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Cincinnati
native Mark Flanigan has been writing and performing
for over 14 years....Works from his collections Wrong-Way
Poems For One-Way Streets, Not Necessarily God Stories
and Next to Nothing have appeared in a variety of independent
publications and, along with his performances, have garnered
critical acclaim. He has also co-written a screenplay
(“Midway,” with Brian Keizer), edited a literary
publication (omnibscure) and worked to develop, produce
and curate various gallery shows and performance readings
-- notably, VOLK/c.s.p.i. and Intermedia Series readings
at the Contemporary Arts Center and the Weston art gallery.
Flanigan’s monthly column, “Exiled on Main
Street,” appeared for over three years, first in
x-ray, and upon his resignation there, at semantikon.com.
Performances of his can be found on “the Volk/c.s.p.i.
spoken word series CD (2001),” which he co-produced,
and on the CD “One Night Only" (2002). To
learn more about his work, read his blog, review some
of the works mentioned above, and listen to additional
audio tracks:
Visit markflanigan.com
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October
2007: The Dance
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June
2007: Cake |
May
2007: Special
Edition "Light Travel" Mark Flanigan and
Steve Proctor |
April
2007: Zero Hour |
March
2007: Prelude to a Kiss-Off |
Jan
2007: State Of The Disunion Address |
Nov
2006: Youngblood |
Oct
2006: How I Spent My Summer Vacation |
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Exiled
from Main Street: Savin For The Revolution |
Editor's
Note This work,
Savin For The Revolution, constitutes the second
part of the Flanigan work published in September 2005,
"GOD
SIGHTED ", and takes place the
next day. |
For
your enhanced reading experience ::: Section |--1--|
|--2--| |--3--| |
|--1--|
The van reeked I tell
ya, I mean it really fuckin reeked. but, man,
forget the fact that it wasnt even the worst kinda reek.
hell, forget it altogether if ya can cause really its
not all that important, I mean I hadnt even so much
as noticed it yet and Im at the wheel of the fuckin
thing. yeah, what you should be thinkin about instead
is this: its my first on this just the second day on
the job as a goddamn valet, a day I didnt even think
Id be around to see what with the night before bein
just that bad. but here I am despite everything, standin
in line waitin for my first car which, once there, turns
out actually to be a van. and no I didnt know what to
think at first when I opened the doors to find out it
belonged to none other than two nuns in habit no less.
shit, theres no way around not takin that as
some kinda omen, I just wasnt sure how to take
it. and so as Im parkin the motherfucker Im wonderin
just what the hell I had come back for, if it was the
right thing to do or even just worth it, really. specially
since my half of the abortions already in the bag, so
why come back? I mean I barely survived the first go
round, its like I had odeed and had a goddamn near death
experience but pulled through only to rush to do it
again so as to get back soon as possible. except I aint
exactly running towards the light here. shit, a fiery
pits more like it. so why, right? why come back?
and all I can think by way
of reply is: shit man, theres some things I wanna do,
and things no surprise require funds, you know? I mean
its not like theres a million ways for someone like
me to go and besides, despite some bumps in the road,
a few false starts, the valet gig wouldnt ask too much
from a goddamn monkey way I saw it. and no I wasnt sure
what I wanted to do, just had an idea there was somethin
somewhere worth doin. somethin outside the fuckin confines
of this graveyard I was born into. man, things were
happenin elsewhere, I was sure of it, shit was brewin
and hell whose to say I wasnt holdin up the whole damn
parade. I mean who knew, maybe Id be the one that lit
the fuckin fuse? so the least I could do, I figured,
is position myself to be there if need be, and be able
to afford a decent lighter once there.
thats what I was thinking anyway.
that, and about a dream I had the night before ....all
night long I was parkin cars from the comfort of my
bed, on the lot thats inside my head, as if I was on
a fuckin treadmill, I tell ya. and at one point, I shit
you not, I had the sad misfortune of wreckin john lennons
car. john fuckin lennon, man. it was
depressin real depressin, I mean what kind of thanks
was that, you know? and afterwards there was
no shakin the little pitbull that was yoko off my ass;
nothing worked, not even when I thought to quote Imagine.
and so I was just livin in my head and drivin the lot
while doin it as it dawns on me that theres somethin
funny in the air. and no sooner than I smell it do I
realize the van actually reeks, I mean really
fuckin reeks, but of what? what is that? incense?
and goddamn, schools out you know, I mean now Im breathin
as if Im havin an asthma attack just to be sure, and
shit no this aint no alma mater of mine man, cause that
smell that stench, man thats fuckin pot: good
god, the vans full of it, those nuns not shittin a turd
between the two of em about hidin the fact. I mean they
werent even tryin man, probably didnt care enough to
crack a window open even.
shit....well I guess I knew
what kinda omen I was dealin with now. and if I wasnt
sitting on it, I probably woulda been tryin to kick
myself in the ass for so much as showin the fuck up.
but instead I move on through the lot as if Im gonna
loop around the other side of the horseshoe, but Im
not. cause at the turn I put the van in park and first
thing first start emptyin the change compartment into
my pocket. yeah, a fellow valet that doubled as a goddamn
guitar hero told me he bought a $1500 amp and, whats
more, paid for it all in change he took from every car
hed parked hell who knows how long. I mean everyones
always makin fun of the guy cause heres this real dangerous
rock n roller who also never went without his fuckin
fanny pack. so he had his secret and, well, I didnt
see why I oughtta be any different, I mean hell its
just insurance on all the motherfuckin stiffs thatd
be showin up I guess any minute now. like what, Im just
workin the lot cause theres nothin else goin on, outta
the goddamn goodness of my heart? fuck that, Id get
mine, do somethin good someday like court a habit or
run for office or somesuchshit. anyway, once the trays
empty I look around for leftovers from our flyin nuns
but they knew enough, had the decency to not just leave
it out on the dash like I half expected em to. so I
open the glove box and look at that, guess I aint so
crazy after all cause whats smilin up at me but a silver
bowl. still no bag just layin around though so I thumb
through it but theres not much in there just an owners
manual sittin next to a fuckin flashlight. I pick that
up, its lighter than it should be and so I open the
battery, let the bag fall into my lap. repeat the process
in reverse and close the door behind me feeling good
real good just then, what with the pipe between my knees
and an eighth of weed or more sitting on my crotch,
Im feelin good just then as rap rap rap someones at
the goddamn passenger door: buster? oh no I
say but yes its true: buster, my manager. shit,
fireworks are goin off in my skull, my hearts poundin
to get out of my chest but instinct kicks in anyway
and I act real casual-like as I brush the shit onto
the floor then smile and wave like Im excited to see
him, like Id missed him even, you know just tryin to
say hello hello I see you now go away. but hes already
shakin’ his big head and gesturin for me to roll
down the goddamn window. fuck! I do just that while
glancin at the floor and preparin myself for perhaps
the shortest workday ever on record.
what you doin? he asks. nothin,
I tell him. then he looks at me for awhile, says what,
you fall in love with this van or something? he tries
the door handle but no luck its locked. come on open
up, he gestures. so I hit the fuckin button and watch
as buster climbs in and then proceeds to just sit there
grinnin like some kinda retarded ray charles, no doubt
likin his role just soakin up the whole scene with somethin
to say but not the right words to say it with yet. I
mean I had mind enough to step on the bag before lettin
him in but still wasnt sure if Id been too late or what,
and anyway this said nothin about the bowl which was
MIA, so not knowing what to do I decide not to say much
and just sit there and sweat it out. and well shit,
I dont know what to think as he settles into what feels
like a fuckin eternity of silence. let me see that,
he says finally, pointin at something with a finger
that I follow to where else but the motherfuckin bowl
on the floor between my feet. I know better but have
no choice but to hand it to him anyway. anything in
it? he asks. how would I know, I answer. he looks at
me sideways, says you mean its not yours? good point,
I thought. well yeah, of course its mine I tell him,
I forgot to unload it before comin to work is all. thats
what I was doin here, tryin to think of a safe place
for it until I get off. I mean, last thing I wants any
trouble, I remind him. yeah, we had enough of that last
night he chuckles. and so Im sittin there just wonderin
where this is all goin when suddenly big ol bad buster
brown surprises even me by flicking a lighter and tokin
on the motherfuckin bowl. whats more, I swear Im gonna
have a heart attack as he passes both of em back my
way. but I dont do anything just hold em there in my
hand, tell him man I aint as stupid as I look. go on,
he signals, and as I do what Im told he says you know
Im glad you brought that up. whats that? I ask as I
hold in smoke. the way you look, he answers. well what
the fuck now, I wonder to myself, I mean everyday its
something new with this prick. then I hand him the lighter
and bowl and wait for whats next. yeah, those safety
pins he says, they have to go if you wanna work tonight.
jesus buster, I protest, you got any idea how
hard those were to get in? look man, he says real serious,
Im letting this slide so return me the favor,
hear? yeah I hear, I tell him. buster opens the door
then, and now hes not all I can hear theres the car
he drove out to me idlin behind us too. thanks he says,
then exits the van with my goddamn pipe still in hand.
fuck! sure enough Id broke
out in a sweat and so I wiped my brow and took a sec
to think about it all: thought about what a creep the
guy was, that some people shouldnt be allowed to smoke
pot you know, they just shouldnt have the fuckin right.
that, and how my opinion of nuns had to shift a bit
now, I mean now Id hafta give em at least some amount
of credit. which reminded me, so I reached down picked
up and stuffed the herb in my left pocket and put it
atop all my change. then I put the van in drive and
drove looking for an open spot. theres one midway up
the lot, I can park there and thus save my legs and
so I cruise in that direction. once there I throw it
in reverse, start to back in but stop short. realize
this is the first van Ive ever had to park, least between
two other cars, and man theres no real way of seein
anything out of the motherfuckers. whats more Im thinkin
nuns may very well have a line on the chronic man, these
ones anyway, and its kickin in a bit now and so I sit
there for a minute not movin just wishin I had brought
me some fuckin sunglasses. shit, theres no way around
it, Im stoned real stoned, and so I just open
the door and crane my neck out to see what I can see
which is nothing. fuck it, I close the door and start
to ease my way into the spot, just relyin on instinct
and good old-fashioned fuckin common sense to get me
there. there being up against the side of one
of the cars, of course. which causes me in turn to panic
like a motherfucker and throw the van in drive while
turnin the wheel in the opposite direction and hittin
first the gas and then the car on the other side of
me too. fuck! man, I look around to find I think Im
alone and so race hell out of that coffin of a spot
and quickly loop back around the lot where I end up
pulling into a spot thats empty on both sides of it....
not far from where I had been parked earlier. I get
out and walk around the van, theres still some daylight
and shit a scratch on that side and fuck one on that
side too, both are banged up a bit but whose gonna know,
I figure. I mean by the time they come out itll be dark
and too late for anyone to know any better until tomorrow.
so I just write the number on the ticket as clearly
and professionally as possible, driving home the fact
that man, this van wasnt parked anywhere
near those two cars that someone else musta
hit, you know? and standin there, I then think maybe
to put the pot back after all, what with this most recent
development. but decide fuck it, I earned it. I mean
goddamn vans, how the hell people park those things?
so I cursed each and every one of em as I pumped my
legs through the length of the lot, the ice broken again.
|--2--|
On my way in a blonde barbiedolls
tryin to wave me down. excuse me, shes callin out, excuse
me she keeps at it until I slow my trot. and for a moment
the mixture of her distress and my paranoia tricks me
into thinkin maybe shes the owner of either one of the
cars I had, only a minute ago, hit. but then I reason,
man, its early yet we just opened up, so I stop. you
work here? she asks. and now I have half a mind to answer
no, Im just runnin late and my ribs are gettin cold,
cant let that happen you know, while continuin my run
in. but I dont, if only cause shes flashin me some green
out of one gloved palm like shes raising her skirt.
yeah I work here, I tell her. and well, I guess theres
no way for me to know but I think its gotta be scribbled
all over my fuckin face: Im easy Im easy Im easy, cause
suddenly its like shes confessin to me that shes recently
contracted herpes: well, she explains, my muffler was
knocked off on the drive down, but only part of the
way, and you know its just sooo embarrassing. I was
wondering if youd be kind enough to finish the job?
I sigh, pretend to be put out
a bit. but fact is the twenty dollar bill shes holdin
in her hand only made me that much more certain that
it was gonna be a good night. hell, that and my earlier
score already made it one and Id barely gotten the wrapper
off the motherfucker. sure, I answer her. ahhh youre
a lifesaver, she coos as she pats me on the motherfuckin
head like one would a mutt. then things only get worse
as I watch her tuck my promised bone back in her purse.
what the fuck? I wanna scream, but dont, cause now shes
looking for somethin else in there but what I can only
guess: her phone number? a gun? and while still fumblin
through her purse she says, rather frigidly all of a
sudden, my cars over there in number one forty one,
and findin what shes lookin for, the bitch then hands
me a five dollar bill between two pinched fingers. shit,
a gun after all. and so I stand there mouth open and
unable not to gawk as she shimmies away and disappears,
like all the others, under a veranda and up into the
restaurant to sup at the trough with the rest of the
hogs, I suppose.
well hell, I thought. what you gonna
do with a slew of teases? I mean shit, two stoner nuns
and a pretty little princess, come on. and standin there
all slack jawed and goat eyed, I couldnt help but be
envious of em you know?--fuckin or not fuckin their
way to security, whether it be false or not, and whether
they be fuckin man or god. oh well, anyway the sun was
too bright for it to be comin up on Christmas, and the
big red bow on top of the key shack just looked out
of place in all that light. still the restaurants already
buzzin with somethin like holiday cheer, no matter if
it seemed reserved solely for payin customers. and so
I start my walk back to spot one forty one, slowly at
first as I wrestle with the safety pins in my ear. that
done, theres no telling why but I turn around and watch
the other valets from afar, watch as they run about
in their swarm at a near-frantic rate, feeding the queen
bee from all sides it seemed, and as I watch em it occurs
to me that theyve been put there by the players of some
mad chess game, you know? fact was, though, I could
play their game too, I mean I didnt even mind becomin
a pawn so much if I had to. but man, its like this:
not for no car, or some high on the hog dinner. no,
I wouldnt do it for nothing like that. not for no big
screen tv, nor for some dumb dream which was more likely
a nightmare. I was different somehow, for whatever reason,
and as I embraced this thought while watchin the others
sweat in something of a cruel sun, well Im not sure
how to explain what happened except by just comin out
with it: I mean, I dont know where it came from, or
who gave me the authority to do it even, but all the
same man as I wiped my sweaty brow all of a sudden I
saw my hand spread grace about the parkin lot, not unlike
one might jam on a piece of bread, you know takin care
to get it all the way to the edges. and why not, right?
werent these poor bastards damn near doomed to rollin
someone else’s big rocks up not so kind hills
for quite some time, if not forever? and for what, a
little pocket change at best? shit, and just when you
think things couldnt get any worse: somehow the fuckers
find a way to take the whole
thing seriously...
but my moment as the messiah
didnt turn out to be anything more than just that, a
moment. after all, I couldnt afford it either. and so
before long Im back on my hands and knees kickin at
a motherfuckin tin can muffler, the pavement beneath
me serving as something of a wake up call what with
it being surprisingly cold despite the sun. I kick the
thing hard, repeatedly, but the fucker dont budge. and
so I stick my head underneath and shit, the mufflers
fine, just fine, not a thing wrong with it aside from
being old. I scratch my head a bit, think maybe to give
up but then figure fuck it, Im not gonna argue with
her: if the little princess wants her muffler tore off
she can have it, I mean Id wrap the fucker up in Christmas
paper if thats what she wanted. cause, listen, that
five spot wasnt about to return into those
bloody palms. it just wasnt gonna happen, not now not
ever. you see, I was savin for the revolution,
my friend, and well she simply wasnt.
so I yell to the next valet I see,
hey joe! give me a hand with this sunovabitch, why dont
ya? and yeah, of course it had to be that guy.
I mean if my day had been goin any better at all you
can bet I woulda waited for someone else. cause, you
see, I learned somethin about joe not long after I met
him: the guy could do anything. play the stockmarket,
win at the track, sell real estate. he owned a car detail
service, and managed a bar. none of which even
so much as mentions all the years he spent suckin off
our uncle. and yet somehow despite all this, and even
at well over the age of thirty, the motherfucker still
spent most nights schlubbin for some goddamn valet company,
and probably always would....that joe. and
just now hes lookin down at me with his tanning bed
face all scrunched up as I kick at a muffler. what you
doin? he asks. whats it look like? I answer him. then
he puts a hand on my shoulder, says hey man listen,
I can get you one of those cheap, real cheap;
theres no need to steal, he winks.
I look at his hand as if hes
touchin my dick instead of my shoulder. the madam requested
that I take care of this for her, I tell him, doubtful
that he even realizes Im mockin him. really, oh in that
case, bro, youre goin about it all the wrong way, he
says excitedly, looking about the lot. hey al! he then
hollers, al! come here, I got a job for you! and just
like that a goddamn wooly mammoth of a man trots on
over, his face red and wet with sweat. I stand and watch
in awe as he salutes joe, sayin at your service as he
does, the whole time not sure if its all an act but
assumin the worse. at ease, joe replies. and I tell
ya in no time at all could you hear the clink of metal
hittin pavement, the guy was just that kinda machine,
a fact of course hed be the first to admit. and standin,
he grunts al kurnan all done, then offers me his hand.
which confuses me of course, what with him and I bein
from different planets, so at first I just stare. but
then I figure fuck, maybe I was wrong about the cretin?
after all, its not like he hadnt given me a hand. so
I give him mine, say thanks. but the longer he holds
it the harder he starts to squeeze the damn thing, and
before I know it I can feel it all the way down to my
fuckin knees. whats he want? I ask joe. and he answers
by putting a finger to his lips, to help him think better
I suppose, then speaks real slow. well although I cant
be sure, he says, I imagine als wondering exactly what
charity hes workin for today, am I right? and he must
be, cause suddenly als heads shakin like a goddamn epileptic
at his peak. no way, I tell em, you gotta better chance
of fingerin my dead mother then you do touchin that.
anyway, I dont remember askin you to do it for me, I
remind em. but al only pulls me closer, uncomfortably
so as he lets out a series of short but very convincing
grunts. okay, I say, Ill split it with you, but thats
it! which musnt be good enough, as al does the unthinkable
then and grips my hand even tighter, this fact the only
thing keepin me on my feet, really. alright, alright!
I scream, you sick fucks can have it! al lets go, thank
god, and so with my good hand I grab the five dollar
bill and chuck it into the feathery air, watchin as
it lands at their feet. both of em look at it there
on the ground, their heads bent down. and suddenly Im
debating whether to kick in the face whichever prick
decides to pick it up. but the point turns out to be
moot one, man, as neither of em make any such move.
no instead they look from the bill to each other and
back to the bill again while sayin nothing. and stay
like that until, at last, joe clears his throat and
asks: you mean to tell me you went through all that
for a lousy five bucks? no, I tell him,
you did. then I turn around and start the jog
back; after only awhile my shadow being eclipsed by
a neanderthal holdin a slightly worn muffler above his
head as he sprints past.
|--3--|
None of which was any skin
off my ass, really. I mean its not like some little
setback was gonna throw me the fuck off track. theyd
see, Id come out on top, they could wave up to me then
for all I cared. yeah, I knew a thing or two anymore,
and as the day calmed and cooled my pockets soon were
bulging I mean really bulging. not with cash, so much,
but with tickets instead. man, I was closin, and no
one thing or person was gonna stop me from seein it
through. like I said, I knew their game now and thus
which pieces to protect and which to sacrifice: the
key you see was to stay as late as possible, and the
way to do that, park the most cars. yeah, cause the
thing I realized from the night before, and from just
generally thinkin about the whole stinkin enterprise
really, was that no matter what you do, whether you
choose to get tips from the start or park cars instead,
either way youve the same amount a time to make your
money. the difference being when you make it,
the type of tippers you get, and the best it seemed
were those who came late and closed the place, the drunks
whether they be amateurs or regulars or just plain good
fuckin natured making no difference to me just so long
as Im there to see em. so its give up a few pawns then,
the early money, for a chance at cornerin the motherfuckin
king. and hell, Ive somethin like a hundered tickets,
Im in the lead and by more than a neck. yeah, the checks
in the mail, all I gotta do is feel out the right time
start collectin, and then get in line.
and before long that time
all but picks me. a boatload of overfed cattle pile
outta the restuarant all at once, more of em than there
are valets, folks just standin around wavin tickets
in the air with no one else around but me. sure, cars
are still comin in, but I figure what the hell Ill leave
my post and worse case scenario be right back. probably
without even losin my place in line, as most of the
others had already abandoned it anyway, havin sensed
both my plan and my sheer parking prowess.
so I grab a ticket outta the air and run to the shack,
find the keys and hit the pavement. theres a shitload
of keys on the ring, most of em for cars, so I try one.
then another. then another. all the while Im makin sure
not to lose my place as the last thing I want is to
hafta to start the fuck over. so I try the next, that
dont work either, and well now Im wonderin just how
many cars do these assholes have? but then I remember
what else I learned from the night before: man, when
dealin with other peoples shit, if nothin else one had
to be patient. theres no forcing things, you know, not
when youre fuckin in a cave or blind at a gangbang,
which is how it felt at times. so I relax, try another
one which by my counts gotta be the last. and no surprise,
it slides right in. so Im relieved but somewhat anxious
that Ive taken so long, and I go to turn the ignition
over but the fucker dont move. I look more closely at
it, see that the keys not all the way in and so I push
it (gently, mind you) in a bit, but still no luck. hell,
I guess its not the one, and startin from scratch afterall,
I go to pull the key out but the fucker doesnt wanna
do that either. fuck! man, I thought I had tried em
all, and the only one that came even close to fittin
is now stuck in the fuckin ignition. it didnt make no
sense, so I think well hell, maybe its the right one
and its just bent or something, stranger things have
happened, Im sure. in any event, Im fuckin stumped,
and so I stop one of the many redshirts sprintin in
my direction. hes in a hurry to secure another bite
from the motherfuckin feedin frenzy that seems to be
goin on just about everywhere but where Im sittin, so
hes annoyed when I ask him to give me a hand. what’s
the problem this time? he asks. I dont know, I tell
em, the ignitions jammed. pantin, he peers in the open
door. well no wonder, he says, you got a motorcycle
key in it, then laughs and runs away.
fuck! fuck! fuck! I cursed.
I mean really man, I wouldnt be surprised one bit if
there werent a college somewhere that offered a degree
in the godforfuckinsaken art of valet. I mean I never
had no motorcycle and never really wanted one neither
you know, I got no problem gettin laid so why chance
losing a limb, so how the hell would I know what one
looks like, right? oh well. and so not knowin what to
do, I just sat there and thought about my options. way
I saw it, they numbered exactly zero. but Im not about
to run to buster this time round, hell hed probably
send me and my hundred tickets the fuck home. so I pull
on the key with all my might instead, theres some play
but not much, and before long I notice Im sweatin despite
the fact that its damn near freezing now, and so I stop
and tell myself man, youre goin about it all the wrong
way. relax, I say, this aint nothing new: your down
but not out, youve lost a battle but still have a war
to win. yeah, so I take a deep breath and another stab,
this time with a softer touch, you know just tryin to
ease it out. and damn if it doesnt start to loosen up
a bit as outside the car I hear voices but dont care
cause like I said Im concentratin just now. come on,
come on baby I talk to myself, and continue to even
after I sense someones on the other side of the car
door watchin me. I dont look at em though, didnt care
what they wanted or had to say even: the moment was
all about me against that goddamn motorcycle key and
Im winnin, man, Im winning, I can feel as much. besides,
I figure its buster, or worse the nuns who pot I had
pilfered (realizin in no time at all what an absurd
thought that was, for what could be worse than bein
a nun whose pots been stolen?), or any of the three
people whose car I had wrecked then. yeah, either way
I sat there toolin with the key just generally fearin
whoever the hell it was without payin em no mind cause
its coming, man, bit by bit its comin as suddenly theres
a hand on my shoulder. and so I look to see who it belongs
to and am instantly relieved to find that its just the
muffler lady comin, I can only guess, to thank me for
a job well done.
Id like my money back,
she says instead. but I dont hear her, not really, Im
too distracted with the motherfuckin key. so I keep
noodling with it while I look to the woman, notice her
cherry red lipsticks smeared and that she appears to
have either been crying or on the verge of it. why you
want your money back? I ask her. because you didnt
do what you said you would! she all but screams
back. fuck! I mean, what her deal was exactly I couldnt
say for sure, maybe she was the type thatd be hard-pressed
to pick a muffler out of a fuckin police line up, either
way there was no denying al had taken care of the thing,
I witnessed it myself. so I say to her, sure I did.
which only makes her even more outraged, for some reason.
so I figure it best to get out of the car just then
so I can better pretend to know what the fuck Im doin.
like hell, she spits as I do, the things
still hanging by a thread! and whats worse, the
woman refuses to make any room for me once Im out and
suddenly were right on top of each other, face to rabid
fuckin face, I tell ya. and thats exactly how we are
as out of nowhere joe appears and, slidin inbetween
us, places a hand on her shoulder which seems to provide
some comfort at once. you have to understand, he starts
to explain, miss.... hampton, she says, missus
hampton. why of course, joe continues, missus hampton
you have to understand that our boss wouldnt allow us
to service your car in the manner requested. we apologize
for any inconvenience but its simply against company
policy. this gentleman—he points to me—was
merely following the rules, and Im sure he will gladly
return any money that you may have entrusted him with,
if you so wish. I do, she says, without even hesitating.
and, well, at this point Im quite fuckin confused, just
struk dumb by the entire scene, the least of it bein
joes ability to spin such a web without so much as fuckin
blinkin. Im frozen with it, utterly fuckin unable to
move any muscle other than my brain which is busy replayin
it all over in some attempt to understand whats happenin.
I mean I look back at em like Im not even there, havin
all but forgotten the car we were standin next to and
why, everythings happenin too fast for me when, bam,
it hits me: we got the wrong car, we tore off the wrong
motherfuckin muffler! fuck! for Chrissakes, fuck! fuck!
fuck!
come on man, joe pokes
me, you heard the lady. and thus Im reminded that I
was still in the game, that I was no longer watchin
anymore; no, Im on the field, their field,
and gettin what was left of my ass kicked. this here
was the real world and, man, the real world was awaitin
my next move. sure, I said, no problem. and reachin
in my pocket I brought out what I had which wasnt much,
four bills maybe, and every bit of it lookin like it
had been run through the laundry. I leaf past the three
singles and come to a five spot, peel it and place it
in the womans hand. here you go, mam, I tell her, sorry
about the misunderstanding. she says nothing as suddenly
her eyes widen and her mouth opens, and I know before
she even speaks that not only has her disgust returned,
now its scaled an altogether new height. jesus, I wonder,
what the fuck now? the dumb cunt got a problem with
me calling her mam? or was it that Id wrinkled her precious
bill which wasnt really even hers to begin with? either
way, I had no doubt Id soon find out. please, she says
as I watch her sneer travel from her palm to me, dont
insult me. then turnin to joe she cries, Ill have you
know I gave your gentleman here no less than
a twenty!
a light twinkled in joes eyes.
checkmate. hell, al was already on his way, his chest
billowin like a goddamn cats tail as he sprints towards
us. that was it, game set match, whatever you wanna
call it I recognized as much and so thats when I split,
running away from the restuarant, away from al and leavin
joe and barbie behind. yeah, with one muffler off and
the other still hanging by a thread, I left that motorcycle
key stuck there in the ignition and its owner rotting
under a veranda with Christmas lights hangin overhead.
thats right, I left it all behind as I ran along the
railroad tracks that bordered both the restaurant and
the sparklin Ohio. and, man, I kept runnin too, until
the city gave way to some woods and I was sure that
no one would follow, the change in my pocket jinglin
with every stride. and once there, I lamented that my
payday consisted of three lousy dollars and a stack
of worthless tickets, a grim thought that didnt stay
with me too long as I quickly realized something even
worse: I could never go back, not there or any other
place like it probably. the fact was, man, I couldnt
play, least not good enough. whats more, that was
probably the only reason why I was ever reluctant to,
all the other reasons arriving only later, at my fuckin
convenience. and since I couldnt play, nor could I pretend
to, well those that could sensed this fact. thats why
they were uneasy round me. hostile even. afraid. yeah,
I was savin for the revolution and they could somehow
smell it. and between them and me I guess thered
always be someone around to make sure it never truly
happened.
so, winded and depressed somewhat,
I sat down on an old wood railroad tie and rolled myself
a joint to the best of my ability. and not long after
that, with the faint sound of christmas carols off in
the distance no less, I found myself wishin this was
the sixties, that any moment now a train might pass
by that I could hop on and head to california in; yeah,
and whats more, I found myself wishing this was the
sixties, and that the war wasnt already lost.
M. Flanigan
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