guys are standing around folding the cardboard into boxes. Other drivers are smoking cigarettes. Tommy and Timmy are working. They are selling overpriced cheap drugs. There are no deliveries up yet, and besides, now that I came in late I have to go out last. At Dick's it's a 'first come, first to deliver' policy. It's a waiting game until the dinner rush starts. I buy some speed.
Tommy gives me my change and a wild smile. I go into the bathroom and undo the wrap. I sit down on the toilet. I lightly wet my pinkie enough to pick up some of the granules. I bring it up to my nose and inhale deeply. The burning sensation that I've grown to love hits me fast and efficient. This is strong stuff.
Usually Tommy and Timmy aren't big on quality. They deal more in quantity for the profits and some of their shit I've ingested has left me sick, but this is surprisingly good. My muscles tighten and I feel the elasticity of my limbs draw tight. My balls, sucked dry by Janis and now tightened by the amphetamine, shrivel up faster than if I'd jumped into ice water. I put gum and a cigarette into my mouth. I walk out and find Tommy again. He is on his way out to hit another pizza place. I buy the rest of his supply. You have to get when the getting is good. He has stronger drugs of varying degrees. Powders to make you march to the moon and pills that dig you all the way to China. I don't usually indulge. I stick to the crisp fast high.
“Not bad, is it,†says Tommy.
“Not bad at all,†I say.
“Yeah,†says Timmy.
“You want some downers?†Tommy asks.
“No.â€
“You won't know if you are coming or going,†he reassures me.
“That's okay.â€
“It's a good trip man. Was she a blonde, was she a brunette? She was both.â€
“Yeah,†says Timmy.
“Funny,†I say. “But no thanks.â€
“Just don't get any speeding tickets tonight Trev,†says Tommy.
“Yeah,†says Timmy.
Tommy and Timmy laugh and walk out. I go and fold boxes and wait for a delivery.
9!
It is Saturday night, the busiest night of the week, the moneymaker, the night when tips are best. On Saturday night people are off work, in the mood to party, they are drunk and stoned with the munchies, they'd trade in a loved one for a slice of pie. I'm doing six deliveries every sixty minutes. I get paid only five bucks an hour. With tips I can make about twenty. The speed is in my body and I'm flying in the pizza guy zone, getting in and out and onto the next house.
I have a delivery to the hospital. These are always financially risky. Sometimes you bring in eight pizzas and only get tipped fifty cents. It depends on who you are giving the pizzas to. The patients, happy to be alive and eating, tip better than the doctors who think anyone without the education they have couldn't possibly merit rewards for their hard work. Once again it comes down to tax brackets.
I pull up to the hospital and park in the ambulance zone. I get out four pizzas, one cheese and sausage, and three with everything. The security guard on duty gives me a wave.
“Got any slices for me?†he asks.
I force a smile. I contort my face to let him know I will play along. I have heard it all before. This is what he always says. He is an overweight middle-aged man and I have nothing to say to him. From the few words we've spoken to each other I don't think he has a family. There is a loneliness that permeates his existence. It scares the shit out of me. I never want to be like that. I'm not sure if anyone loves him. And I don't know how he got here. I just don't want to get too close to someone who gets up every morning to sit in front of a building filled with the living dead. It could be contagious. I carry the pizzas into the hospital.
One of the advantages of hospitals is that they have manageable access- sliding doors, elevators and wide passageways making it easier to dodge the wheelchair maniacs haunting the hallways. The bright fluorescent hospital lights dazzle my hyper kinetic eyeballs. I inhale and get a sour burn down my throat. The interior design and structure of hospitals is the infrastructure of the speed freak, architectural institutions of amphetamines- sterile, white and full of chemicals. Both keep those without hope going.
I find the room from the layout encased in plastic near the information desk. It's on the fifth floor. I ride up the elevator with two interns who have coffee breath. They make a joke about stealing a pizza. I smile, secretly wishing them death. Interns are the absolute worst tippers and if I had a nickel for every time there was a comment made about stealing a pizza, getting some for free or any other unfunny snide remark, I would be richer than a plastic surgeon doing starlet boobies out in Hollywood. They don't mean any harm but after hearing this a thousand times it starts to grate.
This is nothing new, the monotonous pleas of the unappealing. At least there are no drunks around asking for free slices, they are the loudest and the most aggressive in repetitive demands for pizza. The unimaginative are always the most boisterous. Only a pizza guy can truly understand the peril of a beautiful blonde with long legs in a short skirt walking past a construction site.
The elevator stops at my floor.
“Come on, just a slice,†says one of the interns as I step out through the open door.
“We're hungry,†adds his buddy.
“Maybe next time,†I lie.
Walking down the hall I hear the sounds of drunken fun. There is in impromptu little party going on. A man makes a crude joke and girls giggle. I knock on the half open door.
“Oui?â€
“Pizza.â€
“Come in.â€
I walk into the room. I see that the girls are scantily dressed in indecent lingerie. A guy is flat on his back with his ankle in a cast. I recognize him as a star from the NHL. He is a hockey player for the New Jersey Devils. He is recovering from the broken ankle by drinking beer with a friend. The three party girls are sitting, each with a barely covered butt cheek taking up a slight corner of the bed. They look like the kid of girls you hire for their skills, the kind who never say no.
I pause with the pizzas.
“Pizza,†I say.
“Hey!â€
Everyone is in good spirits. The two guys are speaking French. The hockey player gives me a ten-buck tip, a six-pack of beer and demands that all the girls kiss me at once. At first this is difficult for me to understand because the girls don't understand the directions either, they kiss me one at a time being good sports for the jock. After a few gruff snorted rolling R's grunted through a smashed nose the hockey guy makes himself understood. The girls gather around me. I let them put their hands on my body and smear their bright red lipstick over my face with exaggerated plucking kisses.
“Merci,†I tell the group. It's the only French I know. I can't help but smile. I'd like to stay but I'm on duty. There are more deliveries to make. I can't afford to slow down on a Saturday night. There is money to be made.
The hockey player gives me the thumbs up signal as I leave. I open a beer and drink it going down the elevator. It helps get rid of the acrid speed taste in my mouth. With Grandpa's three dollars off coupon of a purchase of twenty dollars or more I received a thirteen-buck tip. This is a good night. I take a last gulp, crush the can and throw it away.
It is starting to snow when I walk out of the hospital. I hope this doesn't slow me down. I nod to the security guy. He is sitting placidly in the same place.
“Are you bleeding?†he asks alarmed.
“No.â€
“Looks like blood on your face.â€
“Oh, it's just lipstick.â€
“Must have been a tasty pizza,†he says laughing at his own joke.
I give the security guard one of my beers.
“Thanks,†he says.
“Stay warm.â€
“Yeah, you too.â€
He won't drink the beer, at least not while he is on duty, but he couldn't say no. He follows the rules, meticulous but polite. When you are alone in the world, you can't afford avoiding social interactions. That beer is as good as wasted.
When I get home Mike is sitting with Grandpa. They are arguing about the number of gravestones visible in the cemetery across the street. Grandpa spends most of his time looking through the leafless trees and counting. Mike has a bottle of Vodka in his hand. The little Christmas tree that Mike brought home has the twinkling white lights on. It's the only Christmas decorations we have, a plain tree with white lights. Under the tree are a few presents that Mike and Grandpa have bought. I haven't done my shopping yet.
Grandpa has silver hair that is always messed up into unruly tuffs. He has never yielded to baldness. I'm glad for this because I'm not likely to go bald either. His skin is now loose flesh around his chest and arms and neck. He wears old cardigans and occasionally gets arrested at the supermarket down the street for harassing the ladies who work there.
“Hey Trevor, how were the roads tonight?â€
“Fine.â€
“How many graves you see?†asks Grandpa. It sounds like Mike has been sharing the bottle. This pisses me off. Mike knows grandpa is not supposed to drink.
“I don't know?â€
“Michael says he can count thirty-seven but I know that for a fact that when it snows like this more than half get buried. It's cheating when you count the ones you have memorized.â€
“You guys work it out. I'm going to bed.â€
I go down to my room in the basement. I put on one of my dad's early Tom Waits records and crawl under the covers. After the first song Mike staggers into the room.
“I put him to bed.â€
I don't answer. I close my eyes.
“Don't fake sleep. If you were really asleep you would be snoring.â€
“I don't snore!â€
“Yes, you do.â€
“Great, another thing I have to worry about.â€
“It's not that loud.â€
“You know you shouldn't give Grandpa anything to drink. He's too old.â€
“Trevor, he's isn't afraid to die.â€
“Yeah, but I'm afraid he'll die. He is the only family I have left.â€
“What about me?â€
“What about you?â€
“I'm family.â€
“Yeah.â€
Mike isn't related to me. But he has no family of his own. The story is he ran away when he was ten. His family never found him. Mike says they never looked too hard. I met Mike on the way home from school one day. He came over one afternoon and never left. Grandpa liked him right away.
Mike takes his clothes off and uses the sleeping bag in the corner of the room as a bed. He likes sleeping on the floor. He turns the light off.
“Good night, Trevor.â€
“Night, Mike.â€
Then I fall asleep. I don't know how much time has passed when I wake. It doesn't seem that I have been asleep long. The record is no longer playing. I hear the needle in the run off groove. If Mike was the last one awake it's his job to turn off the turntable. I get up to lift the needle. I think Mike asked me a question.
“Mike? You say something.â€
“No.â€
His voice cracks like he is crying.
“What is it, man?â€
“Love.â€
“Yeah.â€
“I mean nothing free is worth paying for. You know?â€
“Yeah, um, I guess so.â€
“Do you think Bonnie will ever love me?â€
“I guess so.â€
“Thanks, Trev.â€
I don't yell at him about taking care of the records.
6!
The next morning I wake up late. It's easy to sleep-in down in the basement because it doesn't get any light and Grandpa doesn't make much noise upstairs. And my schedule usually allows it, my first class is at noon, and I never start work until four in the afternoon. I go upstairs and Mike is making grandpa oatmeal. I have a long piss. Then I grab a glass of orange juice and walk back down to the basement. The breakfast of pizza guys.
I play Bob Dylan's Blonde On Blonde while I get dressed. Rainy Day Woman #12 & 35 always gets me in a good mood. 'Everybody must get stoned.' I smile despite feeling juvenile.
I wish I had a new shirt. My wardrobe is limited. I wear Levi jeans, t-shirts, or plain button down shirts, and tennis shoes. My favorite fashion items are my brown leather trench coat from my dad and a scarf I found at Goodwill. Once I'm dressed I inspect myself in the mirror. I try to resemble Dylan. Though I don't have the Jewish afro. I head back upstairs.
“Morning.â€
“How's it going,†Grandpa says. “Michael tells me you met a nice girl last night.â€
I look at Mike who turns his back on me. I wonder if he is embarrassed that I heard him crying. He has seen me cry plenty.
“Yeah, I did. I'm seeing her today.â€
“I heard she has green eyes.â€
“Yeah, they are really cool.â€
“Cool like Big Trouble In Little China,†says Mike.
“Whatever.â€
“Come on down stairs with me,†Mike says.
“Why?â€
“I want to play you a song.â€
In our bedroom Mike looks through the thousands of records. He goes through the H's and picks out John Hartford. It's an album I'm not sure I heard. He puts on 'The Six O' Clock Train And A Girl With Green Eyes.' The guitar twangs like Duane Eddy and the singing is delivered like Lee Hazelwood.
“Like it?†Mike asks.
“Yeah.â€
“Thought you would. Janis is cool, you have my approval.â€
“I don't need your approval.â€
“I know.â€
After we listen to the song twice we go back upstairs to check on Grandpa.
“What are you going to do?†Grandpa asks me.
“Maybe go into the city. I have to see what Janis wants to do.â€
“Have a good time. Oh, here you go,†Grandpa hands me Dick coupons. “I got some three dollars off.â€
I drive the pizza pickup truck to Janis's house. She comes out the door before I even turn the truck off. She hops in and gives me a kiss. It isn't as long a kiss as last night; this is more of a peck on the cheek.
“I didn't want to start off awkward,†she says.
“Yeah, uh, where do you want to go?â€
“I need some caffeine. Let's go to the Counter Café.â€
“Okay. Where is it?â€
Janis gives me directions as I drive the truck. When we arrive I park along the curb. We walk inside the café and most of the people are dressed in black. It's a clean academic dark, not in the fashion of Tommy and Timmy. Instead of clunky biker boots and leather jackets the style runs to beat up wing tips and worn out suit jackets with holes in the elbow. Some of the people, both guys and girls, are wearing turtleneck sweaters. Is it the cold winter weather or to cover up hickeys?
I wonder if it was like this in Greenwich Village when Dylan used to play the coffeehouses. The Sixties seem aloof and cool, maybe because it was so long ago. Maybe it is the black and white photos I've seen of that period. People look better in black and white.
I bet people were not that different. I bet the girls weren't all sexy. I'm sure some of them were bitches. Dylan wouldn't have written 'It's All Over Now Baby, Blue' if all the girls were cool.
Two guys are playing bad chess in the middle of the room. A few people watch them. The games Mike and I play are much more advanced even though I always move my Queen too soon and Mike usually wins. I'm too aggressive from the get go and don't have the patience to build a good defense.
People have laptops, maybe somebody from Jersey will write the next great American novel or at least write a screenplay to rival Kevin Smith. We walk up to the counter and Janis gets a double shot something with soymilk. I order coffee but this isn't good enough. They don't serve simple drip. The clerk stares blankly back at me. Then I see him check out Janis's tits. Sometimes I wish Tommy and Timmy were around to wipe the smirks off the faces of fucks like this.
Janis tries to help me out. She asks what kind of coffee I like, I say strong and black, and she orders me an espresso. I'm not stupid. I know what that is. Mike has an espresso maker at home, and it's what I use for my Irish coffees.
We get our coffee and sit down.
“I know what espresso is, I use it in my Irish coffees.â€
“I didn't say that you didn't.â€
“I just don't get my coffee at Starbucks.â€
“Okay.â€
“These people seem like assholes with attitudes.â€
“Look, for a lot of them this is all they have. They are too weak to play sports, to ugly to dress nice and too screwed up to have a social life.â€
“You mean this is like the revenge of the nerds or something.â€
“No, that's Bill Gates and all his buddies. These people aren't intelligent as much as they are misfits. Do you understand what it is like to appreciate art above everything else but not have the ability to create it yourself?â€
“No.†I love music more than anything but I have no desire to be in a band. Being a fan of the music is enough for me. I shake my head. My answer disappoints Janis.
“Do you?†I ask. “I mean I thought you made films already?â€
“Do I what?†asks Janis.
“Do you feel you have some sort of phobia with creating something?â€
“I'm afraid I'm starting to,†she says. “I think it's where my fear of famous people comes from. Trevor, I've never been more afraid in my life than now. I always wanted to do films; if I wasn't watching them I was making up stories for them. When I was little I would make dream casts of all the actors I liked. I would have pop stars and Ingrid Bergman in Vampire love stories. I loved Ann Rice. Even before that when I was a little girl, and other girls were asking for tea sets, all I wanted was a script-writing program. The thing is I never paused in my pursuit. It was my dream. Now I don't know what the fuck to do.â€
“Why, what's changed?â€
“Rejection, or even worse, total lack of any interest whatsoever.â€
Janis' body deflates and she puts her head down. Her dirty fringe hides her face. But I see a tear splash into her hot cup of deluxe coffee. Mike is the only person who has ever confided in me. I never had an honest conversation with a girl. I put my arm around her. She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. I give her a cigarette. I want to comfort her.
“Thanks,†she says lighting the smoke. Her dark green eyes blink away the tears.
I always hated scenes in public, when couples broke up in restaurants or babies cried in movie theaters, but I don't worry about anyone else right now but her.
She looks at me. I can feel her need. The way I felt Mike's last night. We never know if we are going to make it. It's scariest facing it alone. I want to stay with Janis.
7!
Janis and I are back in the truck. I'm driving toward her house even though we didn't talk about a destination. Her head is resting on my shoulder. I've never felt this close to a girl before. I've dated girls of course, mostly so I could get laid. There was never any emotional commitment. I've never been a heartbreaker. Whenever I've broken it off with a girl they never minded too much. If I stopped calling that was it, no return phone calls wondering why.
I feel intense and purposeful. Someone needs me. I always thought something was lacking in my relationships. I never bothered to figure it out. I was playing it safe, doing it for the sex. This is a whole new level that I haven't been to before. I wonder how Janis got to me so fast. I'm scared I might be falling in love. It would be the first time.
“Hey, Janis?â€
“Yeah?†she looks up at me.
“Why did you like me, I mean why were you intrigued by me?â€
“In film class, when we were doing the week on Hitchcock.â€
“Yeah?â€
“When you raised your hand and said you thought the opening shot of Rope was too long.â€
“Oh.â€
Janis starts to laugh. Her short giggles are helping her. They light up her face. I'm glad I can help. But it's kind of irritating to be the butt of a joke you don't get.
“What do you mean?â€
“Well,†she says. “I liked the way you thought for yourself. You came late that day, right before the film started. You missed the professor telling us about the famous opening shot before we even saw it. Everyone automatically liked it but they were just regurgitating what they had been told.â€
“Cool. I think it is important to have your own opinions on things,†I say agreeing with her.
I drive up to Janis's house and park along the curb.
“What do you want to do?â€
“When do you work?â€
I look at my watch. “I have about an hour.â€
“You could come in.â€
“Okay.â€
I follow her up to the front door. In the daylight I can see the really is rundown. It needs a paint job, new gutters and shingling. Like last night I run into her as she stops before entering.
“What?†I say a little defensive. I hope Janis isn't a tease.
“Boy you are impatient.â€
“I only have an hour.†As soon as I say it I feel like a complete asshole.
Janis turns her back on me. Then she checks the rusted mailbox barely hanging on the right side of the door. She looks through the postage.
“Shit,†she says.
“What's wrong?â€
“I sent out a script and never had a reply. I know it's the worst way to go about it but I wanted to be disconnected from the whole process. I didn't write a summary, I just don't have the energy to sum up all my artistic work in one sentence. In my mind I always thought I was good enough, that I would get lucky. I was hoping I'd be that one in a million discovery.â€
“Maybe it will come tomorrow.â€
“I doubt it, Trevor.â€
“You never know.â€
“You ever feel like your time is slipping away?â€
“Yeah, yeah I do.â€
“It sucks doesn't it?â€
“Yeah.â€
“I don't know if time goes too fast when you don't know the future or too slow when you know what everyday is going to be like until you die,†she shrugs.
“Yeah, I don't know.â€
“Come in.â€
She grabs my hand. We walk inside the stale booze smelling house and she throws the mail into the kitchen garbage can.
“Wait,†I say
“What?â€
I reach into the trash to retrieve the junk mail. There is nothing else in the trash besides empty bottles of Vodka. I pull out the coupons and search through the fabric softeners and advertisements about how you can have cleaner fresher breath, and other stuff offering two for one, even when you don't need the one. Janis looks at me.
“What are you doing?â€
“Hey, it's extra money. If I use a coupon on a delivery that doesn't give me one I make the difference.â€
Janis leads me to the basement. I follow her down the creaky steep staircase. I reach out for the handrail that isn't there. I stumble into Janis and grab her right breast by accident trying to keep my balance. She grabs me and places her hand over mine, keeping it on her breast.
“We are almost there,†she says.
I hug her from behind. We walk down the last few steps cuddled together.
“My room is in the basement, too,†I tell her, whispering in her ear.
“What would you like to listen to?†Janis says. That's a question for me. Having great taste in music I like to choose what is played.
Janis reaches over to her boom box before I can reply. She chooses some funky psychedelic ambient music. It is bass heavy and I usually don't listen to this kind of music but it sounds sexy.
Janis stands next to her bed. She doesn't turn off the lights and starts to get undressed. When she takes off her black sweater she isn't wearing the Bukowski tee shirt, or a bra. Her breasts stand up proud and round, they are firm and slightly sloped, the deep auburn areoles pointing upward. Her nipples are as big as gumdrops, brownish red like candy raisins. She wiggles out of her pants and then slides out of her panties.
A naked girl is standing in front of me. And I'm sober. I don't know what to do. Janis sits on the bed. I feel awkward being fully dressed.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,†I say.
“Oh, I'm sure you say that to all the girls who take their clothes off for you.â€
“No, I don't.â€
“Funny, but I believe you. Come here.â€
“What?†I look down and see I have an erection.
“Come here,†repeats Janis.
I slowly step over to Janis. Anxiety creeps into my pleasure. I'm hard, that's never been a problem, but I'm afraid I'll come too soon. I wish I had time to masturbate this morning to relieve some of the build up. I want to be a good lover. I want Janis to feel the same way about me. The way I feel about her.
The friction of the blue jean fabric isn't helping me keep control. Janis sits down on her bed and I stand over her. She undoes my button fly with her fingers. After the third button my cock is set free, that's the advantage of never wearing underwear. There is only one layer to get through.
Janis puts my cock into her mouth. She takes long, slow sucks going down to the base of the shaft. She stops when her nose hits right below my bellybutton, then she works back to the head. She pauses to give the tip of my penis a flick with her tongue and then works back down again. She does this for a few strokes and then leads me on top of her. She lies on her back and with her hands she glides my dick between her big breasts. I start pumping with the same slow motion Janis used to suck me off. My dick feels rock hard as Janis holds her tits together and I keep pumping. With every forward thrust the head of my cock lands on her out stretched tongue.
I'm not sure how long this tittie fucking goes on. Sex makes you feel alive because you become aware of the moment, but I'm lost in bliss and couldn't even tell you the time of day. It is easy to get lost in basements. I am going to come. I'm not sure if I've lasted long enough to impress her.
“I'm going to come,†I grunt losing all hope and control.
“Please do.â€
I thrust forward and explode. I come all over Janis, her breasts and her neck and I even get some on her eyebrow. Janis takes me back into her mouth and sucks what is left. After she is done with me I watch her index finger as she wipes up some of my ejaculate off her breasts, like she is dipping into the last of a custard container, and licks her finger clean. I roll off her unto my side. We are inches apart and face to face- me panting wildly- Janis licking cum.
“I never knew a girl who liked the taste of cum,†I say. “I mean I always thought girls hated it.â€
“It's all part of the process. I know it doesn't take much to get guys off but I worked for it, that cum,†she says licking her lips. “Besides I find come very sexy. Don't you?â€
She kisses me and I can taste my salty self on her lips. She slips her saturated tongue into my mouth. It tastes like gooey paste but it is mine so I can't complain. And it is very sexy. This keeps me hard. I reach my hand down between her legs. She is wet and glistening. I take two fingers and slowly slide them inside of her.
I keep the fingers inside of her and with my thumb I slowly move it round her clitoris in a circular motion. Janis puts her head next to mine and her short breaths are going into my ear. Every pass I make with my thumb her grip slightly tightens around my neck. We keep this rhythmic motion going until her thigh muscles tighten and her back arches. I don't stop as Janis bucks against me. Finally she pulls away and it's her chance to pant. I kiss her long, mouth on mouth, tasting my cum on her lips.
8!
I get to work late. As I pull into Dick's back lot Ricardo Junior rushes out in a huff. I get out of the truck and he puts his face in mine. He might try to hit me. I make a fist.
“Where in the fuck were you?â€
“Fuck off.â€
Ricardo Junior leans into me. I don't back down. He puts on a sneer, trying to be menacing. After I realize he isn't going to punch me I relax. His act is annoying. Violence is the last thing on my mind. I don't want to get into it with him again.
I want to think about the pleasure I shared with Janis. We didn't officially sleep together, but it felt like making love. I wonder if she likes me yet.
“Answer me asshole.â€
Ricardo Junior won't go away.
“A few more minutes and I was gonna call the cops!â€
“What the fuck for, Suave?â€
“Stealing the truck.â€
“Yeah, I'd get far in this thing.â€
“If you ever touch me again you are dead meat, motherfucker.â€
“Yeah, yeah.â€
“You're late.â€
“I know, so you said. I have a good excuse.â€
“What?â€
“None of your fucking business.â€
“Maybe I'll make it my businessâ€
“Yeah, what where you doing with Bonnie last night?â€
“None of your fucking business.â€
That's the end of the conversation. Ricardo Junior turns and walks away. I follow into the back entrance of Dick's. A few of the other pizza guys are standing around folding the cardboard into boxes. Other drivers are smoking cigarettes. Tommy and Timmy are working. They are selling overpriced cheap drugs. There are no deliveries up yet, and besides, now that I came in late I have to go out last. At Dick's it's a 'first come, first to deliver' policy. It's a waiting game until the dinner rush starts. I buy some speed.
Tommy gives me my change and a wild smile. I go into the bathroom and undo the wrap. I sit down on the toilet. I lightly wet my pinkie enough to pick up some of the granules. I bring it up to my nose and inhale deeply. The burning sensation that I've grown to love hits me fast and efficient. This is strong stuff.
Usually Tommy and Timmy aren't big on quality. They deal more in quantity for the profits and some of their shit I've ingested has left me sick, but this is surprisingly good. My muscles tighten and I feel the elasticity of my limbs draw tight. My balls, sucked dry by Janis and now tightened by the amphetamine, shrivel up faster than if I'd jumped into ice water. I put gum and a cigarette into my mouth. I walk out and find Tommy again. He is on his way out to hit another pizza place. I buy the rest of his supply. You have to get when the getting is good. He has stronger drugs of varying degrees. Powders to make you march to the moon and pills that dig you all the way to China. I don't usually indulge. I stick to the crisp fast high.
“Not bad, is it,†says Tommy.
“Not bad at all,†I say.
“Yeah,†says Timmy.
“You want some downers?†Tommy asks.
“No.â€
“You won't know if you are coming or going,†he reassures me.
“That's okay.â€
“It's a good trip man. Was she a blonde, was she a brunette? She was both.â€
“Yeah,†says Timmy.
“Funny,†I say. “But no thanks.â€
“Just don't get any speeding tickets tonight Trev,†says Tommy.
“Yeah,†says Timmy.
Tommy and Timmy laugh and walk out. I go and fold boxes and wait for a delivery.
9!
It is Saturday night, the busiest night of the week, the moneymaker, the night when tips are best. On Saturday night people are off work, in the mood to party, they are drunk and stoned with the munchies, they'd trade in a loved one for a slice of pie. I'm doing six deliveries every sixty minutes. I get paid only five bucks an hour. With tips I can make about twenty. The speed is in my body and I'm flying in the pizza guy zone, getting in and out and onto the next house.
I have a delivery to the hospital. These are always financially risky. Sometimes you bring in eight pizzas and only get tipped fifty cents. It depends on who you are giving the pizzas to. The patients, happy to be alive and eating, tip better than the doctors who think anyone without the education they have couldn't possibly merit rewards for their hard work. Once again it comes down to tax brackets.
I pull up to the hospital and park in the ambulance zone. I get out four pizzas, one cheese and sausage, and three with everything. The security guard on duty gives me a wave.
“Got any slices for me?†he asks.
I force a smile. I contort my face to let him know I will play along. I have heard it all before. This is what he always says. He is an overweight middle-aged man and I have nothing to say to him. From the few words we've spoken to each other I don't think he has a family. There is a loneliness that permeates his existence. It scares the shit out of me. I never want to be like that. I'm not sure if anyone loves him. And I don't know how he got here. I just don't want to get too close to someone who gets up every morning to sit in front of a building filled with the living dead. It could be contagious. I carry the pizzas into the hospital.
One of the advantages of hospitals is that they have manageable access- sliding doors, elevators and wide passageways making it easier to dodge the wheelchair maniacs haunting the hallways. The bright fluorescent hospital lights dazzle my hyper kinetic eyeballs. I inhale and get a sour burn down my throat. The interior design and structure of hospitals is the infrastructure of the speed freak, architectural institutions of amphetamines- sterile, white and full of chemicals. Both keep those without hope going.
I find the room from the layout encased in plastic near the information desk. It's on the fifth floor. I ride up the elevator with two interns who have coffee breath. They make a joke about stealing a pizza. I smile, secretly wishing them death. Interns are the absolute worst tippers and if I had a nickel for every time there was a comment made about stealing a pizza, getting some for free or any other unfunny snide remark, I would be richer than a plastic surgeon doing starlet boobies out in Hollywood. They don't mean any harm but after hearing this a thousand times it starts to grate.
This is nothing new, the monotonous pleas of the unappealing. At least there are no drunks around asking for free slices, they are the loudest and the most aggressive in repetitive demands for pizza. The unimaginative are always the most boisterous. Only a pizza guy can truly understand the peril of a beautiful blonde with long legs in a short skirt walking past a construction site.
The elevator stops at my floor.
“Come on, just a slice,†says one of the interns as I step out through the open door.
“We're hungry,†adds his buddy.
“Maybe next time,†I lie.
Walking down the hall I hear the sounds of drunken fun. There is in impromptu little party going on. A man makes a crude joke and girls giggle. I knock on the half open door.
“Oui?â€
“Pizza.â€
“Come in.â€
I walk into the room. I see that the girls are scantily dressed in indecent lingerie. A guy is flat on his back with his ankle in a cast. I recognize him as a star from the NHL. He is a hockey player for the New Jersey Devils. He is recovering from the broken ankle by drinking beer with a friend. The three party girls are sitting, each with a barely covered butt cheek taking up a slight corner of the bed. They look like the kid of girls you hire for their skills, the kind who never say no.
I pause with the pizzas.
“Pizza,†I say.
“Hey!â€
Everyone is in good spirits. The two guys are speaking French. The hockey player gives me a ten-buck tip, a six-pack of beer and demands that all the girls kiss me at once. At first this is difficult for me to understand because the girls don't understand the directions either, they kiss me one at a time being good sports for the jock. After a few gruff snorted rolling R's grunted through a smashed nose the hockey guy makes himself understood. The girls gather around me. I let them put their hands on my body and smear their bright red lipstick over my face with exaggerated plucking kisses.
“Merci,†I tell the group. It's the only French I know. I can't help but smile. I'd like to stay but I'm on duty. There are more deliveries to make. I can't afford to slow down on a Saturday night. There is money to be made.
The hockey player gives me the thumbs up signal as I leave. I open a beer and drink it going down the elevator. It helps get rid of the acrid speed taste in my mouth. With Grandpa's three dollars off coupon of a purchase of twenty dollars or more I received a thirteen-buck tip. This is a good night. I take a last gulp, crush the can and throw it away.
It is starting to snow when I walk out of the hospital. I hope this doesn't slow me down. I nod to the security guy. He is sitting placidly in the same place.
“Are you bleeding?†he asks alarmed.
“No.â€
“Looks like blood on your face.â€
“Oh, it's just lipstick.â€
“Must have been a tasty pizza,†he says laughing at his own joke.
I give the security guard one of my beers.
“Thanks,†he says.
“Stay warm.â€
“Yeah, you too.â€
He won't drink the beer, at least not while he is on duty, but he couldn't say no. He follows the rules, meticulous but polite. When you are alone in the world, you can't afford avoiding social interactions. That beer is as good as wasted.
-
mccutcheon
- New York Scribbler
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- Contact:
Baros Goes On Drunken Rampage.
PRAGUE (AFP) - Czech Republic striker Milan Baros went on a drunken rampage during his post-World Cup vacation, according to Czech newspaper reports.
Aston Villa star Baros, 24, had been given extra time off by his English Premiership club after playing for his country at the World Cup.
He was reported to have spent several days during his break on a drinking spree and one newspaper, Blesk, said he was seen dancing bare-chested in a nightclub with a condom tied in his hair.
Photos of Baros's exploits had appeared in the local press and it was also claimed he was involved in a brawl during wedding celebrations in a trendy nightclub.
Aston Villa star Baros, 24, had been given extra time off by his English Premiership club after playing for his country at the World Cup.
He was reported to have spent several days during his break on a drinking spree and one newspaper, Blesk, said he was seen dancing bare-chested in a nightclub with a condom tied in his hair.
Photos of Baros's exploits had appeared in the local press and it was also claimed he was involved in a brawl during wedding celebrations in a trendy nightclub.
-
mccutcheon
- New York Scribbler
- Posts: 4996
- Joined: Tue Oct 03, 2000 8:01 am
- Location: NYC
- Contact:
Headlines.
'Survey: Bloggers Are Young Internet Users'
Are ya sure?
Are ya sure?
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mccutcheon
- New York Scribbler
- Posts: 4996
- Joined: Tue Oct 03, 2000 8:01 am
- Location: NYC
- Contact:
Burnt Roof of Mouth serial shit #4
I'm gonna be posting the novel until I get to the end. It is a way of editing for me. So too bad for you.
10!
I'm on Demosthenes Drive heading back to pick up some new pizzas when I see Alex, the newest Dick's employee, pulled over by the cops. Someone should have told him there are always cops on this speed trap stretch of Demosthenes. I've never had a ticket while on the job. I knock on the plastic dashboard. Alex's third day and he already gets busted.
Dick's is in full swing. The small dining room up front is full to capacity and there is a fifteen-minute wait to be seated. Ricardo greets all of the customers and shakes their hands personally. He treats the families to free garlic bread and if they have been waiting too long he'll buy the dad a beer and give the kids crayons and paper. He has even been known to give a harmlessly flirtatious flower to the mothers along with a glass of Chianti. The dining room is simple at Dick's but the food and drink is exquisite. The pasta is even served al dente.
In the back, where the action behind the scenes takes place, Donna, the headphone operator with the breathy porno voice, is shouting out delivery directions. Tony, the fat, sweaty cook is putting pizzas into the ovens as fast as he is taking them out. Usually I'm in Dick's only a few minutes to receive my next orders and then I'm off to the streets again. It's kind of like a pit stop in a car race. Everyone is working at a frenzied pace. Everyone that is, except Ricardo Junior who is leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette.
“Why didn't anyone tell Alex to be careful on Demosthenes Drive?†I ask.
“Who's Alex?â€
“The new delivery guy.â€
“What, he got into an accident?†Ricardo Junior asks suddenly concerned.
“No. But he got pulled over by the cops.â€
“Oh, well that's the way you learn.â€
I walk away before getting into the business with him. My new deliveries take me past Janis's house. As I pass, a girl in a short skirt and short spiky hair is walking up to her door. I didn't know Janis had any friends. Then again I don't even know her phone number. I wonder what she is doing tonight. I decide to stop in after my shift.
I keep up the pace of six deliveries an hour despite the falling snow. The snow is lighter than last night and I only see one fender bender between a mini-van-driving soccer mom and a radio station weather truck.
The next few hours fly by in the anticipated amphetamine timeframe. Speed equals fast. After my last delivery, driving back to home base to get paid I see a Dick's van parked in the back lot of SL Slaughter's bar. SL Slaughter's is a biker bar with a rough crowd. It's always full in the winter because all the bikers have nowhere to ride in the snow so they hide out and hibernate with booze until spring. We no longer deliver there because it caused too many problems.
The truck is the one Alex was driving. The most run down piece of shit in the meager fleet of Dick's transportation. The new guys always start out with the worst trucks, the ones with no windshield wipers or radio or heat. I slow down to check out the scene. From behind the truck a pizza box goes flying into the air. The pizza falls out of the box and lands in a snow bank.
I see Alex fall to the ground, half-sticking out from behind the truck. Two big Viking look-a-likes jump on him. The guys are wearing black leather from head to toe even though all of the Harley cycles are put away. They have Alex in a headlock. A biker boot stomps on Alex's head. I instinctively park my truck and run out. It might be a stupid move. Once I get to Alex's side I don't know what the fuck to do.
“What the fuck is going on here!†I say trying to act tough.
The two Hells Angels stare at me like it's the stupidest question ever asked. Their bloated faces made quizzical by my intrusion. I tense myself ready for a fight, the speed in my veins willing the strength of David over Goliath.
“Who the hell are you?†one of the Neanderthals asks responding to a question with a question. I can smell the lifetime of stale booze on his breath through the night air. His beady eyes are small and set back, which only acts to accentuate his bushy protruding beard.
Besides the speed I finished off the six-pack. Unfortunately, it isn't giving me courage. I feel surprisingly sober and scared.
“What I want to know is what the fuck are you doing?†I ask. There are a lot of questions and no answers to the obvious situation.
“This little fuck wouldn't give us no fucking pizza,†the guy says.
“Did you order one?â€
“No.â€
The bikers hold their ground, which is Alex's head under foot as well as the parking lot. I clench my fist. In the very near future someone is going to get hurt in a violently physical way. Chances are it will be the good guy. Me.
I lost my first fight. I remember that day with Dougie as a big one in my childhood. Mike wasn't around and no one was on my side. The kids on the playground wanted blood. Dougie came at me with his arms wailing. He was calling me a faggot and making fun of the fact that my parents were dead. I kept backing up until there was nowhere else to go. I was up against the school wall. I didn't put up my dukes, as Grandpa pointed out later. Dougie swung wildly and connected a direct shot right to my face.
The fight started when we were playing football and I fumbled the ball. Dougie was on my team and didn't like to lose. The other team got to show off their machoness, they started singing Queen's 'We are the Champions.' Dougie was pissed off he couldn't sing it too.
After I got my bell rung, the school bell rang. Recess was over and the other kids ran inside. I stayed out on the playground with my nose bleeding. I felt very exposed and alone.
That day I learned I wasn't very good at sports. I also learned life doesn't play fair and that life likes the winners. Monica Miller started seeing Dougie after I fumbled the ball, and the one hit brawl. Even though only the day before she told her friend Sarah Toddwell to tell me that she liked me, and I told Jake Cadwhich to tell Monica that I liked her too. I'd like to say as I got older maturity levels the playing field, and that silly girls affections didn't dominate my mood swings. But that would be a lie. There were a lot of lessons to be learned on that playground and they all seemed to hurt in some way. Lesson # 1. Pain is a way of life.
That night Mike told Grandpa what happened. Grandpa told me to keep my dukes up, and always swing first.
Because I've learned lesson # 1 I run at the guy who has his boot on the top of Alex's head. I fire a rabbit punch to his face. There isn't much force to this but I catch the guy unaware. My fist comes up under his chin and slams his jaw shut. The tip of his tongue snaps off. He was already off balance because he was standing on Alex, so after the punch he falls hard. He looks up at me in shock, with the ferociousness of a rabid savage animal, insane with pain. Then he looks down searching for the tip of his tongue.
He starts screaming incoherently, lisping like overweight bearded drag queen. Now is my chance. I should kick him in the head and finish him off. I can't bring myself to do it. I don't have the killer instinct. Instead I bend over and help Alex to his feet. If I had the killer instinct I might have noticed the second guy behind me.
The first thing I feel is a blow to my lower back. This takes all the air out of me. I moan and don't make a sound. I suck for breath terrified I'm going to suffocate. Then this fear is replaced by real pain. I'm bent over trying to breathe when I get a boot in my face. My eyes are open but I can't see. Everything has gone black.
I blink a few times and slowly Alex comes into focus. Alex is also blinking, trying to stay conscious. There is a nasty gash on his forehead from the stomping he took. Alex becomes aware of his surroundings. He looks at me.
“Fuck this job, man,†he says.
The bikers are satisfied with their attack. They are both looking for the tongue. We need to take advantage of the interlude. This is our chance to get away.
I turn to face Alex. I stand up fast then fall over. I balance myself against the truck and am forced to take my time getting stable. I get on my feet and stand unsteady. I grab Alex's hand and help him up. With Alex teetering against me we wobble over to my truck. It's all I can do to support him. We get in the truck. In the review mirror I see people coming out of SL Slaughter's. There is more shouting and lisping and they start running at the truck. We aren't moving. I haven't turned the key.
“What are you waiting for?†yells Alex. “Let's get out of here!â€
“Yeah,†I say shaking my head from the fog.
I turn the key and the tires spin in the snow. I'm not getting any traction. A fist punches my window. The rubber tires finally get a grip and we start moving. Alex locks his door as a biker chick snarls on the passenger side. We take off and get free. It isn't the smoothest getaway. I head back to the hospital.
“You're Trevor, right?†asks Alex.
“Yeah, I think we are okay now.â€
“Thank you so much, I'm Alex.â€
“I know. Rough start, huh? What happened?â€
“I was supposed to make a delivery to the bar and those fuckers jumped my ass in the parking lot.â€
“I can't believe this,†I say. “We are not supposed to deliver to SL Slaughter's anymore. This isn't the first time there was trouble.â€
“I didn't know. The owner's son is the one who gave me the ticket.â€
“Ricardo Junior?â€
“That pretty boy guy?â€
“Yeah, that's him.â€
Ricardo Junior is really getting on my shit list. I don't even have a list. It is Ricardo Junior. He takes up every number from one to ten.
“Ricardo Junior is a motherfucker,†I tell Alex.
“Yeah, I guess so,†he says.
11!
We drive the rest of the way in silence. Every time I move something hurts. Alex's gash is really pouring out blood. I pull into the hospital and park in my regular spot. The security guy is still sitting there. He sees Alex's wound.
“What happened?â€
“He got jumped.â€
The security guy takes a closer look at Alex. “This sure isn't lipstick. That's going to require stitches,†he says.
“Hey, that's why we are here,†I say.
“Oh yeah, right. That makes sense.â€
“You still have that beer I gave you?â€
“Yes.â€
“Do you mind if I, uh…â€
“Sure.â€
The security guard gives me the beer. I don't feel that bad taking it back, even less so as I take the first long swallow. The beer is ice cold from sitting outside in the winter air and as it slides down my throat everything hurts a little less. I hand it to Alex. He declines a drink.
I take Alex into the emergency room. There is paper work and waiting to be done before he can get stitched up. A big black woman in a tight fitting nurse's uniform with 'Birdie' on her nametag takes Alex's information. I don't need any medical attention. I soon get tired of waiting and walk up to the hockey player's room. The door is closed. I can hear grunts and groaning coming from the room.
The bio on the Frenchman was that he had a lot of talent but never worked that hard. He was always underachieving in the rink. It sounds like the hockey guy is really applying his athletic efforts tonight. I don't knock and disturb him. I go outside to take more speed and smoke a cigarette.
A few snorts and I'm almost back to normal. I smoke two cigarettes in a row and decide to go ask the security guard what his name is. I turn a corner and see the bikers. There are about five of them in a semicircle. The security guard is standing between my truck and the bikers and doesn't look too secure in his position. I want this shit to end so I can be with Janis. I don't know what to do. I walk right up to the stand off. Maybe I'll get some sense knocked into me.
The guy missing the tip of his tongue is still screaming and lisping.
“Hey motherfucker if you don't want more of where that came from you better just get the hell out of here,†I say not believing a word of my hollow threats and aggravating the situation. The cigarette shakes in my hand so I throw it on the ground and snuff it out with my foot.
The second guy, who I think is the leader of the pack steps forward. He laughs. The laugh is more impetuous than any threat.
“Um, let's break this up,†the security guy says. “The police are on their way.â€
“Fuck the cops,†the leader says.
The bikers move in on us. The security guard fumbles with his nightstick and hasn't even gotten it out of his belt. I get punched in the face and fall to the cement. The ground is as hard as the hit was. I get a boot in the stomach and once again lose all my air. I'm bracing for the next blow when I hear a wail in French. “Allez!†followed by a resounding Batman cartoon BAM! & WHACK!
I hear two more connections. I look up and the Devil is with one of his chicks. He didn't choose the prettiest one. The hockey player is wielding his crutch like a club. His girl is making complementing noises with her mouth.
“Oh!†She yells, and, “Ah!â€
The goalie has taken out two of the biker gang. Everyone is startled and there is a lull in the action as the Canadian reels around looking for another target. The girl pulls out a can of mace.
“You go baby!†yells the girl that had earlier covered my face with kisses. She is jumping up and down in her tight red dress and red high heels. The girl does a Bruce Lee punch and a scissors kick. I see she isn't wearing any underwear. Maybe she lost them in the last few hours. Her can of mace is ready.
The leader of the pack looks confused over his next move. He stares at me. Then he sizes up the professional athlete. He knows that his group of ponderous beer bellies is no match for the athlete's highly trained reflexes and natural ability, especially one accustomed to working with a stick. He gathers his troops up and then looks back at me. He laughs again. And then they are gone..
“Whew!†the guard says.
“Yeah, that was close,†I say. I turn to the French Canadian hero.
“Thank you.â€
“Ca va?â€
“What?â€
“You okay?â€
“Yeah, thanks man.â€
“Pas de problem.†He messes my hair like I'm a little kid, even though I'm taller than he is.
“That was cool, I wanted to dowse one of those motherfuckers,†says the girl. She reluctantly puts her mace back into her purse.
The hockey player winks and hobbles away with the girl. I turn to the security guard. His nightstick never left his side.
“You get training for this kind of work?†I ask.
“A two hour seminar.â€
“Oh.â€
“Sorry, I wasn't much help.â€
“That's okay. I guess the cops should be here soon.â€
“No, I never got a chance to call them.â€
“Well,†I say. “I never really liked cops anyway.â€
“Me neither,†he says.
“But isn't a security guard almost like a cop? I mean I thought a lot of cops worked as bouncers and that kind of thing for extra cash.â€
“Yeah I guess so, but for me it was the only work I could get.â€
“Oh.â€
“I used to be a librarian in the city, you know, on 5th Avenue, but budget cuts and the bad economy. Even in New York we have had our funding slashed in half. Now I come out to Jersey to watch sick people. The books had more personality.â€
“What's your name?â€
“Bill.â€
“Well, Bill the librarian, it's nice to meet you formally. I'm Trevor.â€
“Likewise,†says Bill.
We shake hands. I want to be his friend.
I go in and check up on Alex. It's going to be five minutes before he is ready. I call Dick's on a payphone. I don't have a cell. I know I'm living in the past. With my vinyl records and lack of modern accessories. On nights like this I feel like a loser. Ricardo Junior answers. It doesn't help.
“Ricardo Junior, its Trevor. Let me talk to your dad.â€
“Where the fuck are you?â€
“Just let me talk to your dad God damn it.â€
“Your truck is due back at closing time.â€
“Let me talk to your dad.â€
“We're missing two fucking trucks.â€
“Listen, I know where the other truck is. Let me talk to your dad!â€
“Whoa! Tell me where you are. Where is that asshole new kid?â€
“It's none of your business.â€
“Business, business! This is my fucking business!â€
“Ricardo Junior did you send Alex to SL Slaughter's bar tonight?â€
“Who the fuck is Alex?â€
“The new pizza delivery guy.â€
“Yes, thought I'd break the kid in.â€
“Let me talk to your dad.â€
“Where the fuck are you?â€
I hang up the phone and go back to the waiting room. Alex is ready. He has eight stitches in his forehead.
“How do you feel?†I ask.
“Like I had a crowbar to my head. The doctor said I have a concussion.â€
“You want me to take you home?â€
“What about the truck?â€
“I'm going to Dick's to talk to Ricardo.â€
“Yeah, take me home.â€
I drop Alex off at his house. He lives near my old high school. I don't ever remember seeing him in any classes. He must be a few years behind me. Alex dismounts the truck and turns to face me.
“I'll say a prayer for you,†he says.
“A what?â€
“I'll pray to Jesus to keep you safe.â€
“Um, thanks.â€
10!
I'm on Demosthenes Drive heading back to pick up some new pizzas when I see Alex, the newest Dick's employee, pulled over by the cops. Someone should have told him there are always cops on this speed trap stretch of Demosthenes. I've never had a ticket while on the job. I knock on the plastic dashboard. Alex's third day and he already gets busted.
Dick's is in full swing. The small dining room up front is full to capacity and there is a fifteen-minute wait to be seated. Ricardo greets all of the customers and shakes their hands personally. He treats the families to free garlic bread and if they have been waiting too long he'll buy the dad a beer and give the kids crayons and paper. He has even been known to give a harmlessly flirtatious flower to the mothers along with a glass of Chianti. The dining room is simple at Dick's but the food and drink is exquisite. The pasta is even served al dente.
In the back, where the action behind the scenes takes place, Donna, the headphone operator with the breathy porno voice, is shouting out delivery directions. Tony, the fat, sweaty cook is putting pizzas into the ovens as fast as he is taking them out. Usually I'm in Dick's only a few minutes to receive my next orders and then I'm off to the streets again. It's kind of like a pit stop in a car race. Everyone is working at a frenzied pace. Everyone that is, except Ricardo Junior who is leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette.
“Why didn't anyone tell Alex to be careful on Demosthenes Drive?†I ask.
“Who's Alex?â€
“The new delivery guy.â€
“What, he got into an accident?†Ricardo Junior asks suddenly concerned.
“No. But he got pulled over by the cops.â€
“Oh, well that's the way you learn.â€
I walk away before getting into the business with him. My new deliveries take me past Janis's house. As I pass, a girl in a short skirt and short spiky hair is walking up to her door. I didn't know Janis had any friends. Then again I don't even know her phone number. I wonder what she is doing tonight. I decide to stop in after my shift.
I keep up the pace of six deliveries an hour despite the falling snow. The snow is lighter than last night and I only see one fender bender between a mini-van-driving soccer mom and a radio station weather truck.
The next few hours fly by in the anticipated amphetamine timeframe. Speed equals fast. After my last delivery, driving back to home base to get paid I see a Dick's van parked in the back lot of SL Slaughter's bar. SL Slaughter's is a biker bar with a rough crowd. It's always full in the winter because all the bikers have nowhere to ride in the snow so they hide out and hibernate with booze until spring. We no longer deliver there because it caused too many problems.
The truck is the one Alex was driving. The most run down piece of shit in the meager fleet of Dick's transportation. The new guys always start out with the worst trucks, the ones with no windshield wipers or radio or heat. I slow down to check out the scene. From behind the truck a pizza box goes flying into the air. The pizza falls out of the box and lands in a snow bank.
I see Alex fall to the ground, half-sticking out from behind the truck. Two big Viking look-a-likes jump on him. The guys are wearing black leather from head to toe even though all of the Harley cycles are put away. They have Alex in a headlock. A biker boot stomps on Alex's head. I instinctively park my truck and run out. It might be a stupid move. Once I get to Alex's side I don't know what the fuck to do.
“What the fuck is going on here!†I say trying to act tough.
The two Hells Angels stare at me like it's the stupidest question ever asked. Their bloated faces made quizzical by my intrusion. I tense myself ready for a fight, the speed in my veins willing the strength of David over Goliath.
“Who the hell are you?†one of the Neanderthals asks responding to a question with a question. I can smell the lifetime of stale booze on his breath through the night air. His beady eyes are small and set back, which only acts to accentuate his bushy protruding beard.
Besides the speed I finished off the six-pack. Unfortunately, it isn't giving me courage. I feel surprisingly sober and scared.
“What I want to know is what the fuck are you doing?†I ask. There are a lot of questions and no answers to the obvious situation.
“This little fuck wouldn't give us no fucking pizza,†the guy says.
“Did you order one?â€
“No.â€
The bikers hold their ground, which is Alex's head under foot as well as the parking lot. I clench my fist. In the very near future someone is going to get hurt in a violently physical way. Chances are it will be the good guy. Me.
I lost my first fight. I remember that day with Dougie as a big one in my childhood. Mike wasn't around and no one was on my side. The kids on the playground wanted blood. Dougie came at me with his arms wailing. He was calling me a faggot and making fun of the fact that my parents were dead. I kept backing up until there was nowhere else to go. I was up against the school wall. I didn't put up my dukes, as Grandpa pointed out later. Dougie swung wildly and connected a direct shot right to my face.
The fight started when we were playing football and I fumbled the ball. Dougie was on my team and didn't like to lose. The other team got to show off their machoness, they started singing Queen's 'We are the Champions.' Dougie was pissed off he couldn't sing it too.
After I got my bell rung, the school bell rang. Recess was over and the other kids ran inside. I stayed out on the playground with my nose bleeding. I felt very exposed and alone.
That day I learned I wasn't very good at sports. I also learned life doesn't play fair and that life likes the winners. Monica Miller started seeing Dougie after I fumbled the ball, and the one hit brawl. Even though only the day before she told her friend Sarah Toddwell to tell me that she liked me, and I told Jake Cadwhich to tell Monica that I liked her too. I'd like to say as I got older maturity levels the playing field, and that silly girls affections didn't dominate my mood swings. But that would be a lie. There were a lot of lessons to be learned on that playground and they all seemed to hurt in some way. Lesson # 1. Pain is a way of life.
That night Mike told Grandpa what happened. Grandpa told me to keep my dukes up, and always swing first.
Because I've learned lesson # 1 I run at the guy who has his boot on the top of Alex's head. I fire a rabbit punch to his face. There isn't much force to this but I catch the guy unaware. My fist comes up under his chin and slams his jaw shut. The tip of his tongue snaps off. He was already off balance because he was standing on Alex, so after the punch he falls hard. He looks up at me in shock, with the ferociousness of a rabid savage animal, insane with pain. Then he looks down searching for the tip of his tongue.
He starts screaming incoherently, lisping like overweight bearded drag queen. Now is my chance. I should kick him in the head and finish him off. I can't bring myself to do it. I don't have the killer instinct. Instead I bend over and help Alex to his feet. If I had the killer instinct I might have noticed the second guy behind me.
The first thing I feel is a blow to my lower back. This takes all the air out of me. I moan and don't make a sound. I suck for breath terrified I'm going to suffocate. Then this fear is replaced by real pain. I'm bent over trying to breathe when I get a boot in my face. My eyes are open but I can't see. Everything has gone black.
I blink a few times and slowly Alex comes into focus. Alex is also blinking, trying to stay conscious. There is a nasty gash on his forehead from the stomping he took. Alex becomes aware of his surroundings. He looks at me.
“Fuck this job, man,†he says.
The bikers are satisfied with their attack. They are both looking for the tongue. We need to take advantage of the interlude. This is our chance to get away.
I turn to face Alex. I stand up fast then fall over. I balance myself against the truck and am forced to take my time getting stable. I get on my feet and stand unsteady. I grab Alex's hand and help him up. With Alex teetering against me we wobble over to my truck. It's all I can do to support him. We get in the truck. In the review mirror I see people coming out of SL Slaughter's. There is more shouting and lisping and they start running at the truck. We aren't moving. I haven't turned the key.
“What are you waiting for?†yells Alex. “Let's get out of here!â€
“Yeah,†I say shaking my head from the fog.
I turn the key and the tires spin in the snow. I'm not getting any traction. A fist punches my window. The rubber tires finally get a grip and we start moving. Alex locks his door as a biker chick snarls on the passenger side. We take off and get free. It isn't the smoothest getaway. I head back to the hospital.
“You're Trevor, right?†asks Alex.
“Yeah, I think we are okay now.â€
“Thank you so much, I'm Alex.â€
“I know. Rough start, huh? What happened?â€
“I was supposed to make a delivery to the bar and those fuckers jumped my ass in the parking lot.â€
“I can't believe this,†I say. “We are not supposed to deliver to SL Slaughter's anymore. This isn't the first time there was trouble.â€
“I didn't know. The owner's son is the one who gave me the ticket.â€
“Ricardo Junior?â€
“That pretty boy guy?â€
“Yeah, that's him.â€
Ricardo Junior is really getting on my shit list. I don't even have a list. It is Ricardo Junior. He takes up every number from one to ten.
“Ricardo Junior is a motherfucker,†I tell Alex.
“Yeah, I guess so,†he says.
11!
We drive the rest of the way in silence. Every time I move something hurts. Alex's gash is really pouring out blood. I pull into the hospital and park in my regular spot. The security guy is still sitting there. He sees Alex's wound.
“What happened?â€
“He got jumped.â€
The security guy takes a closer look at Alex. “This sure isn't lipstick. That's going to require stitches,†he says.
“Hey, that's why we are here,†I say.
“Oh yeah, right. That makes sense.â€
“You still have that beer I gave you?â€
“Yes.â€
“Do you mind if I, uh…â€
“Sure.â€
The security guard gives me the beer. I don't feel that bad taking it back, even less so as I take the first long swallow. The beer is ice cold from sitting outside in the winter air and as it slides down my throat everything hurts a little less. I hand it to Alex. He declines a drink.
I take Alex into the emergency room. There is paper work and waiting to be done before he can get stitched up. A big black woman in a tight fitting nurse's uniform with 'Birdie' on her nametag takes Alex's information. I don't need any medical attention. I soon get tired of waiting and walk up to the hockey player's room. The door is closed. I can hear grunts and groaning coming from the room.
The bio on the Frenchman was that he had a lot of talent but never worked that hard. He was always underachieving in the rink. It sounds like the hockey guy is really applying his athletic efforts tonight. I don't knock and disturb him. I go outside to take more speed and smoke a cigarette.
A few snorts and I'm almost back to normal. I smoke two cigarettes in a row and decide to go ask the security guard what his name is. I turn a corner and see the bikers. There are about five of them in a semicircle. The security guard is standing between my truck and the bikers and doesn't look too secure in his position. I want this shit to end so I can be with Janis. I don't know what to do. I walk right up to the stand off. Maybe I'll get some sense knocked into me.
The guy missing the tip of his tongue is still screaming and lisping.
“Hey motherfucker if you don't want more of where that came from you better just get the hell out of here,†I say not believing a word of my hollow threats and aggravating the situation. The cigarette shakes in my hand so I throw it on the ground and snuff it out with my foot.
The second guy, who I think is the leader of the pack steps forward. He laughs. The laugh is more impetuous than any threat.
“Um, let's break this up,†the security guy says. “The police are on their way.â€
“Fuck the cops,†the leader says.
The bikers move in on us. The security guard fumbles with his nightstick and hasn't even gotten it out of his belt. I get punched in the face and fall to the cement. The ground is as hard as the hit was. I get a boot in the stomach and once again lose all my air. I'm bracing for the next blow when I hear a wail in French. “Allez!†followed by a resounding Batman cartoon BAM! & WHACK!
I hear two more connections. I look up and the Devil is with one of his chicks. He didn't choose the prettiest one. The hockey player is wielding his crutch like a club. His girl is making complementing noises with her mouth.
“Oh!†She yells, and, “Ah!â€
The goalie has taken out two of the biker gang. Everyone is startled and there is a lull in the action as the Canadian reels around looking for another target. The girl pulls out a can of mace.
“You go baby!†yells the girl that had earlier covered my face with kisses. She is jumping up and down in her tight red dress and red high heels. The girl does a Bruce Lee punch and a scissors kick. I see she isn't wearing any underwear. Maybe she lost them in the last few hours. Her can of mace is ready.
The leader of the pack looks confused over his next move. He stares at me. Then he sizes up the professional athlete. He knows that his group of ponderous beer bellies is no match for the athlete's highly trained reflexes and natural ability, especially one accustomed to working with a stick. He gathers his troops up and then looks back at me. He laughs again. And then they are gone..
“Whew!†the guard says.
“Yeah, that was close,†I say. I turn to the French Canadian hero.
“Thank you.â€
“Ca va?â€
“What?â€
“You okay?â€
“Yeah, thanks man.â€
“Pas de problem.†He messes my hair like I'm a little kid, even though I'm taller than he is.
“That was cool, I wanted to dowse one of those motherfuckers,†says the girl. She reluctantly puts her mace back into her purse.
The hockey player winks and hobbles away with the girl. I turn to the security guard. His nightstick never left his side.
“You get training for this kind of work?†I ask.
“A two hour seminar.â€
“Oh.â€
“Sorry, I wasn't much help.â€
“That's okay. I guess the cops should be here soon.â€
“No, I never got a chance to call them.â€
“Well,†I say. “I never really liked cops anyway.â€
“Me neither,†he says.
“But isn't a security guard almost like a cop? I mean I thought a lot of cops worked as bouncers and that kind of thing for extra cash.â€
“Yeah I guess so, but for me it was the only work I could get.â€
“Oh.â€
“I used to be a librarian in the city, you know, on 5th Avenue, but budget cuts and the bad economy. Even in New York we have had our funding slashed in half. Now I come out to Jersey to watch sick people. The books had more personality.â€
“What's your name?â€
“Bill.â€
“Well, Bill the librarian, it's nice to meet you formally. I'm Trevor.â€
“Likewise,†says Bill.
We shake hands. I want to be his friend.
I go in and check up on Alex. It's going to be five minutes before he is ready. I call Dick's on a payphone. I don't have a cell. I know I'm living in the past. With my vinyl records and lack of modern accessories. On nights like this I feel like a loser. Ricardo Junior answers. It doesn't help.
“Ricardo Junior, its Trevor. Let me talk to your dad.â€
“Where the fuck are you?â€
“Just let me talk to your dad God damn it.â€
“Your truck is due back at closing time.â€
“Let me talk to your dad.â€
“We're missing two fucking trucks.â€
“Listen, I know where the other truck is. Let me talk to your dad!â€
“Whoa! Tell me where you are. Where is that asshole new kid?â€
“It's none of your business.â€
“Business, business! This is my fucking business!â€
“Ricardo Junior did you send Alex to SL Slaughter's bar tonight?â€
“Who the fuck is Alex?â€
“The new pizza delivery guy.â€
“Yes, thought I'd break the kid in.â€
“Let me talk to your dad.â€
“Where the fuck are you?â€
I hang up the phone and go back to the waiting room. Alex is ready. He has eight stitches in his forehead.
“How do you feel?†I ask.
“Like I had a crowbar to my head. The doctor said I have a concussion.â€
“You want me to take you home?â€
“What about the truck?â€
“I'm going to Dick's to talk to Ricardo.â€
“Yeah, take me home.â€
I drop Alex off at his house. He lives near my old high school. I don't ever remember seeing him in any classes. He must be a few years behind me. Alex dismounts the truck and turns to face me.
“I'll say a prayer for you,†he says.
“A what?â€
“I'll pray to Jesus to keep you safe.â€
“Um, thanks.â€
-
mccutcheon
- New York Scribbler
- Posts: 4996
- Joined: Tue Oct 03, 2000 8:01 am
- Location: NYC
- Contact:
Crash and Bang
I love New York thunderstorms. Thanks Luna.
Yesterday I went to a bunch of Chelsea art galleries. I also stopped at a few bars. There was a Daisy Duke look-a-like in one place doing cocaine and eating pineapple. Her tits were on display. The hard hats drinking lunch loved it. Someone called me Rob Thomas, which I guess is better than fat Elvis. Still, I was pissed. Was Rob Thomas in Front 242? Or was that Rage Against The Machine? I always get them confused.
Between 17th and 27th way over on the west side there is a lot of bad art on display. And for me, I always find a living girl in one of the galleries, working on her Apple, never a PC, always more artistically pleasing than what is hanging on the walls.
Some nights I dream of Nell Freudenberger living in Asia writing me a letter, but most nights I don't.
Some nights I get wet. Most nights I don't.
Yesterday I went to a bunch of Chelsea art galleries. I also stopped at a few bars. There was a Daisy Duke look-a-like in one place doing cocaine and eating pineapple. Her tits were on display. The hard hats drinking lunch loved it. Someone called me Rob Thomas, which I guess is better than fat Elvis. Still, I was pissed. Was Rob Thomas in Front 242? Or was that Rage Against The Machine? I always get them confused.
Between 17th and 27th way over on the west side there is a lot of bad art on display. And for me, I always find a living girl in one of the galleries, working on her Apple, never a PC, always more artistically pleasing than what is hanging on the walls.
Some nights I dream of Nell Freudenberger living in Asia writing me a letter, but most nights I don't.
Some nights I get wet. Most nights I don't.
-
mccutcheon
- New York Scribbler
- Posts: 4996
- Joined: Tue Oct 03, 2000 8:01 am
- Location: NYC
- Contact:
It's all vivre to me.
Wine Fact: On a hot day, there is no way a Rosé bottle of 750 ml has the same amount of wine in it than a Red bottle of 750 ml. That is why you can drink two bottles of the Rosé in twenty minutes and think Avenue A is the Côtes de Provence. Joy of Living.
-
mccutcheon
- New York Scribbler
- Posts: 4996
- Joined: Tue Oct 03, 2000 8:01 am
- Location: NYC
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There is only one ZZ
Jockey Paul O'Neill apologized Tuesday for head-butting his horse, City Affair, at the Stratford races on Sunday.
–Prat
–Prat