Another Day in Southern California
It was a hot horrible day when my alarm shot my hungover head from pillow at 630 a.m. It was time for work, roofing in Simi Valley. While draining my main vein, I could overhear my sister’s boyfriend Ivan in the next room. He was giving his new bong a work out, getting ready for his job as a cement layer. My sister had already left for her job. I came into the living room and sat next to him on the couch.
“What’s up loadie lips?” Ivan said.
“I don’t feel so hot.” I responded
“Dude, you drank a lot last night, almost a 12 pack, and them shots of tequila we were doing, hahahahahahahahahaha, “ he said.
“Don’t remind me, I feel like I’m gonna puke.”
He passed his bong over to me, which was stuffed with some sticky bright yellow green red haired skunk from somewhere in Humboldt County. I hesitated for a second.
“Go on dude, best hangover cure there is.” He said.
I took a gigantic hit & started coughing like crazy.
“hahahahahahaha, later on super lungs.” Ivan was out the door.
I grabbed my roofing belt, my keys and wallet, and headed to my car. I Was still coughing & feeling a tad vomity. I climbed into my 1977- 2-door pile of crap chevvette. I drove down the Ventura freeway to go pick up my fellow worker, Oliver. The sun was beginning to come into full force. It was gonna be another 95 degree-day.
I had known Oliver since high school. He needed a job and he always had pot, so I got him the job roofing with me. Only problem was- he could be sort of an asshole, plus- I had to pick him up everyday because his pile of crap car was broken. We were both 19 years old.
I pulled up to his house. I saw him come walking out- I rudely honked several times- hopefully waking up his neighbors or his grouchy father, who worked nights, tried to sleep days, a los Angeles fireman who had seen a lot of gore. So Oliver told me.
Oliver was the product of a divorced couple, when he was just a wee young lad. We never talked about that shit; young men don’t talk about those things. I knew he was just about as thrilled as me, having to get up at this ridiculous hour to go to a job we hated. Least we had that in common.
Oliver threw his roofing belt in the back seat, slammed my 77 door -with a pissed off look and said…
“Drive dumbshit.”
“Fuck off.” I responded, pulling out of his driveway.
Oliver wasted no time.
He pulled out about a quarter of kind bud, and began stuffing his glass pipe, as I headed for the freeway, with local rock station talking about how it was gonna be a scorcher today.
He hogged about 12 hits to himself, before finally mumbling…
“Do you want some?”
“I’m already kinda stoned and hungover, don’t feel to good man.”
“Fucking smoke it,” he said, shoving the pipe in my face.
I took a huge hit, & started in on the coughing fit again.
“Pussy.” Oliver said.
“Shut up dude, I think I’m gonna puke, grab the wheel, hurry!” I said, rolling down my window in a panic.
“You fucking idiot!” Oliver yelled, grabbing the wheel. I stuck my head out the driver side window, letting out an enormous belch, followed by a stream of last nights four pound burrito I had devoured just before going to bed all loaded.
“Ahh Jesus! Pull the fuck over dumbshit!” Oliver yelled, with my car swerving all over the freeway lanes. The puke seemed to some how suck right back into my face from the wind. I had chunks in my hair, eyes and face. I managed to pull over on the side of the freeway.
“You sick fucker!” Oliver yelled, while getting out of the car.
I could barely speak.
“Just shut up man,” I said, getting out as well, while trying to wipe all the barf chunks off. I doubled over next to the freeway and started wrenching up more beer and burrito chunks.
“This is a bunch of horseshit! You’re gonna make us late for work, hurry up!” Oliver screamed at me.
I was to busy concentrating on keeping my stomach lining intact to respond to his abuse.
“I’m gonna take a fuking piss now you jerk off, all over your lemon of a car, now hurry up and finish puking!”
Oliver stood pissing all over the back of my car. I upchucked more, and cars zipped by us honking in disgust.
That’s when the state trooper pulled up with his lights flashing. Oliver couldn’t see him, cause he was to busy pissing all over the back of my car. I lifted myself off the ground, trying to motion to Oliver to turn the fuck around. Oliver turned around with his cock still in hand, piss squirting from it. His laughter faded & his expression suddenly melted away when he laid eyes on that cop.
Oliver quickly zipped up and I stumbled around in a circle of panic. The cop got out of his car, yelling “both of you turn around and put your hands on the back of the car, now!”
S o we did. He came up behind us and started checking our pockets for weapons and such, he didn’t find squat.
Then he searched the car, found Oliver’s glass bowl, that’s when the pigs eyes rose like red rotted petals of power. He had us; resin is a felony I think. I started wondering what Oliver had done with the bag of weed. The officer poked around some more in my car. Oliver’s eyes were spasmatic. My throat chirped another dry heave, the pig pulled out Oliver’s bag of skunkweed.
“lookie what we got here boys!” the cop squealed.
“It’s his!” Oliver quickly said, pointing a finger at me.
I couldn’t believe what an asshole this Oliver was being; I mean what sort of a backstabbing dick head jerk off friend did I have?
“Fuk u!” I quickly responded.
“It aint mine officer, I’m just on my way to work, & unfortunately I have to pick this pot smoking fagot up ever morning, cause he doesn’t know how to fix his pile of shit car that daddy gave him!” I screamed, pointing over at Oliver.
I could tell I had really struck a nerve within Oliver. His eyes got even more psycho red then usual. He ran at me.
The officer pulled out his gun yelling….
“Freeze dirtball!”
Oliver tackled me, and our bodies flew into on coming freeway traffic. Cars skidded, jerked different ways, our bodies rolled into a heaping mess of anger and frustration towards each other. The cop just kept pointing his gun, not knowing whom to shoot first.
“Stop it, freeze!” the pig screamed.
I got a good punch in on Oliver’s face, as traffic seemed to come to a halt after the skids.
Before I knew it, the officer had me in a headlock, while he cautioned the traffic to come to a complete halt.
Oliver took advantage of the situation, and proceeded to kick me in the head, as I struggled with the cop. The cop kept trying to reach for his radio, saying something like I remember off the chips TV show
“ mary five niner, we got a double 227 here, I need back up, mary o niner!”
I managed to grab the cop’s radio walkie-talkie thing. I belted it hard against his head, and he was out in sleepy land finally.
Oliver was now punching the cop in the face. A big meathead looking jock boy who witnessed the whole thing- got out of his Mercedes. An all American hero to save the fuking day. A former marine, a dessert storm para trooper, a so-called all American boy with muscles and a fat rich wife at home, in a suburban neighborhood. Kids, a good job. Sober man. A man who should have minded his own business!
“What the hell u boys think you are doing here!” the all American boy man screamed, with a crow bar in his big burley hands.
“Mind your own fukin business motherfuker!” Oliver’s rage had turned to this hero coming at us.
Oliver tackled him. But then the man started using these odd karate moves I had never seen, wrestling moves as well. The hero boy flopped Oliver over his back, and karate chopped his face into a stream of blood.
That’s when something happened with inside of me. I don’t know what it was. But I ran like speed racer, at that all American man. I had the vengeance of a zillion tired armies on crank. I cracked him hard in the face with my right hand, sent him flying into another lookie loo car face, wind shield cracking.
Oliver got up off the ground, and ran to my car, by this time, I had started it already, and was about to speed off alone. Some how Oliver managed to climb in the passenger door, . just as I floored it, blood all over his California white blonde surfer like hair.
We drove down the freeway, both breathing heavily, but not saying a word, just staring straight ahead, looking into the day to come. The silent smell of a good Ventura wind blowing ocean spray through the broken window in the back seat.. Duct tape fluttering through the other half cracked window on Oliver’s side.
“where u going?” oliver asked after about 10 minutes of silence, and heavy breathing.
“to work.” I said
“why?”
“cause we have to go to work, that’s how the world works.’
“you fool, we are now wanted by the law, we are fugitives you retard, and all you want to do is go to work..!!!,/.?”
“I guess your right, why don’t u just get the fuk out of my car asshole!” I screamed, pulling over to the side of the road.
“Just drive, just drive fuker!” he screamed back to me, grabbing my scrawny neck.
I drove. I had blood boiling through every little tiny fucking cell in my body. I wanted to kill Oliver. We made it to the construction site somehow. We got out of the car and climbed up on the roof. We were both still pissed off and paranoid that at any moment a cop cruiser would be pulling up to take us both to jail.
Our boss, Chaz, was loading the cement mixer and starting the tractor thing that lifted the red clay like cement up to us. I don’t know if Chaz sensed the tension between Oliver and me. But he came up on the roof after lifting the pallet of red cement up. Said he was gonna help us, show us the tricks of the trade, he smoothed it along the ridge of the roof, as me and Oliver walked light footed on all the Spanish tile, hoping not to break one.
Soon enough Chaz left us alone, to smooth out the red clay like cement stuff that goes down the ridge of the roof. I had done it a zillion times. But Oliver wasn’t very good at it. I tried to show him how to do it, without actually having to talk to him. I could tell he was getting more nutty. He still had the cop’s blood on his surfer boy shorts. Oliver decided he thought it would be funny if he started grabbing the red clay like cement roofing ridge stuff from the pallet, he decided he thought it would be real funny to throw this stuff at my fuking face!
That started an all out fight on top of the roof. I tackled him into a bunch of Spanish tiles that cracked, and snapped, while our bodies rolled down the roof trying to punch one another. We both fell off the roof onto a big mound of dirt, and my boss came running over and broke it up.
“What the hell’s wrong with u guys today!” he yelled.
“Fuck this!” I screamed.
I got in my car and sped off towards the Malibu hills to head for the beach. My bones ached. I stopped and picked up a case of beer. I saw some retarded obese looking lady in a flowered dirty dress hitchhiking just as my car barley putted along another steep hill. I stopped and picked her up. She smelled like cat shit and rotten eggs.
“My names ah bertha bridle, am from Oklahoma city.”
“Open your window, you smell like turds.” I q uickly said.
“Is that any way to talk to a fucking lady!” She screamed, pulling out a knife from her bag, and jabbing it against my throat.
“Pull the car over scum bag!” she demanded.
" I did."
“Now get the fuck out! Next time you should learn how to treat a lady from Oklahoma City!”
She sped off in my car, giving me the finger, with all my dam beer. I started walking through the canyon, to go back home, or jail, on such a sunny day.
Austin
the top is off the car
the wind blowing
long locks swirl like spaghetti
with high powered fan
cause were driving to Austin
neither never bin before
with the sun sharpening the shades
freeway 21 west texas day
a beautiful girl at the wheel
my head humming
like the darvecets dissolving
in stomach gassed fumes
we pass the bowl
with music on high
passing the Mexican men
awaiting a days work in Caldwell
flat land with trees,
farms, rusted old sheds
scatter along the scenery:
budweiser trucks, bakeries, Exxon’s,
quality meats, Waco signs, municipal libraries,
iron sculptures in lawn, cows, lounge motel..
BARBQ arrows
roadwork next 11 miles
first place we end up is a head shop
called planet K or some thing
at red light now, a frail young tall man
is walking up to our car window
holding a cardboard sign that reads
‘ I have aids, please help me,
will work for money’
we don’t even know what to say
looking at each other, stoned, stunned,
the light turns green
so this is Austin, I think to myself,
staring around at the buildings & roads
i see another man in a black mini skirt
a pink bra with tits
beard like Moses
carting along his belongings
“should have brought your camera honey”
we go into a whole foods store, huge place,
or vegetable garden incense smelling store
or something
I notice
everyone is either gay,
or a hippy in sandals
or a skin pierced tattoo person
buy a pair of jeans at thrift shop
we eat at Z-Tejas, actually on a slight hill
margarita for me, corona for you,
we can’t eat all our food
my stomach is now having a battle inside
with hamburger meat, darvecets, nicotine, tequila
THC, water, TV dinner,
i think of that guy with aids
& take another bite of melted Monterey cheese
from the top of the dead cow chunk in a bun
we smile, stare around, grin, chuckle,
while two business men next to us
discuss money & plans & contracts
driving down Sixth Street
looking at all the bars
go in some gigantic expensive bookstore
ask this guy who works there
where the fiction section is
he is deaf, now I feel awkward
as he tries to read my lips again
i buy a Hubert Selby Jr. book
of short stories that costs too much
pigeons are pecking along near our feet
we poke around a few more shops
& decide that we have seen Austin now
i pop the last darvecet,
heading for 22 east
“so that was Austin?” she asks
“I guess so.” I respond,
packing a fresh bowl
in newly bought glass pipe
with the first drop of rain
coming in the open top
“ I wonder if that guy with the pink bra on
knew the guy with the aids sign?” I ask.
“what?” she says
smoke oozing from her lips
foot on the gas
“I love u”
i
tell
her
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