I could scance recall anything, but the weather. Then weather was blustering wind; everywhere, there, and even here. In the approving looks she gave me. The way her eyes sparkled, along with a smile that oscillated between a small, pouting, barely open 0. And a wide, toothy grin. a grinning grin that often broke into laughter. Spontaneously like she couldn't control herself, she would bust out in loud laughing. And then I gaw hawf myself, sounding squealish to my ears and feel embarrassed.
Everyone had gone out to the beach that weekend. We really didn't know what beach it was. We just all got into the cars , and drove west, toward where we knew the coast was. The freeway took us there. and whenever we reached the beach we just turned left, or right onto Pacific coast Highway until we found a place that looked "good". An empty parking lot, (only us; a quasi-semi-Private beach.) A small ( quaintness-i.e. privacy ,so to speak) out of way place place. A place we were sure no one else had ever found. Down behind a trail, leading down towards the waves, and then suddenly turn into a hidden cove,with a laguna. A place where we could spark fires, and light fires, and provide flame for all who ask. There, we could take acid, get drunk, and smoke pot all night long.Try to get lucky.
What a shame.
We had won the foot ballgame, had made the obligatory trip to Tommy's Burgers, on Colorado Blvd., and "hopped" on the freeway to head toward "the beach". Some "jumped" on the freeway to hop on over to "the beach". No one asked what beach we were headed for. We just skipped on over with a hop and a jump. All of us from nowhere street. We were from the Boulevard
What a shame.
We had won the foot ballgame, had made the obligatory trip to Tommy's Burgers, on Colorado Blvd., and "hopped" on the freeway to head toward "the beach". Some "jumped" on the freeway to hop on over to "the beach". No one asked what beach we were headed for. We just skipped on over with a hop and a jump. All of us from nowhere street. We were from the Boulevard
I remember, this woman, I don't know, from about maybe 20 years ago. she always use to be a security guard at the Kmart. But when I asked her she denied it. Yes, she said, she was a security guard,but never at Kmart. But I distinctly recall first meeting her there, at age 8. Exactly. I was age 8, when I first met her. And she was a security guard at Kmart. Since then, I have come across this woman maybe 4, or 5 other times since then. This last time, it's been 6 weeks, now. And each time, she has been a security guard.
It wasn't until I was in my early 20's when I found out she was Denver Joan's lesbian lover. Now, Denver Joan was the first music teacher I ever had. I was just a junior high kid. she taught me the rink dink piano. The rinky dink was before boogie woogey, and the hon key tonk. It was the music of the old south, and the old American west. When she died she seemed a shadow of her former self. Once, tall, and barrel chested; Denver Joan sauntered in anywhere like she owned the place, like a giant. At her demise she seemed frail, small, and feeble. But she hadn't stopped. She was working on a rival of old songs of the Confederacy when she left the land of the living. She had a contract to perform at a Restaurant in the city of Alhambra, in Southern California.
I reached back into my back pack and pulled a swallow of a forty ounce of warm malt liquor. I nearly puked at looked at the young girl beside me. she was smiling, that smile. I knew she was enjoying herself. But, maybe hadn't decided if I was to allowed closer. Not yet, anyway. I kept talking, trying hard not to sound to effected in my attempt to hold her rapt interest.
I want to tell you about when I was in the Navy, I told her.
when you sail through towards Newfoundland, you sail through some pretty ports.
Did my voice crack? Can she tell I am nervous?
In fact, it is the most beautiful scenery you will behold with your own eyes! Especially in the misty morning dawn.
I wax poetic, sometimes. Not forced, but quite naturally dramatic. That is good, right? No? Maybe not too much. But in just the right amounts it doesn't hurt. Just so it isn't noticeable.
I can still see it in my mind's eye. So, Grey and brown, and black; the small islands in the inlets we passed, were dressed in dark stones and green moss. Did I see I moose, drinking from a stream,in the icy cold morning air of North Atlantic. I might have. I don't remember any birds. I saw harks once, and dolphins.
Should I remark that she wasn't even born then. Not even thought of? Not even a twinkle in her father's eye. Or, was she?
Casually I take another snort from by fat bottle. I get out a joint, crumpled from my jean pocket, and light it. she wants to know if I am going to smoke marijuana. you aren't going to smoke a joint, are you. she says all this plaintively. I tell her yes, I am. And then I do. By the time we get to the Cornela Sanders, it's KFC now, I already have a good buzz going. But not too much. Just enough, is good enough.
It wasn't until I was in my early 20's when I found out she was Denver Joan's lesbian lover. Now, Denver Joan was the first music teacher I ever had. I was just a junior high kid. she taught me the rink dink piano. The rinky dink was before boogie woogey, and the hon key tonk. It was the music of the old south, and the old American west. When she died she seemed a shadow of her former self. Once, tall, and barrel chested; Denver Joan sauntered in anywhere like she owned the place, like a giant. At her demise she seemed frail, small, and feeble. But she hadn't stopped. She was working on a rival of old songs of the Confederacy when she left the land of the living. She had a contract to perform at a Restaurant in the city of Alhambra, in Southern California.
I reached back into my back pack and pulled a swallow of a forty ounce of warm malt liquor. I nearly puked at looked at the young girl beside me. she was smiling, that smile. I knew she was enjoying herself. But, maybe hadn't decided if I was to allowed closer. Not yet, anyway. I kept talking, trying hard not to sound to effected in my attempt to hold her rapt interest.
I want to tell you about when I was in the Navy, I told her.
when you sail through towards Newfoundland, you sail through some pretty ports.
Did my voice crack? Can she tell I am nervous?
In fact, it is the most beautiful scenery you will behold with your own eyes! Especially in the misty morning dawn.
I wax poetic, sometimes. Not forced, but quite naturally dramatic. That is good, right? No? Maybe not too much. But in just the right amounts it doesn't hurt. Just so it isn't noticeable.
I can still see it in my mind's eye. So, Grey and brown, and black; the small islands in the inlets we passed, were dressed in dark stones and green moss. Did I see I moose, drinking from a stream,in the icy cold morning air of North Atlantic. I might have. I don't remember any birds. I saw harks once, and dolphins.
Should I remark that she wasn't even born then. Not even thought of? Not even a twinkle in her father's eye. Or, was she?
Casually I take another snort from by fat bottle. I get out a joint, crumpled from my jean pocket, and light it. she wants to know if I am going to smoke marijuana. you aren't going to smoke a joint, are you. she says all this plaintively. I tell her yes, I am. And then I do. By the time we get to the Cornela Sanders, it's KFC now, I already have a good buzz going. But not too much. Just enough, is good enough.