[i]☼ ○ ▬
A two-car caravan putt-ing along down a neighborhood street
at night. I’m controlling the second car. A woman comes out of her house as if
she’s expecting us and escorts us to her driveway. We had been looking for a
place to sleep for the night and I guess this lady saw us driving slowly and
just thought we needed something. She shacks us up. But my comrade and I are
planned to perform a show downstairs, which faintly resembles my dining room.
We're set up as a duo and start playing loud aggressive pop rock music. No one
showed up so we have no audience. The particular song we're playing is new and
I don’t know the words so I sing gibberish. I’m impressed with the melodies
that we come up with.
▬ ○ ☼
Waking up at 11:10 a.m.
Instant Blueberry Oatmeal. Orange Juice.
All day shift at China Wok.
Sitting in one of those stiff pink chairs during the down
time and starting another novel: The Catcher in the Rye. I don’t know
how this book slipped out of my reading list. For most it was part of their
high school curriculum. I find myself, anytime I read a book, wearing the eyes
and having the mind of the main character. It’s natural I guess to associate
your imagination with reality in such a way you become an actor taking on
various roles, like testing which ones best suit who you are. Identity.
Two Hard-Boiled Eggs.
Outside it’s just another shocking hot day in October.
While walking across the street to Five Guys to get my
weekly serving of French Fries for lunch, I spot Margot’s car. She drives right
past me in the median. I gesture my hand and point in a nonchalant way as she
goes by, both sharing a casual acknowledgment. Later I get lost in thought
thinking about the redundancy of relationships, how everything always feels so
fresh and new and exciting and unique within the first few months of seeing
someone romantically. But then after a while you get comfortable and reality
sets in. You open your eyes from the dream and are reminded that it’s the same
old story. Re-run after re-run. It’s a depressing moment of truth. Does it ever
change? Is my life just a collection of steamy romance novels piling up on the
shelf?
Ahhh...yes. These fries reach deep into my hungry
soul. Washing them down with Honey Oolong Tea.
Reading. Reading. Reading.
Drinking OJ like there’s no tomorrow. I’m exceptionally
thirsty today.
The day turns into night. The orders pick up and so do the
tips.
Learning Russian while driving around from a collection of
Pimsleur mp3s I downloaded.
Fried Shrimp with Carrots, Peppers, Broccoli, Snow Peas,
Onions, and Rice in Garlic Sauce.
Off work.
As soon as I walk in the house I find Darren standing on one
of our stools.
Me: “What? What is this? What’s going on?”
Anthony: “He’s doing a jig!”
...
Time to release some steam. Anthony, Leslie, and I venture
to The Friend’s School. Rope swing and basketball hoops.
...
Leslie explores the grounds and gathers vine in attempt to
create the resemblance of a giraffe while Anthony and I shoot around on the
courts.
...
Suddenly we hear a bang sound ricochet in the distance.
Me: “Whoa. Did you hear that? It was from Chanticleer.”
Anthony: “Darren and Kevin finally had it out.”
[Ha-ha-ha]
Back at the house. Darren and Kevin got drunk at The Office
and we find them bumbling around like normal. Glad to see they’re still alive.
They all go to Rick’s and I stay behind.
Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
Anthony, Leslie, Darren, and Kevin get back from Rick’s
Café. Darren’s still really drunk and tripped over his own shoe earlier; the
sole of his shoe came apart. He shows me the big open gash on his knee. All of
us gathered in the living room. I get trapped in a black hole of fun that
involves a little boy on Youtube impersonating the DC Talk song, “Nu Thang”,
amongst other laughable videos. I pull up my pajama pants high up past my waist
and dance like the boy on TV. Hours of entertainment. Time flies by. I can’t
believe how late it is. 4:30 a.m. I’ve gotta get to bed.
[i] Michael
Clancy. Still from “Nu Thang”.
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