How I Waste my Life

Oh great, another movie about carrots– at least that’s what I think as I sneak in through the back trying to disguise myself as a watermelon. Then the girl with a streak of red something or other across her face approaches me and clears her throat loudly. Nothing ever works out in this absurd little place. So I just turn around and let her take my arms, glad just to be touched by a woman, even if she is throwing me out on my ass... hard luck, no change in my pocket, just another cold night scrounging for excitement and trying to barter for whiskey. I try to catch a cold, but it keeps getting away, scampering to hide under Uncle Surf’s skirt– Uncle Surf, who keeps talking about this absurd cleavage and this girl he’s always bothering at the comic book shop who just replies, “there’s a fee for hitting on the girl”– trembling with fearful intent and whispers of golden time happy noise. Those were truly good days, only three walls per building, but still we managed to bring together a rusted trumpet, a shitty old bass drum, an umbrella for Allah only knows why, but what else can you expect from somebody like Gerald who wastes his days scraping anything adhesive off the sidewalks and cataloguing them in sealed plastic. That was it, just honking out sprawling tunes of imperfection, each note more uncertain than the last until the setting sun threw its end-of-the-day socks at us, trampled the last of our daytime music garden under its big orange toes and we sauntered out from the three walls like stupid children trying to spell the word psychoses, turning back and waving frantically lest it miss us when we’re gone... How could I spend my days after that? So I hit the road with John, just a simple farmer, good time guy from Arizona, straight as broom handle on the surface, but we smoked pot from here to Scarsville and me dressed up like Buxley Clown still from the previous night’s gathering where I had somehow promised a performance of the goofy sort but ended up hypnotized by gallons and gallons of icecream, rainbow afro wig glued to my head by some mad hair gel shit and face paint smeared. How we laughed though, not even sure what we were laughing about, John and I. I think we started on the horse with the hiccups and got round to something like 25% off coupons and how to demand that a sword be a dagger or a dagger be a sword (we never figured that one out for sure). Anyway, tonight I just stumble upon a bag of oranges, eat a couple myself, and throw the rest at this raggedy old dog, think his name’s Chuck or Buck, who just looks at my confused like, then wags his tail and licks at the them. I probably would have made friend there, only I wind up wasting the next 20 hours of my life handing one after another of this little glossy flier announcing a party to which nobody is invited to the same guy who keeps standing there grinning at me with ahead full of cracked and crooked teeth until at last I just yell “shut up already!” and throw the remaining handful across the street....
End