Fuck that familiar harmonica. It reminds me of Chaka Khan for some reason. Among other things, I can't even believe the temperature drop. When I left the house it was still around 73 degrees or so. Now it's around the low end of 50. My seco-- third consecutive cup of coffee, not that I am counting anyhow, seems to be kicking in. It's either kicking in or it's the goddamn lyrics that are causing my hands to shake a little bit. I usually blame it on the shitty music.
I'll never find another girl like you,
We're fire and ice, the dream won't come true
I don't have to put up with this shit.
But I did. I did put up with it. Well, until the coffee-shop radio started playing Macy Gray's I Try, then I got up and left. Outside of a small congregation of young terrorist-looking men, and a couple inside working on a laptop together, there wasn't much action going on here. I guess it's fair to say it's empty here. It should be as it was around 0255 or so. I yawned a bit and stood up from my outside table. My shake-like spasms didn't cease as I walked to the car.
It was another driving night. More rubber, more road, more coffee, and caffeine. More solitude, more emptiness. I made it an extra point tonight to drive a little more deliberately in the areas I was fond of. I noticed something curious that I tend to miss on the rainy-overcast nights, it was the breath of the trees. Almost a wet-mossy-kind-of-smell and taste. Driving through a forest late at night, on a cool summer night like today, you can taste it. I could taste it, until the smell of a dead possum or squirrel made me cringe, but even then at least it wasn't exhaust or homeless people. Sometimes roadkill smells reasonably better than the filthy smell of sweat, shit, and contraband drugs of the homeless or proletarians. But I didn't even bother to think about that deeply as I drove on my "route".
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| Another road that's poorly lighted. |
I pushed a button on the radio, turned the dial, slowed down, and focused to the simple guitar and wholesome lyrics:
Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Wholesome? No it wasn't. But it was something I enjoyed, as I shared the goat-roping music with the dead on my left. Once again I drove past the cemetery for those goddamned Catholics. For some reason I ruined the song I was trying to enjoy as I thought about how much I disliked Italian Catholics. Since they have similar looking noses, I always looked at Italians at being stupid versions of Jews. Fortunately for me and I guess for the Jews too: I like the Jews, regardless of their intelligence, but no way in hell am I going to trust a guido-wopper. Those people are just as bad as the Portuguese or Colombians, which basically means we can't trust our women with them.
When I left the poorly lighted neighborhood and cemetery, I pulled onto the highway since too much was running through my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about these things, so I figured it may be best to avoid it all. I skipped about 15 tracks or more, until I found something suitable for the empty road. The shaking stopped a bit, but my mind wandered towards truth again.
Truth. True. Fact.
Lie, false, fiction.
Snap! Another familiar sound, and it's not a harmonica! Is this the forth? Or Second? What number am I even on? I don't really care. How can I? I peeled the tab back after opening the tall-boy can of rocket-fuel. I feel tired no matter how much of this shit I drink. It doesn't really matter, as long as it has caffeine and doesn't taste like pig urine after it drinks from a pool of goat/homeless-naked-man vomit (Mountain Dew Code Red). Fuck this. I can't concentrate. I'm going home.
When I got out of the car I was slightly refreshed, but tired. I accomplished nothing, other than spending five dollars on drinks that only kept me awake for an hour or so, and made me piss more than I would have liked to. The only thing I learned was nothing I did not already know.
Once again driving only provided me with the false sense of solace and tranquility. But tonight, I couldn't cease wondering about it. Wondering about things that are true. Wondering about things that are lies, and the reality of it, or the truth of lies existing.
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| "It's a fucking shame it's not Miller time right now." |
Pissing in the toilet, I lost any ability or desire to continue concentrating on these issues. I felt empowered, as I almost and literally, was piss-away my problems. It's a fucking shame it's not Miller time right now.
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