Circles & Rubes
Back to almost normal. I rode my bike up 21st Street and I do mean up. Everything's uphill when you live next to a river. I was heading for Umberto's, the best damn pizza in town. As I was passing Woodward Park I heard "...And there's Deri! (Name changed to protect anonymity.)" J and T from sword class. J is a petite woman who is pretty cool. T is an experienced martial artist and looks like Doctor Who. The Tom Baker Dr. Who. He just got back from working security at the Burning Man festival out in the Nevada desert. He said there were some 35,000 people there this year. Counter culture sure is getting popular. After eating pizza I went downtown and entered Caz's. There they were again. When leaving J said "See ya later!" to which I replied, "At this rate you probably will."
I finished a coupla High Lifes and found my bike with the front tire flat. Again. Guess the patches don't hold for long. As I walked down Denver Ave., some old black crackhead woman was yelling across the street to some grizzly Adams hippy guy with a pack, "Where da fuck's mah money! I put mah trust in you!!!" As she walked briskly towards him, her friend was hailing somebody in a car to come over. "Shit." I thought. "I'm gonna get shot in the crossfire." I didn't.
I started writing another story that I don't intend to finish while at Umberto's and Caz's. Like ta heeyit heeyit go...
"Your about to see the real world, kid. A place where God doesn't give a damn."
"God love's everybody." Replied the kid.
"yeah, and he likes to watch."
The weathered man took a swig from his pint of vodka. He stood next to the bench outside the bus station where sat this kid, this dumb rube from some Midwestern noplace where no one's ever heard of a fluff girl. The kid sat there obviously not knowing what to do now that he actually made it there. Where to go, what to do, who to talk to. Details he neglected to consider while planning his fortune-finding exodus. He sat there just looking down at the duffle between his feet and not looking a day over eighteen.
"How old are you, kid?" Asked the weathered man. "Seventeen." Replied the kid, looking up at the man.
"Christ." The man said, more to himself than to the kid. Another swig. The kid remembered something someone had told him. In his best attempt at firmness with a stranger he said, "Look, I'm not gonna give you any---"
"You think I'm a fuckin' bum, you little prick?!"
"Well, your clothes...And you're drinking...And..."
"I may be a slob, but I'm no bum! Besides, what's wrong with a little midnight cocktail?"
The kid just looked down at his duffle between his feet. Yep. Still there. A car went by.
"Hey kid, I just though I'd give you a little advice, you know, you not being from the big city and what not..."
"Like what?" The kid asked genuinely interested in anything that might be of value from this guy, the only one he knew here.
"You got a job lined up?"
"Not yet, but I gotta buncha money to keep me goin' 'till I get one."
"Wow, this kid is dumb!" Thought the man. "Get a job quick before it runs out. It'll run out fast here."
"I'll get a job easy in a city like this. There must be tons of jobs."
"Fucking christ." The man, to himself, said as before. Another swig. Almost empty. "Let me tell you something about jobs around here. If you blow all your money like a lotta dumb hayseeds like you do when they get here, you may end up doing something you never thought you would or could do." He finished the pint. "See those kids across the street?"
There were eight of them at a bus stop bench. They looked anywhere between twelve and eighteen or nineteen. Six boys. Two girls who were the oldest and the youngest. All dressed like they're going to a rock show. Tight leather, torn denim, piercings, brightly dyed hair, don't-give-a-shit-attitudes, whistling, yelling, and waving at cars passing by. One of the cars slowed to a stop in front of the group.
"Watch this, kid." The man pointed.
One of the boys went around to the driver's side to talk with him. He then went around and got in the passenger-side and the car drove away.
"D'ja see that?" Weathered man asked. "You know what those kids are doing?"
"Well, it looks like they're trying to hitch hike to a concert or something. I heard of kids doin' that in the cities."
"Jesus, junior, you're doomed. No, they're working!"...
I just realized that this is the second story I've posted that involves boy prostitutes. That's fucked up.
I finished a coupla High Lifes and found my bike with the front tire flat. Again. Guess the patches don't hold for long. As I walked down Denver Ave., some old black crackhead woman was yelling across the street to some grizzly Adams hippy guy with a pack, "Where da fuck's mah money! I put mah trust in you!!!" As she walked briskly towards him, her friend was hailing somebody in a car to come over. "Shit." I thought. "I'm gonna get shot in the crossfire." I didn't.
I started writing another story that I don't intend to finish while at Umberto's and Caz's. Like ta heeyit heeyit go...
"Your about to see the real world, kid. A place where God doesn't give a damn."
"God love's everybody." Replied the kid.
"yeah, and he likes to watch."
The weathered man took a swig from his pint of vodka. He stood next to the bench outside the bus station where sat this kid, this dumb rube from some Midwestern noplace where no one's ever heard of a fluff girl. The kid sat there obviously not knowing what to do now that he actually made it there. Where to go, what to do, who to talk to. Details he neglected to consider while planning his fortune-finding exodus. He sat there just looking down at the duffle between his feet and not looking a day over eighteen.
"How old are you, kid?" Asked the weathered man. "Seventeen." Replied the kid, looking up at the man.
"Christ." The man said, more to himself than to the kid. Another swig. The kid remembered something someone had told him. In his best attempt at firmness with a stranger he said, "Look, I'm not gonna give you any---"
"You think I'm a fuckin' bum, you little prick?!"
"Well, your clothes...And you're drinking...And..."
"I may be a slob, but I'm no bum! Besides, what's wrong with a little midnight cocktail?"
The kid just looked down at his duffle between his feet. Yep. Still there. A car went by.
"Hey kid, I just though I'd give you a little advice, you know, you not being from the big city and what not..."
"Like what?" The kid asked genuinely interested in anything that might be of value from this guy, the only one he knew here.
"You got a job lined up?"
"Not yet, but I gotta buncha money to keep me goin' 'till I get one."
"Wow, this kid is dumb!" Thought the man. "Get a job quick before it runs out. It'll run out fast here."
"I'll get a job easy in a city like this. There must be tons of jobs."
"Fucking christ." The man, to himself, said as before. Another swig. Almost empty. "Let me tell you something about jobs around here. If you blow all your money like a lotta dumb hayseeds like you do when they get here, you may end up doing something you never thought you would or could do." He finished the pint. "See those kids across the street?"
There were eight of them at a bus stop bench. They looked anywhere between twelve and eighteen or nineteen. Six boys. Two girls who were the oldest and the youngest. All dressed like they're going to a rock show. Tight leather, torn denim, piercings, brightly dyed hair, don't-give-a-shit-attitudes, whistling, yelling, and waving at cars passing by. One of the cars slowed to a stop in front of the group.
"Watch this, kid." The man pointed.
One of the boys went around to the driver's side to talk with him. He then went around and got in the passenger-side and the car drove away.
"D'ja see that?" Weathered man asked. "You know what those kids are doing?"
"Well, it looks like they're trying to hitch hike to a concert or something. I heard of kids doin' that in the cities."
"Jesus, junior, you're doomed. No, they're working!"...
I just realized that this is the second story I've posted that involves boy prostitutes. That's fucked up.
posted by Deri at 9:48 PM
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