Sunday, June 16, 2019

The Future of Saturday Night

Reading too much philosophy can really fuck up your head and when your head is as fucked up as mine from the get go that's probably not a good thing... or maybe it is. Let's just say that i vacillate back and forth between the uselessness in typing anything and the fact that the only semi-meaningful thing i do (outside of the boyos of course) is writing down shit for my own amusement. When you come to the realization that all this folly we call modern life is non-sense it can be hard to motivate yourself to do anything other have a good wank and get stoned (actually reverse the order of that), i've gotten to the point where the only real purpose in this temporary detour is to enjoy yourself before being tossed back into the void from which you came, you being an arbitrary symbol for a bag of skin and some organs and an ego we subscribe to much importance.

A recent Saturday night saw the I-mac at an amusement park with his friends while Nick Disaster was at a baseball game with his friend which in turn left the remaining denizens of the house alone and while i am a staunch believer in the here and now it offered a brief glimpse into the future... and the future looks fucking bleak. Of course that bleakness of what might never happen is a relative term for a situation that is more akin to a rotting roadkill baking in a July sun than a flower blooming in the warmth of May. Needless to say as said denizens sat down to an oddly quiet dinner while the cats all stared and the birds all chirped and attempted to pretend that there was something to talk about. There wasn't but i'll give the Breadwinner points for at least attempting to keep the silence from becoming deafening though truth be told i much prefer the silence.

Now in the hustle and bustle of the raising of the boyos one might think that a free Saturday night might raise the opportunity (or more aptly described as the spectre) of some sort of adult activity. You know something fun, something the therapists and counselors of the world call, "re-connecting", a prospect that i believed frightened both of the people sitting at that table. Jah forbid one of them raise the idea of sex or what i used to call the great white elephant standing in the middle of the room (and most likely taking a giant dump on any possibility of that happening.) In fact stranger still, it would have been the male of this sad and depressing scene who would have done his best to avoid at all costs this suggestion coming up while picking at the remnants of his sandwich, in fact said man had already subtly mentioned his aching back while mentally rolodexing all the things he might do to escape this possibility. Of course there wasn't much to worry about, the chance the female would float this idea was roughly the odds of one hitting the Mega-Millions but as we all know somebody wins sooner or later so it's best to keep the bases covered.

And so there they sat. That white elephant had let out a yawn, closed it's eyes, and took a snooze, thus sparing the parties any uncomfortable conversations and excuses as to why such an activity would not be taking place. For my part i had managed to list all the things i needed to do before giving the back a break. A list that included dishes, scooping cat litter, folding laundry, possibly watering the plants, stretching and doing some exercises for the back, pretty much anything and everything to run out the clock in hopes of the Breadwinner heading up to her room and assuming her usual place in her bed with Ipad, telly, and new favorite cat. As i took my time with my slate of chores i kept a clandestine eye on things and soon i was in the clear. The last instruction being that i stay up and wait for the boyos to get home because someone was tired. No problem. My sigh of relief was palpable.

My work done i opened the front door to listened to the night, opened the biography about Peter Tosh, fired up the vaporizer with the finest weed in the shire and occasionally glanced at a muted television. I understand what the future of Saturday night holds. It doesn't bother me in the least. In fact i'm quite honest with myself as to what state this relationship is in. I also understand that the Breadwinner is probably not quite as far along in recognizing the decay. Existence is fluid. Existence (and non-existence) is built on change, the building up and breaking down of all that is here and now. I don' dwell too much on a future that doesn't exist but every so often i'll let the mind drift to it understanding that i may need to plan a little bit just in case it arrives. Not much really but a little... mainly so i can get an apartment and keep a bit of food about if i'm hungry. I've got minimal needs really. As for the here and now i understand the rules and my role. Things change and while some view the disintegration of relationships as failure i tend to see it a bit differently. In the end the greatest act of kindness is to walk away.

Thursday, May 16, 2019

One spin around the Sun

One year ago today i lost the best friend i've ever had... and that's okay, it's how shit works. It's what he told me before he died, just like he told me not to worry about him and to take care of his grandsons and look out of for the ones i love, just like he did. Because i'm a stoner i laugh when i think about how much influence he's had on me since he stepped into the great void, like Obi-Wan Kenobi he may be a more powerful influence now than when he was alive and he was a pretty big influence then too. Funny how that shit works. Needless to say while i feel a twinge of sadness today i also feel an unbridled joy for having had the opportunity to know the man. He would not want me to sit around all maudlin, especially with the sun shining and the birds singing and so this morning i did what i always do, what he told me to do, and got on with it. I made the boyos breakfast and got them off to school, i swam 1-1/4 miles, i mowed the lawn and attempted to fix the fucking weed whacker which is a never-ending pain in the ass worthy of it's own post. I did laundry and made dinner and took Nick Disaster to his soccer practice. I came home and drank a Guinness and sat in the backyard, i listened to the birds and the wind and the silence and all day thoughts of my father would drift in and out like the tide. I bought the boyos each a donut to honor the dude cuz the guy loved donuts. The boyos knew what day it was, the Breadwinner has said nothing and that's probably for the best. The boyos have both talked to me about him today, each on their own and each in their own way. One spin around the sun, it's felt like an eternity and it's felt like i blinked and it's been both. I miss the guy and that's okay too... and now i'll do the various things i need to and get the boyos settled in for the night, then much like my father did when i was young i'll stretch out with a book until sleep comes calling.

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

Last Sunday at the Football Match

There was a point where i wanted to pull out the phone and snap a photo of the boy, he was standing there having just taken a shot to the face, red mark on his cheek, his hair and jersey soaked from the rain, the clock ticking down and his team needing three goals to assure themselves a spot in the tournament final, what a difference a year makes...

Last year at this time he was at a different club, had a coach who didn't know what to do with him and a team full of cliques and shitheads... now his team looks to him to make plays, he was the only offensive player not to be subbed off, to get a break, his new coach has given him back his confidence and belief in his ability and he actually plays for a better team, the oldest football club in America... the I-mac is coming up on his 13th birthday in a few months and already is taller than a good number of adults, almost 5'10 and creeping up on 130 lbs he's long and lean and runs like a deer. The words of various coaches to describe his athletic ability have included special and freakish.

And so with 15 minutes to go and the rain coming down and the score tied nil-nil and hope slowly starting to fade the opposing goalie shifted the ball to his left back who looked up and saw a flurry of legs coming at him, the I-mac stripping him clean, taking a touch and sprinting in on goal with the ball, a slight feint to his left and a shot back to the right and the ball was in the back of the net. 1-0. A few minutes later he won the ball again and played it out wide to his right back and ran into the 18yd box, as the ball came towards him he dummied the ball and let it run between his legs, freezing three defenders so his teammate behind could slot home the second. 2-nil. 9 minutes left. A frantic three minutes later the I-mac received the ball on the wing and dashed towards the box again, a move, a flick, and the defender put it over the line for a corner, 6 minutes to go. Off the corner there was a scramble and the ball fell to their striker, a kid who desperately needed a goal and who had missed a sitter shortly after the I-mac opened the scoring... and in a blink it was in, 3-nil!!! and five to go.

As is the usual the I-mac was shifted to center-back to lock down the defense for the last five minutes, his speed giving him the ability to run down pretty much anyone he's played so far this season. The other team wanting to ruin the party pushed up and i could see the boy looking to nick the ball in midfield and have a crack at goal from 50 yards out but instead they shut the door and when the whistle sounded there was much jumping and screaming, job done, third clean sheet in a row and a trip to the final to come...

Until of course the school district closed their fields canceling the final. Word came down not five minutes after the game had ended robbing these kids who had worked so hard. Sadly that's the way it goes sometimes but as we drove the four hours home i told the I-mac he and his team should be proud. I pulled out the Braveheart line and told him, he fought like a poet and warrior and a Scot and that Pops would have been proud of him, a little smile crept through the disappointment, the boy and his team wanted to play though technically by the tie-break rules they had won the tournament. It's not the way they wanted to win it though and i think it's pretty damn cool none of them wanted to get it that way. They wanted to earn it. 20 minutes into our ride home the I-mac was passed out in the back seat. He did earn that.

Thursday, April 25, 2019

Those Waves

They are farther and farther apart but every now and then one catches you off guard and while it doesn't knock you back like it used to it still wobbles you for a few minutes. And so it was that last week i was assigned with getting the Posa back home. The Posa, for those not following along, is the Breadwinner's father, a miserable bastard who watches Fox News and thinks the Orange Shitgibbon is doing a bang up job in his current occupation. He's the last person i want to spend an hour or so trapped in a car with but part of my gig as houseboy means that sometimes i am forced to undertake unpleasant tasks. This was one of them. My job was to get him half way back to his hometown, what i refer to as the armpit of Pennsyltucky, where his other daughter would meet us and take him the rest of the way. Of course somehow right before i was supposed to take him back i heard the conversation upstairs between the Posa and the Breadwinner concerning politics, a topic in which the Posa can work himself into a lather about and a topic that can set him to yelling at top volume and making a complete ass of himself all while throwing a childish tantrum in the name of his right-ness.

On the day i learned of my father's diagnosis there was a semi-conscious shift in the way i have dealt with the boyos. I've worked to be a better father to my sons in the way that Pops was to me. It wasn't that i was some sort of menacing ogre ala Posa before that but i realized i could do better, that i could be more patient, be a better listener and put into practice what Pops taught me instead of preaching about it. I've cultivated a much stronger and healthier relationship with both of them since then and i think we all feel it and understand it. So while listening to the shit storm brewing upstairs the I-mac and i sat there shaking our heads. I sighed and told him i was looking forward to this ride about as much as another colonoscopy. In fact, i said, i'd much rather have the colonoscopy if given the choice, prep and all. He laughed and we discussed strategies for getting through the ride and i told him i would try to keep the topic of conversation away from politics or religion and firmly rooted in banal sports talk and if Posa got on one of the former i'd kindly state that "i don't fucking care." You'd say that? the I-mac said grinning. You know your old man kid, of course i would i replied. We both had a good laugh.

Fast forward past an uneventful ride and hand off of the Posa and to my heading west towards home. There was a beautiful early spring dusk of hot pink and blue. I pulled out the weed pen and took a drag, turned up the tunes and began to cruise back. It was then that my phone rang. It was the I-mac. I could hear the mischief in his voice. You alright dad? Yeah, i'm cool boy. He didn't get started on politics? I could see the boy's smile, picture him sprawled out on the downstairs couch. No kid i'm good, i laughed, made it the whole way and kept him distracted, heard the same dozen stories i've head a hundred times before. That's good he said, i was just checking to make sure you were alright and he let out a giggle. I'm good boy and thanks for looking out, then as is his usual he said, love you dad and hung up.

I was listening to this song and looking at the sky and feeling the wind through the crack of my window and thinking about my sons and my dad and the way things had gone and the way things are and god damn if that early spring air didn't feel cool on the warm tears that were running down my face. The only word that kept running through my mind was love, for the boyos, for pops, for the times i've failed at it, for the times it worked but mainly it was that line that ran directly from Pops to myself to the boyos. The universe knows that i spent a large number of days being a fuck-up, a selfish prick, and a right bastard to people who most likely didn't deserve it. But the dharma is balanced by equal parts light and dark and i'm getting better at finding the light. There are two particular points of light i pay close attention to, understanding that i'm on the back end of this existence so i should make it count, call it Indian summer, call wishful thinking, or just call it the Eternal Now but most importantly call it putting it to good use... and besides, my whole life i've been a sucker for the beautiful sound of a lap steel.

Monday, March 25, 2019


I haven't been much for writing these days and most of the time when i do i usually stare at the words i type and hit delete. And so it was last week that i stumbled upon a piece written by a vet of the never-ending wars in Iraq and Afghanistan about how the most humane book ever written was Slaughterhouse-Five. I walked over to the bookshelf and took down my copy and proceeded to tear through it in my spare time over the next couple of days. It's the third time i've read it. While reading the book it dawned on me that there was no need for the Bible, the Koran, the Upanishads or the Tao Te Ching, that the folly of humanity was perfectly encapsulated in 274 pages, that all one needed to know about being a decent human was contained in that book. It's a very Zen book though i know that contradicts somewhat what i said a few sentences back. The Tralfamodorian concept of time being a play on the eastern mysticism i ponder so much, the long stretch of now and the fact that the now is here and forever and nowhere at all the same time. It gives me a modicum of comfort and pleasure to roll that concept around in my mind, the fact that somewhere it is January 1974 and i'm watching my dad blow out candles on his cake or it's August 1985 and i'm raining jump shots in the front yard as my dad smokes his cig and rebounds for me or that it's July of 1995 and i'm sitting in a sweltering room with my two cats and listening to the hustle and noise of Ocean City through a window as i lounge and wait to go to work.

I was thinking about closing the lounge down after all these years. Like all would be bloggers i'm sure there were delusions of literary grandeur when it started some 12 odd years ago but thankfully those quickly faded. I'm a bit more Kilgore Trout than Billy Pilgrim or maybe even Henry Darger. Except the kids won't find all the pages and drawings stacked in my tiny apartment, even worse they'll have to peruse the wasteland of the internet and type in a keyword like asshat and then scroll to the twelfth page to find the ramblings of an early 21st century nobody who had a predilection for drugs and strippers and cats. That sounds worse than it is but it's about right. Sitting here and watching the words is one of the few things i enjoy doing even when i don't do it and even though i don't do it particularly well but as we know Kilgore Trout hardly ever sold a book so i'll most likely keep hacking away for lack of anything better to do and the fact that i'm getting fucking older and like to go to bed earlier or maybe it's because i don't like to leave the house cuz people seem to get on my tits. But i digress.

I'll urge anyone who stumbles upon this to go and read Slaughterhouse-Five. The beauty, the absurdity, the humor, the horror, it's all there. I shake my head at how i never picked up a book by Mr. Vonnegut until maybe 6 years ago? Wandering around the local library and finally shrugging and saying fuck it in my head. It was God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater and i never laughed so much while reading a book. Maybe i was waiting for the right time or maybe like Billy Pilgrim i had been in that library before and knew exactly when i was going to pick up that book and what would happen after i did. I like the fact that Kurt was tall. I'm tall. On the other hand i've never witnessed the horrors of war but did play a game with my freedom and life for seven years straight at a time when they were loading up the prisons of America with people doing the same type of thing. At one point that little game would have most likely landed me in a federal pen and we all know how that ends for a skinny white boy who liked to think he was tough but would have soon been a piece of tail passed around like a tray of lunch meat. Just typing that sentence sends a shiver through my teeth and sphincter, either way you get the drift.

So it goes.

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

The Gospels of El Kono ch. 1 verse 2

A life spent in the pursuit and accumulation of wealth is no life at all... yes i know that's the statement of a man sitting in some suburban enclave as he ponders his navel... or is it? While i don't know much i do know that i've made and blown more money than the average bear, no not like the robber barons of past and present but like a hood famous hoodlum who had no problem dropping north of a grand in bar and that was before the tip... and i was a great fucking tipper. I know that i've lived some of my happiest days living hand to mouth while living some of the worst with more money than i knew what to do with, so yes, the maxim is true, money does not buy happiness and while i'm sure the prevailing thought in the land of milk and honey is that it sure does make things a lot easier i'll point to the divorce rate among the affluent and thereabouts.

You see that first sentence was made to a financial type person the other day as i told her that i needed to cash out some of Pops' investment funds, yes the financial types hate when you take the money, they want you to save for a retirement that in my case will never come. Once the nest is empty and the occupants remaining realize they aren't really that fond of each other i will be back on the Jack Jones and divorce being the quickest way to poverty for the non-earner i suspect it won't be long until i'm surviving by my wit and charm once again. Or maybe one would call it resourcefulness but really i'm not all that concerned or worried about it. Que sera sera my friends.

And what was the seed for this little moment of clarity, the impetus for this diatribe? It was the usual financial squabbling between house mates over how to pay for certain things when those things can be easily paid for under the current conditions. But that would be wrong, there was no squabbling on my end just another shrug, of course one of the reasons for this trip to the bank was the never ending expense of my lovely teeth and after cracking and losing another crown, a crown i didn't replace when it cracked originally due to the moaning and wailing every time i need one replaced by a certain someone. One of the first things said by the Breadwinner when Pops' estate began to get settled was a gleeful comment on how she'd never have to pay for my teeth again. Yes all those years where i provided high end insurance (thank you Big World Bank Machine) all those years when the weed money flowed like wine and bought and paid for most everything mean nothing now that the script has been flipped. These expenses will be taken out of "my money" though i've never said it was mine. In fact i freely put it into the household without batting an eye. Some of course will go to pay the boyos to play for the oldest football club in America because somehow that is less important than a dining room table. Yes apparently my priorities are fucked up. It's a rigged game and i'll most likely come out on the short end in some respects but in the one that matters most i'll be just fine.

Friday, February 22, 2019

The Wilderness Years - Lolly-gagging NYC 93

Somehow during the halcyon days of summer 93, between Audrey and Elise and angel dust, i somehow made my way to a field outside of NYC for that summer's version of Lollapalooza. It was one of those things that had sort of faded into the recess of memory until i heard a song and a smile crept across my face. There was no chill-out tent in NYC 93, not that i ever knew of, maybe there was a medical tent somewhere but i never found that either, nor did i need to dammit, El Kono was made of sterner stuff (or possibly more stupid stuff) and somehow managed to survive the day. And yes it was a beautiful day.

I'm sure there are details to be lost and found but what does it matter? the past does not inform the present the present informs the past and looking back it was a day spent in Wonka-land, if you could dream it you could do it... or find it... almost. And so a pack of degenerates drove up from Ocean City, MD to pursue the dream. There was the Zinch, a short Italian chap with wavy hair and glasses, the Engineer, the Crack-Dee, the Anal Sculptor, and me. We crashed at the Anal Sculptor's parents place somewhere in Jersey, (he was dubbed the Anal Sculptor because he was a bit of an uptight dick) and after rising early on the fateful day we drove to the Anal Sculptor's ex-girlfriend's place in Hoboken, where i almost managed to get tossed out of the car when i jokingly inquired if Anal Sculptor's ex liked younger dudes, AS being an MFA candidate at some SUNY school and a bit older than the rest of us. Apparently AS had not completely gotten over his ex but how was i to know? I laughed it off as he stewed but soon we were pulling up to the liquor store and so my attention was diverted. Needless to say when we split into two cars i was not invited into the ex's with AS. Probably not a bad thing since AS liked booze and i liked everything.

Soon we were standing in a dusty field and the sun rose above our heads, i was just getting into my second 40oz bottle of malt liquor when i saw the first balloon. I immediately inquired as to where i could find the lovely people selling the laughing gas and soon i was standing proudly with a huge balloon in each hand. Crack-Dee and the Engineer were in on it too and after the first one i produced a Special from an old cigarette pack. (The Special was a 93 delicacy well documented on the lounge, it was joint as thick and long as my middle finger with the inside of the paper being coated with hash oil. They packed a wallop.) Having burned through the Special and another round of balloons we noticed a line starting to form. Having no idea what time it was Crack-Dee grinned at me and said guess? I started at noon and soon worked my way down to sometime around 10:45am. Of course the next words out of my mouth were, "shit, we're gonna need some acid." And so i set about to find some. That mission took maybe 5 minutes and i returned grinning with a 5 strip. The Engineer took one, i took two and since there were no other takers the last two went in my pocket in case of emergency.

With the line beginning to form we all began to make our way to towards the entrance, the Engineer took one look at the length of it and said fuck this, he ran back to the car and grabbed a fifth of Jim Beam that he had bought and the Engineer and myself began passing the bottle to people while casually walking through the line, no seemed to notice or care and by the time the bottle was gone we had skipped the line and made the entrance. We then ambled through the dirt field and this being pre-cell phone days the plan was to meet at the car at the end of the show if we got separated. AS and the Ex seemed to hang back, the Zinch disappeared almost straight away, and the Engineer, CD, and i walked right up to the railing in front of the stage. It was high noon when Rage Against the Machine took the stage. Shit kicked off real quick. The bodies began flying, i was flipped over the railing in front of the stage at one point and not knowing how to get back to the other side began to launch myself off the railing and back into the crowd. My momentum came to a screeching halt as i felt a large hand grab me and i turned around and looked into a very broad chest. A very pleasant African -American gentleman said, what the fuck are doing? i explained i didn't know how to get back out and he smiled and told me to look left and right, i did and noticed a walkway which led back to the crowd. Let's not try that shit again he said, do we have an understanding? We shook and i said yes we do and thank you sir and off i went.. right back into the thick of it.

By the time Rage was off the bouncers were hosing off the crowd, the temperature easily into the 90's it was going to be a long hot day for all involved. Odd, i thought, that for all the booze and drugs i had done that i felt so great. It was at this point that i noticed the little trails in the air the smile spread across my face... Acid!!! i had completely forgotten i had taken acid and quickly realized that i was the proverbial Golden God, i was fucking invincible!!! Front 242 were next and to say the early afternoon time slot was not a great spot for these guys was an understatement. Of course that didn't stop the crowd from going berserk but that had more to do with the crowd than the music. It was at this point that a young lady introduced herself to me, she explained that she had been watching me and that i was a big guy who handled himself quite well in the pit, she handed me her water bottle and i took a long slug. At this point, unlike future festivals where water would be $9 a bottle, the bouncers were filling bottles between songs with the hoses they were using to spray the crowd. Her plan was to stick with me cuz she wanted to be close to the stage, she explained that the bouncers were filing up the girls' water bottles first and that if i would help keep her safe she would get us water. It was a deal.

And my how swimmingly it went for the next few hours. My new friend and i became friendlier and friendlier. It wasn't long before we were kissing between songs and slugs of water, her hand running up the front of my shorts, my hands running down her the length of her body, she was dumping water over me and telling me i was an excellent kisser and i was smiling and thinking life was fucking grand. It was going to be a stellar fucking day... and then came Fishbone.

In some strange sort of cosmic joke i saw Fishbone twice in my wayward youth and somehow twice the lead singer, Angelo Moore, balls ended up in my hand. It was not that i wanted Mr. Moore's testicles in my mitt it's just what happens when lead singers jump into a pit. The first time it happened was at the Agora in Cleveland. The second time it happened was in a dusty field somewhere outside of NYC. Did i mention the second time he knocked out my new date? Yes Mr. Moore came in feet first and caught my new girl right on the chin with his Doc Martens, he had no idea. I caught her as she dropped and luckily our budding young love had developed a rapport with the bouncers. I was immediately motioning but the one who had been filling her water bottle had saw the whole thing. Two of them were in the pit in a flash and took her out, the one telling me i was a good dude and handing me her half filled water bottle. While i was hoping for a lovely and tender shag at the edge of the grounds on a stolen blanket after a long day in the pit while Alice in Chains (who i didn't really care to see) played had vanished in one Dr. Marten booted kick. As he crawled back on top of the crowd, Angelo Moore crawled right over me, his sweaty balls ending up in my hands. Something about insult to injury.

My romantic dreams dashed i returned to the business of the show. I had no idea where any of my friends were or what time it was and the plan was to watch Dinosaur Jr. and then get some food. There were two more bands after that and i figured while they played i could wander and look for my friends. J. and the boys were excellent as usual and when they had finished i made my way towards the concession area. I scored myself two huge lemonades and a plate of chicken and rice. I ate a bit but the acid was still kicking and food wasn't of the utmost importance it was more as if i heard my mom telling me to remember to eat while out getting wasted in the sun all day. It was at this point i noticed two people standing over me.

Now one could only imagine what i looked like at this point in the day, long matted-hair, covered in sweat, my shirt filthy and hung around my neck, my army shorts two tone with sweat, pie-eyed on acid and sitting like a caveman on the ground with a plate of chicken and rice, one empty lemonade cup next to me and one to my lips. Inquisitively i looked up. There was a couple, a young guy i'd never seen and a girl who i seemed to remember but couldn't place. She looked at me and said, Kono? I smiled and said, yup. The had the air of people who were about to ask me where they could score drugs. The girl stood and made a minute of small talk and then asked just that. If i knew where they could find weed? I shook my head and went back to nibbling. The veneer cracking she spat out, do you remember me? Sort of, i replied half squinting into a setting sun. Do you remember my name? she said. No, i confessed, i did not. It seems i had made more of an impression on her than her on me. Of course i have an innate ability to be quite the asshole and when she finally told me her name i somewhat casually blurted out, you're the girl who only let me go down on her but wouldn't fuck me. There was a few seconds of silence before i started giggling and the last thing i heard was, you're an asshole!! and she was right. I was. The poor guy she was with could do nothing but stand there, i'm sure he wanted no part of tangling with this hairy maniac eating with his hands and i wanted no part of anything but my second lemonade. She grabbed his hand and stomped off, i yelled sorry and  broke into a fit of laughter. Things were getting more surreal by the second.

As the sun went down the physical toll began to set in. The acid no longer kicking nearly as hard i began to shiver in the fading heat. Of course it was still in the low 80's but i had put the body through the ringer and now it was catching up with me. I stole a blanket off the ground and wrapped it around my head like a refugee and began my search to find the car. Right outside the gate some people asked me if they were still checking for tickets. I put my hand up to say give me a minute and began throwing up, a brief flicker of what a mistake it was to drink lemonade passed through my mind. The people went to leave but i said wait a minute, threw up some more, and then told that no they could walk right in. The guy thanked me and said take care Dude and on i went in search of the car. Outside the gate i found the Zinch, sitting in a lawn chair and drinking beer with some new friends. I declined a beer but took a chunk of ice to suck on and followed Zinch's directions to the car, found it and lay down on the hood, looked at the stars, and waited.

On the ride back i sat in the backseat of the K-car and cracked the window. The night air felt good and i smiled as i listened to the stories of my friends. We followed Anal Sculptor and his Ex back to Hoboken where we found a pizza joint and i destroyed a few slices in no time. I easily looked like i had had the most fun that day, a comment the Ex had made smiling at me which i believe irked AS. I spent the night with a pillow on a hardwood floor. Never had a hardwood floor felt so good.