04. 7.05
Do You Know Miguel?
Onetime Brightness Falls reader of the month and longtime whore Wendy W. has told me that a picture of a rabbit with a pancake on its head doesn't count. To this I say, stories about brushes with strangeness while smoking cigarettes may count more than pictures of rabbits with pancakes on their heads, but it's doubtful they'll be more entertaining. Or adorable.
1. Tiny and I have finished playing Tiger Woods PGA Tour, and we're smoking outside his girlfriend's apartment in downtown San Jose at maybe one or two in the morning. Guy walks by, tells us he got released from San Quentin just that day and he wants to know if he can borrow some cash. Tiny is sympathetic because he's done jail time; he gives him five ducats. I myself have never spent any time in the big house so I don't offer him anything, plus I figure five dollars is plenty, but then he turns to me and says, "Come on, man, I'm trying to start a new a life." I hand over a five. He hugs Tiny and shakes my hand and goes on his way. Sure, it's a far-fetched story, but, hey, you never know.
Two weeks later Tiny and I are standing outside his girlfriend's apartment smoking. San Quentin comes walking down the street. It's clearly him, and this time he's got a new story: his girlfriend has inexplicably driven off without him and he wants to know if he can borrow some cash for bus fare. It's obvious he doesn't recognize us.
That night Tiny and I learn a valuable lesson: never let the hoe hold the car keys.
2. Tiny, Homer, Sean and I are standing outside Tiny's house smoking at around three in the morning. We see a guy roll up on his bicycle, and immediately we all tense up because Tiny lives in a sketchy neighborhood. The guy stops and asks for a cigarette. He then gets off his bike and proceeds to smoke with us. It's the most tortured conversation I've ever experienced. When he tells us he's Nicaraguan, Homer actually asks him if he knows a guy whom Homer knows who's Nicaraguan.
3. I go outside for a smoke before I go to bed. It's probably two or three in the morning. I'm standing in my driveway taking deep, satisfying drags from my cigarette. I idly glance over at my neighbor's Pontiac Firebird, which is parked in his driveway, and naturally, as the car is parked, the lights are off and the windows rolled up. However, my neighbor is sitting in the driver's seat. He's sitting still and staring straight ahead, and in that instant I lose ten years from my life.
4. Tiny and I are standing outside his girlfriend's apartment after we've finished playing Tiger Woods PGA Tour. It's around three in the morning. Guy walks by, stops and asks us if we'd like to see a pen that he's willing to sell. I wonder if maybe I'm hallucinating. Tiny says, "Let's see the pen."
5. Jenn and I are walking around the Haight and only one hippy stops to ask me if he can bum a smoke.
Just one more thing that hoes, hippies and Nicaraguans have prevented me from fully enjoying.
