RUDIMENTS, pt. 345
Making Cars
The way things go is very
strange. For myself, I have
trouble sleeping - not in the
sense 'I can't fall asleep' -
that comes easy. What I
mean more is the stopping
and the shutting down.
Why have to go through
all that every night? It bugs
me, because there's usually
always one more thing I
should be undertaking. As
I look back over these older
days and times, I can't really
remember sleeping, though,
yes, of course, I slept each
night. It's the where and
when and how long that I
can't remember. I tell a few
things - when you're out on
the street, half the time you
don't want to remember
anyway : 'That overhang that
was used for shelter - nah,
wasn't any good. The breeze
still came around, there was
water dripping down from
something all night, there
were two really bright lights
in my eyes almost all night,
and whenever trucks came by
for loading or whatever, I got
their lights right on me, it
seemed for their duration.
You'd think there's always a
bathroom scene at the ready -
only sometimes there's not,
and if you leave your space,
or leave things behind,
they're apt to be gone or
some other goon will be
there when you return. Try
the park, hope they don't lock
the door, but even so, you're
aware of what bushes and
shelter are situated nearby.
Something stunk by me all
night - old, thrown out, rotting
fish? Cats fighting over it in the
dark? A stream of fickle water (?)
or not, running past the gutter
all the times. It too stinks, and
seems fetid and greasy. Ugh.
That pile of stuff you thought
was old clothes and rags, there
was a guy under there and he
woke up late in the night and
started thrashing and making
lots of noise. Hope he didn't
notice me. Maybe. I have this
knife, but I'd probably be
afraid to use it, or he'd
overpower me anyway and
use it on me. No! A madman
with a broken bottle? Over
there, all night there's been
some kind of whore scene
going on. Too busy. They're
getting too drunk. I only
saw one cop car all night,
it slowed, and they went
off. In their mind, job done.
I know they saw the goings
on but no matter, they didn't
see me over here. Hope it don't
rain. Damn when morning comes
I got nothing. This old Hostess
thing, guess I can eat that.
Buck-fifty-seven in this pocket.
That's good. Coffee anyway
when I wake. Can't brush my
teeth with anything, so I'll gargle
the coffee around. That'll work.
These shoes are OK, but my
feet are still sweaty and my
socks are hard. They could
probably stand up by themselves.
Yeah, these pants stink but no
one cares, and these two shirts,
I can't switch them anymore,
because now they're equally
bad, one atop the other don't
matter. Darn. but at least it's
not cold anymore, Good for
that. I can probably get
some bread and something
from that restaurant dumpster...'
-
'See how boring that is; it
never stops, stuff like that,
and you've got to perform
it night after night. If you
get caught with an absence,
sometimes it's difficult to
get your spot back. They're
as scarce as they are plentiful.
Back then anyway - I used
the piers and the truck docks
along the lower west-side
waterfront. They were always
good, and actually pretty
desolate in spots too. The
overhead Miller Highway
thing was still in place -
girders, trucks, cars, freight,
people headed to the Holland
Tunnel, and off to the side,
over by the water, was almost
a beach-like expanse - a few
old buildings, stuff hanging
out of them, concrete and
broken boards, drug-addicted
guys, menacing. Junk trucks
littered the place too, often
with their backs open - good
shelter for really bad days,
Winter too. People sleeping
in those trucks don't like being
surprised, or woken up either,
you never know. Drunks
and crazies. Some screwhead
getting a suck-job. You could
always tell the newer guys
around here, because when
you've been out here a while
the last thing on your ind is
sex or trade or getting laid.
It's the new guys that are
always hot to trot at first,
and then it goes away -
like roosters that get old
and tired, or something.
I don't know about the
ladies and girls, I don't
know if they ever like
what they do. Some smile
though. Bad teeth and all.
Lady just last night, miserable
wreck, probably 50 too, going
on still like she was at home,
about her son, who was
miserable too, stole
two-thousand dollars
from her for drugs, comes
downstairs with a needle
still in his arm, how she
never had a relationship with
her daughter, never knew
why but she'd wanted one,
it was the daughter who didn't.
Then no one wanted her around
at all anyway, so she just left,
and that's ho she ended up
here - blah,blah, yeah lady,
I bet. Really sad.'
-
'One time, even for me, a
bad scene. I was walking
along past one of those
outdoor tables set-ups,
restaurant and sandwich shop
places and some suave older
black guy hails me over,
small talk about something,
buys me a sandwich, sits me
down to eat it, near him, with
him, grills me about the streets,
hippie stuff, I stayed a little
mum, not saying much, and
then he goes on to compensate
and says if I am a 'hippie' (he
said I was, I never agreed to that)
I 'had to be the most naive hippie'
he'd ever met. Then somehow
he walks me around the corner
to his place, we enter, he says
he has some wine, some snack
stuff, he's going, some old jazz
music comes on, then he's next
to me and says 'here, just touch it...'
blah, blah, then he wants me to do
the rest. Yep. Just like that. Pulls
this gigantic purple unit out of
his pants, like a hammer shank
more than anything. Almost
begging me to move on it with
my hand. I could'a killed the
guy, the sonofabitch. For a freakin'
sandwich, boy I guess maybe I
was naive. I just left the jerk
reclining on his bed, hanging
out. He could jack himself off
for all I cared, until it fell
off and landed on his feet,
where I hoped it would at
least hurt his toes. Whew.
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