I went to Royal Oak to read. I got a tea and I started reading on the corner, and all those people, you know the ones, they were there. All the people I don't know, with pink and red and blue hair. Most of them trashed.. All of them talking about getting trashed. And some older guys, some homeless. Kim, who as always had an innocent bottle of juice with some kind of alcohol in it. In her other hand a freshly lit cigarette. Some guys in a Hummer drove by and I swear, I'm not kidding or exaggerating, they had thirteen televisions inside. Three on each visor, one in the middle, where the rearview mirror should have been, a few on the backs of all the seats, a few hanging from the roof. An even bigger "Fuck you" to poor people than getting a sheet of real gold to eat with your desert at fancy restaurants.
Not surprisingly, I once again got asked if I could hook some people up with some drugs. I learned the best thing to do in that situation is ignore the person. Fuck them if they want to judge me on my dreadlocks and Salvation Army clothes.
The hummer passed by a second time.
And I was talking to Kim. She'd been reading my journal about how I was saving money to move someday. She drank more from her blue alcohol drink, in it's Hawaiian Punch "bodacious berry" bottle. And smoke swirled around her.
A little later, a blond young guy came to the corner with his guitar. He could play pretty well, and his voice was okay, at best. Another guy, an old guy, came over and played a recorder with him for a while. The Hummer passed by a third time, all the TVs glowing. The guys inside, they were twenty four at the oldest.
The recorder guy was bad. It was random and choppy, and kept coming back to the same note--the wrong note--every few seconds. He apparently only knew one key, and at the time it was about an augmented fifth away from what the guitar guy was playing. The notes resonated painfully, the waves not at all meshing. But I ignore it all and I’m reading and I have my tea.
And for the fourth time, I've got a red Hummer with chrome wheels and thirteen TVs inside. They're just circling the block. That's how cool the Hummer with TVs is. They got the money for this from their parents or from drugs or black mail or something. Without being prejudice or stereotypical, I can say beyond all doubt that they did not get it from real, manual labor work like working for a company or business or stock markets or selling goods.
The song ends and I go over. There's a small crowd around. I talk to the guitar guy and mention that I play elec. violin. His eyes light up. He's been looking for an elec. violinist for like four years, dude. Seriously, he's interested. So Hi, I'm Damien. And Hi, I'm Johnny. And he took my number and said really, seriously, he's gonna call. But I’ve heard people say it like that before. I know I won’t hear from him again. And a red flash went by on the road followed by thirteen little glows.
Then suddenly there were only about four people on the corner, not counting two police officers. "Bye Lupo, I'm gonna go drive around." and Kim was gone with her little bottle of neon blue poison. The guy with the guitar left too, only more innocently than most of the others; he had a show to get to. I went to the cops and said, watch this hummer coming down the street, isn't that illegal?
Damn, he said. Look at that shit, he said. That's a lot of TVs...uh, yeah, that's illegal. Any time the driver has one in front of his view, yeah it's illegal. And he went back talking to a shirtless punk and a kid with a skateboard. And I read a few pages and I left for home.
On the way down the street, I stopped at a red light, next to the Hummer. I yelled out my window, whatcha watching in there anyway? Fuck you, one of the guys said. And I said, okay then. And I stayed cool and just thought, maybe they'll get a ticket. Or into an accident. Or maybe they'll get their Hummer stolen. Or blown up by the mafia. Or something.
(I just joined. Hi everyone.)