I had this idea in my head for years. It was never a story just a "What If" thought.


A girl who grows up in Montana constantly getting into trouble and ends up in juvenile hall for assault: Beating up a girl in school and sticking her head in the toilet. Whlile she incorserated with the other teenage drug addicts, prostitutes, and abandoned, she realizes that it is around these "lowest of the low" people that she feels most at home. When she is released she hitchhikes to LA. Her goal in life is to become a prosistute on Sunset blvd. and eventually be strangled to death by a serial killer. She just wants to throw herself to the wolves. In LA she actually gets into porn and becomes semi famous as a "porn star" and gets picked for a role in a main stream film...And this is where the idea originally came from: A porn actress who successfully makes the transition to main stream films. Most porn stars who try to make it in main stream never make because their acting ablities even if not severly limited (as most are) arent enough to overcome the stigma of porn. But what if there was a porn star . It turns out she has an unbelievable talent for acting, I mean like Marlon Brando or Montgomery Cliff level of talent. And she does. But like Brando she has nothing but contempt for this talent. "Acting is just bullshit" she would always say. "Im just a porn star". So she continues to grow in terms of fame and success, but she is still the same girl whose main life goal is to be a prostitute who gets strangled to death by a serial killer. Except now instead of by a serial killers hands she trying to do herself in with MASSIVE amounts of drugs. Shes all about self destruction. The fame and success mean nothing to her, and this disdainful attitude ironical fuels more of her fame and admiration....

A certain amount of years pass by when a pregnant black prostitute shows up at the front gate of her mansion. She tells the story of how she has full blown AIDS and her baby positive as well. She is not expected to live through the full term. She doesnt know whats going to happen to her baby afterwards. She wants Montana (thats the name Im giving the main charector now although I don't actually have a name for her) to take care of the baby after she is dead, although the doctors say in all likelyhood the baby will not live much longer after birth. Montana is horrified at the prospect:

"FUCK NO BITCH!! Are you crazy?!?!? Get the fuck away from me!!!"

But the prostitute wont leave.Eventually the police get call in. They ask Montana if she wants to press charges.

"Hell no! Im not gonna send a pregnant woman to jail. But just tell her to leave me alone!"

But if shes not going to press any charges against her there is nothing the police can do. So she invites the prostitute into the mansion and tries to talk to her. The movie star tells the prositute she absolutely cant do what shes asking her to do: Take care of a baby that only has a few months to live. She will give her anything she wants money, a home to live in, anything she could possible want... but just not that. She gets on her knees in front of the prostitute and begs her, begs her sobbing to leave her alone, and not ask this of her. But the prostitute is firm. She cant to leave her baby all alone in this world, not knowing whats going to happen to him. Maybe ending up in some foster home where god only knows what can happen to him. She cant. She wont. The last thing she does while she is alive she gonna make sure he is taken care for the few moments he has on earth. She herself was abandoned by her family and grew up in foster homes. She knows what can happen to child when given over to the state.

Faced with this stone of resolve of the prositute Montana agrees. The prostitute moves into the mansion and Montana has an entire medical center installed in her home to take care of her. Now both their lives are completely dedicated to this child to be born. That was all the prostitute was living for, and Montana realize that its all she is living for as well. The woman was a few months away from birth but her health was deteriorating rapidly. Montana sleep int he same bed as her....nothing sexual. They bonded far closer then flesh can communicate in theyre commitment to "their" unborn child. In her mind Montana says "Im going to dedicate my entire life to this baby and his few months life. And when he dies...I die right after."

When the baby is finally born the two women of one psyche. Through the birthing process the mother experinces it only physically. But she experinces emotionally through Montana. she is absorbing up as though it is understood that the birth mother, in her weakened health state wouldn’t be able to handle it. It is Montana who screams and wails for hours in throws of birthing, allowing the mother to stay calm and concentrated. The baby is born. The mother dies a week later. But something has happened. The baby doesnt have AIDS. Hes negative, and perfectly healthy.

It is from here that I want to chart Montana's emotional growth for zero to motherhood.

I think Ive only told three people this story. All three said it would make a good story. But I dont know. Whadda you think?

A Christmas Carol

I left Los Angeles four years before, I had planned on going all the way around the world and ending back up in Los Angeles. I had already been across the United States, to England, the Netherlands, France, Spain, and Morocco, I figured the journey would have taken me another four or five years. I used to call all my friends from London and Paris and the like. And they were all so exicted: hey Kevin that's great! Wow youre really doing it! No one thought you could do it but youre doing it!

But it all came to an abrupt dizzyingly end in Spain. I was there for 6 months, which was 3 months past my visa time. If I had money they wouldn't have fucked with me, but they caught me sleeping in the mountains so they knew I didn't have any money. They arrested me and deported me all the way back to Los Angeles, where I hadn't expected to be for another four years. I was so embarrassed to be back, I called my mother from the Santa Monica pier and told her I was still in Spain. After I had declared my intentions for world travel it was just too humiliating to face my friends like this.

I slept on the beach and usually stayed there for the whole day, since it was winter it was barren of human beings save for the mornings when all the white boy surfing addicts jumped into the cold water in wet suits. The lifeguard tower that I slept under was just south of Rose Street: The dividing line between Santa Monica and Venice. Santa Monica had their own police, but Venice was patrol by the LAPD. I spent all my time in Santa Monica where the cops basically let me be, but in that block that I was in Venice the LAPD was always fucking with me. In fact I got fucked with more in that one block by the LAPD then all the time I was in Santa Monica.

I had nothing. No money, no prospects, no nothing. How does one survive with no money? Well I was finding out. My diet consisted of pastries out of the trashcan of a bakery on Main Street, and the leftovers from a vegetarian pizza place on Lincoln. At night I had a route that began with the bakery, then the pizza joint, then this Mexican restaurant that closed late. The bakery usually was good for some bran, lemon or poppy seed muffins. The pizza place was less reliable, but when they did have some it was a gift from the outer worlds. They had cheese pizza, garlic, barbeque chicken, … easily the best trash I ever ate. One time I even left them a thank you note on top of the can, it was so good. The Mexican restaurant was less predictable because the food was mashed up in with all the other resturant trash. My luck would come if somehow someone hadn't finished their whole meal, and chaos had preordained that it didn't get too much coffee grinds, dishwashing detergent, or cigarette buts and ashes mixed into it so that it was still eatable. Often it was a long shot. And it was frustrating because the food, even though now officially refuse, smell so good I always got hungry just looking through it. But what was really depressing was (and is) digging through a trashcan that smells better then I did.

After that if I didn't find anything Id search the rest of the city for food left on trashcans in alleys or what ever. Sometimes walking around someone would see me and give me a few dollars. It was amazing how long I could make those few dollars last. Usually I only used them to buy 25-cent sodas. Maybe some potato chips maybe even a hot dog. A couple of dollars could last me a week like that.

There were also the predators: Homosexuals prowling around, starving for sex. There was this old man looked like he was in his 60's, who used to drive all night in a old sixties Chevy muscle car.

Hey you going somewhere? Need a ride?

No Im OK.

Well they call me Pops. Anytime you need something and you see me just give me a holler and we can work something out.

Thanks anyway.

I walked so much my shoes were getting to be big problem. As usual they were falling apart on me. I say as usual because I wear size 16 shoes, so Ive always had a hard time finding new shoes when the old ones start going to hell. Either I have the money and I can't find the shoes, or I find the shoes and don't have the money. Right now I didn't have any hope for either.

Cruising through the streets and alleys, I found some extra clothes and some blankets. I used to try to hide them in the sand, but no matter what I used to remind myself, I could never recall where I left anything in that sea of grains. They could still be there to this day for all I know, but I doubt it. Another thing you had to think about when burying anything in the sand, besides remembering where the hell it was, were those old farts who go scouring the beach with their metal detectors, looking for coins and jewelry. If a button on a pair of pants set their electric divining rod off, theyd dig straight to China to find it, with dreams of crown jeweled diamonds in their heads. Eventually I kept them in a nook underneath the life tower. Nobody ever found them there. Until the inevitable day that someone found them there, and took em.

When they took my blankets I had to try to sleep as much as I could in the daytime and walk around all night to stay warm. There was this one house I used to walk by that was always playing a radio on KOST 103 ("Soft easy listening in the car or at work. Youre listening to the KOST"). They played it loud so that even walking by on the sidewalk you could hear it. Now that I was walking by there at all hours of the night I realized they never turned it off or changed the station, that it was just there as kinda a decoy radio. There was no one who lived there, but someone was playing the radio to give the impression of occupancy. I thought about breaking in and getting out of the cold, but I thought naw it aint worth it.

I found a couple of blankets, but fighting off the cold was becoming more difficult. It wasn't that it was freezing or painfully cold, it was just that I had spent the last ten months in Sahara desert, and southern Spain, on top of originally being from Los Angeles in the first place, my blood was happily thin. Then someone found THOSE blankets, and I said that's it. Im going in that house, its too cold out here and I don't give a fuck.

I waited till about one or two clock in the morning, then went by the back gate. There was a little nervousness, and it was a little funny as I remembered back in Spain where I learn how to do this. I was petrified my first few times. My crimees were Moroccans who had been doing shit like this all their lives. The amazing thing was the nerve it took to do it. They would go into people's bedroom drawers while they were there sleeping. The whole house could be full of people after a party and they would just step over people sleeping on the floor. They inspired me to learn how to hardened my nerves. And do what I had to do to get the job done.

So now I was a little bit nervous, but I steeled myself and went over the fence. They were actually two houses side by side that occupied the land and back yard. I went to the first one that had the radio going. I looked though the side windows for any sign of life. Nothing. Just what I thought, even the room where the radio played didn't have any presence to it. Went to the back door and tested it. It was pretty weak. I gave it a couple hard shove with my shoulder then looked around. It didn't make enough noise to be noticed. Then I took one step back and rammed it. It mostly gave away. Shoddy workmanship. Of course it could have just been built in the days when people didn't expect to have their houses broken into by cold desperate homeless people. Anyway, I wrestled off what was left of the previously locked door, and walked in like I was coming home.

It was a small cottage like house. I walked though the kitchen into the front living room where the radio played. The place was sparse but with all the basic necessities. A sofa/bed, the radio of course, a small portable black and white TV, a shelf full of books and a telephone. I picked up the telephone… whadayaknow it works. I went to the back and closed the door. Then came back and looked around some more. Stockpiled up in the kitchen, living room and small bedroom was all kinds of junk: pots, pans, utensils rusted beyond any kind of safe using, very old tools and nuts and bolts. This guy was obviously cheap, couldn't stand to throw anything of value away. There were pictures on the wall of guns and a confederate flag. A real estate license made out to a FRANK MORRIS and a signed picture of Ronald Reagan, thanking a Frank Morris for his support of the Republican Party. There was a pictures of a family picnic, and in one of them was a older white man staring at the camera with slitted cruel eyes. There what I would gather were some of his daughters. The picture was taken sometime in the seventies, which means he probable had grandchildren by now. Whenever I enter someone's home I always check out their book collection. To me it's a good way to judge their character. On the bookshelf I noted there were allot of books on science, history, and on the various wars, with lots true crime, mystery and gun books. I picked out some books on the civil war. Flipping through them they basically implied that this country would be a better place if the confederacy had won. Another book that caught my eye was THE PROTOCOL OF THE SONS OF ZION . In it was the belief that the Jews run the banking system and the media, and a large section of the government and in fact are the ones who secretly control the planet. Ooooookaaaaaayy.

Well judging from everything Ive seen so far this fellow wont have any problem whatsoever with a homeless black man breaking into his house and staying awhile. With that thought I plopped down on the sofa bed. Well its nice and warm in here, that's good. I looked at the small TV, but told myself not to turn it on. It would attract attention since anyone who knew the house might see the light against the window and realize that that was something unusual. I was lounging on the bed and rested into a semi-nap. When I woke up I looked at the TV and said fuck it, and turned it on. I kept flipping the stations when I happened to run across one of those ads for the psychic network

"Do you know what your future holds for you? In love? In Money? What about your family? Well we do. call us now at 1-977-********* at $3.99 a minute."

I saw the number, then looked over to the working phone, and thought, What the hell? So I picked the phone up and dialed the number. They warned me that it was $3.99 a minute, and push star if that's ok. I pushed *. And I got connected through.

Hello and whats your name?

Kevin

And what questions do you have today?

(I thought about it) Um Im staying in this guys house and I was wondering when I Im going to have to leave?

Are you renting?

No.

Hes just letting you stay there?

Yeah

But he doesn't want you to stay there anymore?

I don't know, I haven't talk to him yet.

Well I see some problems but there is a chance things will work out.

I find that hard to believe.

I asked a few more mundane questions and let the lady go. I laid there for about an half hour watching some late night movie when another commercial for another psychic network came on. I picked up the phone and call the number. This time I got a guy.

Yeah Im at his guys house and I want to know when hes coming home.

Whats his name?

(I looked up at the Real estate license) Frank

It's his home?

Yeah.

And you're living there while he is away.

Basically.

And you think he'll want you to leave when he gets back?

That's a pretty good guess.

Well I think you two can come to some kind of agreement.

That's highly unlikely.

Hmmm he has quite allot of money this Frank. He owns allot of property.

Yeah that's true

But he's a pretty cheap guy isn't he?

(I looked around at all the worthless shit the man refused to throw away) yeah he is cheap.

And hes also something of a racist?

(I looked up at the books, confederate flag and the pictures of Reagan.) yeah something like.

And … you're not….Caucasian?

No Im not.

You're an African American?

Yeah.

Wow its pretty amazing he is letting you stay there in the first place.

You don't know the half of it.

After awhile we got disconnected. I went to sleep, and I slept remarkable comfortable considering the how volatile the situation was.

When I woke up it was about twelve. I was hungry. But there was nothing there to eat except a jar of peanut butter. So thats what I ate as I watched TV. It had been years since Id seen American television, and MAN! The first thing I noticed were the talk shows. I had never seen so much hate in my life. When I had left Geraldo Rivera was the most challenging talk show there was in terms of confrontation. But now everything put him to shame. Now they got people together who just HATED each other: daughters who had affairs with their mother's boyfriends, men who left there wives for their wives sister, while their wives were pregnant. there were lie detector tests, paternity tests, and private investigators filming affairs and showing them on television. There wasn't even any more pretense of a discussion or "talk". Some shows actually showed fist fights right on the stage! It was a modern day roman gladiator spectacle. Something that people kept saying was going to happen in the future, and now the future was staring back at me from a 9" black and white. It was surreal, I was getting culture shock in my own country.

Of course one of those psychic hotline commercials came on too and I called them up.

Im in this guys house. When is he coming back?

He wont be back until next week.

Next week really?

That's what I see next week

(it was just Friday) cool.

I kept talking with her. I asked if I had any sexually transmitted diseases. She told me to go see a doctor, for that they aren't qualified to give out medical advice. She said some interesting things about me, soon I told her the real situation.

Are you kidding?

No.

My god Kevin you've got to get out of there!

Why? You said that he wasn't coming back until next week.

I know but something can happen to you in a situation like that!

Like what?

Next week that building is going to be burned down by a fire!

Fire really?

Yes really! Please leave there before-click

We got disconnected. I called another hotline, but they didn't say anything like what that lady had said.

Then I got the idea to call some of my friends….. in Europe. I call up France and talked Thierry. Call up a few other people in France, then morocco, then England, then New York and San Francisco.

I forced myself to sleep because I was hungry but wouldn't be able to leave the house until late into the night. I read some of the more interesting books he had: Will Durant's "The Age Of Voltaire", "The History of the Universe" and a bio of Mozart. I was getting a little stir crazy but I force myself in and out of sleep (with the help of masturbation) until about midnight, when I went out the back and over the fence and headed south to my bakery and pizza place. I scored at both places and brought my bounty to my new liar. That's pretty much how the weekend went. I kept calling my friends all over the world, and those psychic hotlines everyday. The psychics kept saying the same thing, that he was going to be back next week, then the next three days then within the next few days, then Monday they said tomorrow.

As I was calling some of the networks refused to take my calls anymore. Apparently there was a limit on how much you could call within a certain amount of time. And in the last four days I must have charged up over $3,000, and that wasn't even including the long distance calls. I used to dial and think , "You know this is kinda fucked up jacking up this dudes telephone bill like this. I shouldn't do this." Then I would look up at the signed picture of Ronald Reagan and think yeah I should do this! And finished dialing.

Monday every psychic I called said that he would be paying the place a visit the next day. Strangely the consensus among them also was that it was possible something could be worked out between us. But those were the ones I didn't explain the whole situation to.

Anyway that night I put some blankets in a totebag that was there in the house. I also managed to stuff the small portable TV/radio in too and said goodbye.

I stayed away the whole of Tuesday but that night I went back and peeked over the fence. Son-of-a-bitch! The back door had been boarded up! He had to have come in that day! Ill never doubt those psychic fucks again.

I stayed on the beach for a week sparingly watching TV and listening to the radio to save the batteries. The only TV I watched were reruns of "Seinfeld" and the "Simpsons". But after a week eventually the batteries wore out and I was left with an empty box. Amazing how fast you can get addicted to TV, because without the batteries I got an itching to go back in that house, just so I could plug it in and watch it again.

I thought Id give it a try, and a little over a week after I had busted into the place, I went back to the house with the TV stuffed inside the totebag. The first thing I noticed was that it wasn't burnt down. That one lady psychic was full of bullshit. When I got to the back door it was boarded up like I remembered but ironically right outside the door were a bunch of anciently rusted tools that the cheap fuck couldn't bring himself to get rid of. Among them hammers, shovels and a pick axe. I used the pickaxe and easily peeled the boards off that guarded the door. And walked right in. everything was the same. the radio was even still playing on the same station.

Immediately I picked up the phone and dialed up a psychic hotline. I asked them a few questions about my future and then asked them when the man who owned the house was going to get home. The first one said he was going to be there that morning. I hung up and called again. The second the same thing: he was coming that day. That was good enough for me. I left without even plugging in the TV, out the back door and over the fence.

A couple of days later I went back again to see what had happened and sure enough the guy had come back that day like they said, and this time he boarded and chained both sides of the door so there was no way I could get into it. Then I thought about the second house, I checked out the back door but it was locked up like the first one. And I thought what a spoiled cat burglar Ive become, those Moroccans back in Spain would be ashamed of me. I actually expected to go through the door every time. I started checking all the windows. The high bathroom window was slightly ajar. I was able to push it open, and lift my self-up and in. the first thing I did was check to see if the phone worked. It did, so you know what Ill be doing for the next few hours. The house itself was roughly the same size as the first one although not the same design. It seemed like it was used as a office. Inside the living room were a couple of desks, and two very old computers the cheap bastard couldn't bring himself to let go off. There was no bed and no TV or radio, it was less cozy then the first house. I didn't like it as much as the first one. But hey sometimes you have to make due.

I made myself comfortable and gave a psychic hotline a call. They said basically that the guy would be there in the day after next. So I was able to unlock the door from the inside walked out and got my tote bag and TV and settled in for the night.

I stayed there the whole day and left that night. I made sure I closed back up the bathroom window so it would be less likely he realize that's how I came in.

A few days later it was Christmas Eve. I knew Frank would be spending the day with his children and grandchildren on Christmas day, so I was going to go there that night.

I went over the fence to the second house there was some junk over by the back door apparently there to make some noise encase anyone tried to break in that way, but the side window was just the way I left it. He wasn't hip to how I got in the first place. I opened it up and lifted myself in. I unlocked the door from the inside and got my totebag with the TV in it. I called the psychic hotlines, most of them said that he would be there within a couple of days. One of the psychics was a tarot card reader. When I asked her what he was like, she pulled out one card that said he was a gentle generous person, but then she pulled out the devil card. She said he could start out nice and turn into the devil. Strangely again they said that there was some chance that things could work out. But again I didn't tell them exactly what the scenario was. Only one said he would be there that day. But I brushed that off as silly: for a man to leave his family during the holiday, just to check to see if any one of his many abandon houses had someone staying in it.

The day went by smooth like a Christmas day should, with that disarmingly relaxing vibe in the air wherever they celebrate Christmas. It was four o'clock the next afternoon and I was watching TV and jacking off into one of the silk shirts I found in the closet, when I heard this loud voice shrilling through the air.

Hey you get out of here before I call the cops!

That shrilly voice said it all. That was Frank. I shot up and looked around I didn't see anyone.

You hear me! Im gonna call the police on you!

It was coming from outside. But was he yelling at me? No. Because I then heard another voice coming from the porch of the first house. It was the voice of a black man.

Hey mister, Im just sitting here resting a bit.

This is private property! And if you don't get off right now Im calling the police!

Alright, alright Im leaving. The Blackman voice said getting off the porch and walking away. And Merry Christmas to you!

The shrilling voice answered his Yule tiding with- And if you come back your going right to jail!

I looked between the slits in the curtains at the car parked in the driveway. It was a very old, beat up, birdshit white chriysel. It wasn't the kinda a car you expect from a man with allot of money. But it was the kinda car you except from a very, very cheap guy with allot of money.

What do I do??? I decided to hide. I leaped into the bedroom, to the back wall behind some shelves. I heard him open up the door and come in. I thought maybe he'll think I was here and left, wouldn't realize I was there at that moment and leave. Then I looked down and saw my socks. Maybe he WOULDN'T have realized I was there, if I hadn't left my size 16 shoes in the middle of the living room!!!!

I could hear the man on the other side of the wall walk into the house slowly and pause in the middle of the living room (possible having to step over my boat sized shoes), then he kept walking, and I saw his back as he walked past the door of the bedroom to the back door of the house. I looked around for some kinda of weapon. I picked up a extra long flat headed screwdriver.

From the back door he slowly began to walk back into the middle of the house. I got ready to do…. something. As soon as he got to the door of the bedroom I jumped out at him with the extra long flat head screwdriver in my hand high above my head like a dagger!

Don't fucking move or Ill kill ya!

A white gray haired old man looked up at me in shock. The look of a man who sees a 6'4 black man jump in front of him with a dagger (screwdriver) in his hand. Sure enough one look at his eyes told me everything those psychics said about was true. He had small, petty, cruel, pale blue eyes. They were mean, cheap, and racist.

Oh lord please no!

Shut up and get the fuck back there!

Oh no please don't hurt me! I just had a heart attack!

Get in the back motherfucker! Now!


Shut the fuck and get your hands in the air!


His hands shot up over his head. Ok,Ok! I got em up!

Get back there! Now get on the fuckin ground or Ill fuckin kill ya!

Im going Im going! Just take it easy! Ill do anything you want! Im your friend!


Now get the fuck on the floor! Ill fuckin kill ya motherfucker!


I forced him to the back of the house into a little laundry where he laid on the ground.

Im doing it! Im going! please my my wife just died! Ive had two heart attacks!

Shut up!

Look Im doing what you said, Im getting on the floor! Here I got money, take all of it!

I dont want your damn money! I'm a kidnapper not a thief!

Well take any thing you want I wont give you any trouble! Im your friend! Ive had three heart attacks ion the last year!

Its three heart attacks now eh? That's two more then you had just a minute ago.

Really anything you want its yours!

I want you to be quiet. And keep those hands where I can see them.

Oh ok see where my hands are! ill be quiet! I'm your friend!

He was silent for a moment looking up at me flat on his back and smiled up at me painfully nervous. I looked around and picked up a pillow off the sofa and threw it to him.

Here take this pillow, be comfortable.

Oh hey thank you very much. He put the pillow under his head. Then smiled up at me. Oh yeah that's much better. He was very wisely trying to make light of the situation. He knew if he got excited I might get excited too and do something exiting. So he laid there put his hands behind is head smiling up at me as if he were laying down in on a Sunday after noon in the park. …… Oh Im fine right here, just fine.

Great, I said. Now Frank what the hell are you doing here on Christmas day? Why aren't you with your family?

Oh I was with them earlier today. I came here Because allot of times these houses get broken into on the holidays because they think nobody come. I thought I check up on this place, to see if anyone had broken in.

Hmmm-good thinking.

Thanks, hey whats your name?

George. Now just be quiet and let me think what to do…. Im sorry for the inconvenience, but this is my first hostage situation.

Oh ok yeah Im perfectly find here. By the way where ya from George?

From here.

Oh youre from Los Angeles? That's great.

Where you from?

Oh me? Im originally from Texas.

Oh beau-ti-ful. This keeps getting better and better.

Uh?

Nothing. Are you Ok?

Oh yeah Im fine. I used to be in the army in Korea. Again smiling up at me trying his best to be gregarious. Yeah sleeping on the floor is perfectly ok for me.

I grabbed a chair. And put it next to him. Sit up in the chair Frank. A veteran shouldn't be laying on the ground like that.

Oh thank you.

He got up on the chair.

Don't worry Frank. Im not going to hurt.

Yeah yeah, I can see you're a good man. You broke into the other house didn't you?

Yeah that was me.

Well then I know your smart too. I saw all those books that you were reading in the other house. The history books, the biography of Mozart, and that book on physics. I thought to myself whoever this guy is he is really smart.

He kept on talking nervously about things. How he came to Los Angeles after the war, got married, had three children, started investing in real estate, had property all over south central LA, and in the valley. He had several heart attacks over the last several years and that's what His wife had died of just a year before. Now his grandchildren were his greatest joy,

It was all as intimate as it was calculated. As a lover of true crime novels and detective fiction, he had to have known the best thing to do in a hostage situation is to get personal with your captor, to create a empathy, as they will be less likely to cause you harm. Then he said something that stung me:

….and just a few days ago one of my buildings burned down.

Wait a minute. say that again?

Um one of my building in the valley burned down a couple of days ago.

Really are you kidding? Hey listen I talked to this psychic on the phone….

Oh you used the phone? He asked, not being able to hold his apprehension at what his phone bill would be like after some stranger used his phone, despite the distinct possibility he might not outlive the night.

Yeah I used it and…

Oh its ok if you used the phone…. He tried to fake it off, As he looked away with a concerned look now counting up the cost of me running up his phone bill in his head.

Yeah ok, I tried to get back t the subject… and she told me that this house was going to burn down! but I guess what she was seeing was this other building!

He look at me for a few moments with some concerned confusion…..You know when I was in the army they used to test hallucinogenics on the soldiers and the would start seeing thing like monsters and ghosts….have you ever tried LSD?

He didn't understand what I was trying to say to him. I decided not to pursue it. He kept talking and as he did I was thinking what the hell do I do now? I cant run out of the house, with my crippled hip I couldn't get away fast enough before he called the police. I cant tie him up, I don't even tie up my own shoes. I sighed thinking fuck, theres no way out of this. I finally said to him

Ok Frank Im going to let you go and you can call the police, at least Ill have a warm place and they'll feed me there.

No no. you don't want that. Jails not the place to put anyone. Hey listen Ill tell you what. Ill go over to Norm's restaurant and get you something to eat. Howd you like that?

Yeah right…..I said to him no mistaking my sarcasm….Go ahead, and call the police.

No Im not gonna to call the police Im going to Norm's and bring you back some food. What would you like?

Come on Frank I know youre going to call the cops on me and its OK.

No no really jail's not the place

Umpf. Yeah Ill take a cheeseburger.

I got up and let him walk past me, and I followed him out the door to the porch.

Ok wait right here.

Yeah ok Ill be right here.

Ok. Now don't go away! Im serious. Im gonna be right back and Im not going to call the police.

Yeah OK Frank.

He got into his car and called me out the window.

Im gonna be right back with those cheese burgers. I promise!

I waited there on the porch fully expecting the police to come down the street. 10 minutes passed. Nothing. 20 minutes nothing. Man those police can really be slow. 30 minutes Frank came back in his car. He had the cheeseburgers from Norm's with him.

I told you Id come back!

True, true. I was amazed.

Sorry it took me so long but there was a long line at Norm's so I went to the waitress I usually go to, and said listen I got someone waiting for me. Could you get me something to go real quick? and she did it (he was vary happy with his accomplishment)

We went back inside and I ate the cheeseburger and fries while he talked.

See Im telling you jail is no place for anyone. And I can tell you're a good person. You could have done me some real harm back there but you couldn't could you?

No not really.

Yeah! because you're a good person. That's why you couldn't do it.

He talked about coming in from Texas, about his family, his brother was a alcoholic his oldest daughter had problems. Then he got down to what we were going to do now.

Well what do you like to do?

I really don't know how to do anything. That's one of the reasons Im in this situation.

Oh youre way too smart. You must know something.

Well I did work as a landscaper one time.

Hey that's great I got plenty of property that needs landscaping! You could come work for me as a landscaper! What else can you do?

Well I can write.

A writer! Well that's great! I knew it , I knew you were a writer! You ever been published?

Yeah once in Key West.

Have you written anything lately?

No. I haven't had a chance.

What do you write about?

About my travels through America and Europe.

Oh my yes that would make a great book , about you just traveling around. Why you could write about this here us two!

Yeah I could.

Why you could stay here and write that.

I looked at him confused and suspicious.

Yeah sure you just stay here and write, and when you get published you can pay me back. Ill be your patron, and you could dedicate your first book to me.

Um, Ok.

So its settled. You can just stay here and write. Just do a few errands around the house.

He kept talking all the way all the way into the night.

Boy I know you must think he sure does like to talk allot.

Its ok I enjoying it.

Sometime around midnight he finally decided to leave. He gave me the keys….("You can go through the front door from now on Ha HA!")…. and forty bucks to get something to eat just encase I got hungry in the night. He said he be back tomorrow after he finished some other business. When he went out and started getting into his car I said to him:

Merry Christmas Frank.

Oh yeah Merry Christmas Kevin! Heheh how about that! I totally forgot.

It was in my head the whole night that the cops were going to come for me in the night. But I wasn't paranoid about it, and in fact it didn't happen, as the next day he came that morning with some more food.

And he talked about himself some more. It seemed to me like he was trying to get across to me that he really wasn't a bad guy. That he was misunderstood:

My daughter says that Im a mean person, but honestly that not true. Im down deep a really good person. But people can be real bastards. You know own allot of property in South Central and I have these black guys constantly come up to me and say that Im a racist, and I tell them Yeah I a racist. A racist against assholes! Haha. But the truth is I don't care what color a person is as long as their a good person I totally treat them as equals.

Even considering everything he had done for me, and how good he was being to me now, just looking at him, and what little I knew about him, I knew that that was as big a lie as he could tell.

Allot of people think Im cheap too. But I just understand the value of things. Like people say Get rid of that old ugly car and get a new one. That ones embarrassing. But I don't need any new Cadillac or big car, that one right there does me just fine. And you see all the stuff I have in the houses? I kept them there because they are still of value. You know a person will bend over to pick up a quarter on the street so whats the problem if I bend over to pick up a nut that costs 25¢? No really that just makes sense. Now if you wanna talk about cheap lets talk about the Jews! Now they are some really cheap bastards! You may have notice a book I have in there called the master plan of the sons of Zion. Its about how the Jews control all the news papers and banks. That book was a real eye opener.

As he talked about the Jews and their obsession with money I thought about what a classic case of projection this was. This man who was a millionaire, who still would break his back to pick up a 25-cent nut, was saying he hated Jews because they were too cheap.

The next day He got me some clothes. The day after that. He even went and got me some shoes. There were actually size 18 but hey they worked.

He came by every couple of days mainly just to talk. He was being nice to me but at the same time it was a forced niceness. It wasn't something that was natural to him. That shrilly voice of intolerance that Christmas eve, that seemed to be the real him, but now he was fighting against. But why? Was it the thought that he was going to die that Christmas that changed him. No, again the gentleness in his voice wasn't of volition. It was something he put there to make an impression, to convince, and it wouldn't be there other wise. But who to impress? Who to convince? Me? Why? Himself? Did he want to convince himself, and a bunch of people he was going to eventually tell this story to, that he wasn't the mean cheap racist they kept saying he was?

The whole thing was too unbelievable to be believed. So this cheap petty racist was going to support me while I wrote? Too unreal to comprehend. And yet it was happening, all I had to do was keep writing , and show him that I was doing something and I was set. He would pay me 40 a day and all I had to do was work around the house. This was too incredible.

Everyday I sat at the typewriter trying to think of something to write. But nothing really came. I musta been able to squeeze out a page or two but that was it. What a time to get writers block. My main concern was how I was going to explain the phone bill when it came in. that was going to be tricky. But tat was a ways away.

Everyday he would come by and check on me. But around the fifth day I notice a change started to happen. He was starting to have second thoughts about his generosity. And and finally asked me if I could leave before the new years because he wanted to sell the house.


Kevin you know Im afraid your going to have to leave.

Why?

Well (he drawled out) ya see Im going to sell the house and well I need it empty for the new year.

When are you going to sell the house?

Before the new year so it will go on my taxes.

It was a lie. The gentlemen was turning into the devil. I knew it was a lie but what the fuck. how the hell could I complain. I wasn't in jail, he had fed me and given me money for a week. Still I starting getting the itch again to call the hot line. I started calling. They said some very interesting things, that I wont get into here.

After I got this call from the phone company asking for Frank. I said he wasn't here. They asked when he was going to be there. I asked what it was about, they said the recent charges on his phone. Fuck! I told them he was out of town. From the sound of the women's voice I could tell she knew I was lying. Her job was to find out why there was so much activity on the people's phone, more often then not its because someone else is using it. She guessed right away, I was the other person.

When will he be back?

Um? …Next week. My voice no where near being able to hide my nervousness.

They call again with another women trying to trick me.

When she call back again insisting on talking to Frank I decided to come clean…sort off. I told her that I was living in this guys house and that he owed me a whole bunch of money, charging up the phone was the only way I could get my money back. I told about his books on the confederacy and "The Master Plan of the Sons of Zion" ( Please be Jewish! Please be Jewish!) She was unmoved, she still had to talk to Frank. I told herstill he wouldn't be back until next week. She called back several times. Often calling and just hanging up when she heard my voice.

But I was leaving now anyway. I still couldn't figure out why he did all this. Maybe only he would really ever know.

New Years Eve I got ready to go. He kept calling me up making sure I was going to leave that night, and to leave the keys in the mailbox, because he said he was going to come at twelve and start cleaning up. Incredible lies, but again what did I have to complain about?

Frank said I could have anything I wanted in the house, including the TV. I packed all the stuff and put in on the porch. This was when I realized that it was too much to carry all at once. It was about 11 at night. I was sitting there thinking about to do, when I saw Frank drive up the street. I thought hell I might as well give him the keys personally. I wave over to him and he waved back. But when I started walking towards the car, he stepped on the gas and took off down the street.

What the fuck? was he afraid of me? After everything that happened?

He came back around the block. I took the keys out of my pocket and held them high over my head and jiggled them to indicate I just wanted to give them to him, and he in fact nodded back at me, but again as soon as I made a motion towards him he put the petal to the metal and his car went screaming down the street.

It he kept encircling the block and passing by the front of the house like this several times. Each time I made a move him he took off again. I was really getting confused as to what this all meant.

Then that old fag who called himself Pop's appeared at the end of the block in his muscle car, cruising. Were they two together? I waved over at Pop's car. When he saw he slowed down I walk over to the Pop's car. He didn't speed away.

Hey whats up? He asked me

Nothing much. Just then Frank came by. Hey do you know that guy? I said pointing at Frank and his car, which was now speeding away again.

He looks over to him That guy? in the car?

Yeah

No. why? His answer seemed genuine, as did his confusion as to why I asked.

Nothing just asking. I looked back at my bags on the porch. Hey could you give me a ride to the beach?

Yeah sure!

I got my bags here that I cant carry by myself.

No problem pack em in.

I got the bags and was putting them in the back sit when Frank came by again. He looked at me quickly then gunned the car down the street.

Hey whats that guys deal? Pop's asked.

Oh I was staying in his house.

And his kicking you out on new years eve?

Yeah.

Doesn't sound like a friend. Sounds more like a Scrooge.

His ok.

You know the story of Scrooge?

I smiled, Heh yeah I know the story.

Adapted from The first part of the screenplay
"Sketches of Nothing By a Complete Nobody"

"Bumdog for Dummies"

An empty parking lot in Downtown LA. Towards the center of the lot is someone sleeping under several blankets. To the side of the blankets are a pair of tattered sandals, a backpack and a half-empty bottle of Gatorade. As the breath of the sun comes up over the building the complete darkness becomes huge shadows, then shortens into long shades in a way that you can noticeably gauge time passing. There is no movement under the blankets as long as it remains in the shade, however, when the heat of the sun finally hits, the blankets begin to visibly move as the person underneath squirms under the change in temperature caused by the warmth of the sun. Finally the covers are pulled back and we see Bumdog, a pronunciation of modern day poverty: a grasshopper thin blackman, with an extremely dirty unkempt beard. He is bald headed, but has his remaining hair that circles his head, in dread locks that come down to his shoulders that are bleached light brown from his outdoor lifestyle. He squints up at the sun, the source of his reveille. He rubs he eyes and forehead, then props his pillows up behind him and sits up. He reaches underneath the blankets, pulls out a cell phone and checks for any messages. The screen says two missed calls: One from "Lilli" and one from "Ma". He shakes his head puts the phone in his pocket then feels underneath the blankets again until he pulls out an iPod. One touch and it's on. On the screen he scrolls up to PLAYLISTS. He taps on the pad and scrolls down until he get to a playlist called "Good Morning!" One touch and the songs in the playlists appear, again he scrolls down to the song "My Favorite Things" by John Coltrane. The first chords of the piano keys hits his ears, and rolling melody takes over all other sounds of the downtown morning.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens;

Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens;

Out of his backpack he pulls out a bag with a jelly donut in it and begins to eat it, as this, along with his Gatorade constitutes his breakfast, as the music plays on, through his iPod.

Brown paper packages tied up with strings;

These are a few of my favorite things.

After he is finished he just lies there and loafs some more, lazily looking around at people jogging, walking their dogs, other homeless people getting up and even some cars arriving in the car lot for work. Finally after taking some heavy sighs, he firmly decides to get up, throws the blankets off, and walks over to the farthest end of the lot to take his morning piss.

Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels;

Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles;

He gets back to his blankets and begins packing them into a large black plastic bag. When done he puts on his backpack, throws the plastic bag over his shoulder and walks out of the parking lot into the street.

The morning sun is just born and bright, and aided by the morning humidity, seems to reflect off of everything: buildings, cars, gates, and signposts.

Wild geese that fly with the moon their wings;

These are a few of my favorite things.

Behind a building he hides his blankets in a crevice in the wall.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes;

Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes;

He then begins to make his way west as the rest of the city continues to wake up. Passing the homeless taken down their tents in unison as shop keepers simultaneously maneuver around them to open their shop doors, pushing the homeless, much like the morning sun pushes out the shadows into oblivion of corners and crevices. Mexican street venders setting up food cooking grills and pirated DVD and music stands. Businessmen strongly striding into office buildings, cars and buses push, and inch forward congesting everything with steel and exhaust.

Silver-white winters that melt into springs;

These are a few of my favorite things.

Bumdog ducks into one of the street port potties to do the rest of his morning business. Comes out washes his hands at a spigot on the side of a building, walks a couple of more blocks too a line of homeless waiting to be served breakfast by some Christian charity. He talks with some people he knows for a while then walks towards the library.

When the dog bites,

When the bee stings,

When I'm feeling sad,

I simply remember my favorite things,

And then I don't feel so bad.

When he enters the library he quickly grabs a couple of books off the shelf and makes it to one of the booths. There he takes out a power surge and plugs it into the outlet. Then he takes the chargers for his iPod, cell phone, and Palm Pilot and plugs them all into the power surge then into the devices they are meant to charge.

When he is done he begins to look at some of the books he has taken off the shelf. They are all photography books. One of them is called "Raised By Wolves" by Jim Goldberg. It is a photographic essay on teenagers living homeless in Hollywood. As he browses through it he slowly begins to drift of to sleep. On his iPod the music shuffles from John Coltrane's "My Favorite Things" to Bob Dylan's "Like a Rollin Stone" As he slowly falls into a nap the photos from the book and the music from his iPod play off each other in his head as he drifts off to sleep.

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

To be on your own

With no direction home

Like a complete unknown

Like a Rollin' Stone?

A library security guard wakes him up. "Excuse me, Sir, but this isn't a hotel. You're gonna have to find some place else to sleep." Bumdog nods OK. He checks all of his hardware: iPod, Cellphone and PDA. Everything is charge up. He unplugs everything and walks out of the library into the street

He stops at a Mexican food stand. Looking up at the menu he sees the cheapest thing on they have is a $1.99 burrito. He checks all his pockets all he can come up with is $1.10. He looks up at the Mexican behind the counter, trying to see from his face if he would let him slide and sell him the $1.99 burrito for $1.10. The Mexican's face was flinty and ungiving. Reading off his face the answer was no.

Bumdog walked away and down the street. On his face was the effort to figure out what his next move was going to be. He looked around as if scouting for something. Then he takes a deep breath and comes to a firm decision. He walks down the streets to the "Arts District". He looks back and forth on the street, to make sure there area no cops around. Then he perches on a ledge of a store window and from outta his backpack he first takes out a white towel. Then he begins placing books on the towel. All the books are the same size but they all have different covers on them.

As people pass he asks them "buy a book?" Most people ignore him for the beggar he is. Not even bothering to look down at him, although some people have the decency to say no thank you. Others look down on the covers curious a bit, but not enough so to stop walking. Finally someone stops when he ask them if they want to buy a book.

Man: What are you selling?

Bumdog: Books.

Bumdog: My books.

Someone who just bought coffee: Your books? You wrote all of these?

Bumdog: Its just one book. I change the covers.

Someone who is about to buy coffee: Can I see one?

Bumdog: Sure go ahead.

Blonde Woman (bends down to pick up a book): You made these covers yourself?

Bumdog: Yeah. The original cover is sketching paper. I was going to learn how to draw things on them. But them I got lazy and just started Photoshoping onto it. On that cover I put on pictures of all my favorite writers and quotes by them. Those are paintings by my favorite painters. On that one there are self-portraits by my favorite painters. This one has Shakespeare quotes, that's the Bob Dylan song "Its Alright Ma I'm Only Bleeding" and so on.

1^st Bum: You wrote this Bumdog?

Bumdog: Yeah I wrote it.

2^ND Bum: Man I didn't know you was a writer, I thought you was just a bum like us.

Bumdog: I am a bum like yall. I slept right in the same parking lot as you.

1^st Bum: You aint a bum like me. I aint never wrote no book.

2^ND Bum: You aint even a bum like me Bumdog. You don't use drugs.

Bumdog: YOU may not be a writer like me, and I may not be a drug addict like YOU. But I'm definitely a BUM like both of you.

Someone who just bought coffee: Whats the name of your book?

Bumdog: Open it up and read it.

Barney (85 year old man squinting through his coke bottle lensed glasses reads the title aloud): Sketches.. of.. Nothing.. by.. a.. Complete.. Nobody. Nobody? Is that right?

Man with a trumpet case (reads aloud): Sketches of.

Construction Worker (reads): ..Nothing.

Old Woman (reads): .By A.

Young Girl (reads): .....Complete....

Jamaican Rasta: ....Nobody.....

Drunken Mexican (walks by and picks up a book): Que este?

Bumdog: Mio libro.

Drunken Mexican: Tu Libro? Tu?

Bumdog: Si Mio.

Drunken Mexican: (Trying to read the opening title) Que significa? Explico.

Bumdog: "Esbozo De Nada Por Un Completo Nadie".

Drunken Mexican (Look at it again then begins to repeat): Que este?

Actor (who works in coffee shop): "Sketches OF Nothing By A Complete Nobody" Ha! That's funny a funny title. What's the book about?

Bumdog: It bunch of stuff I've written over the years.

Actress (who works in coffee shop): Oh you mean like short stories.

Bumdog: Yeah that and some other stuff.
.. --> --> -->
N.Y.C. J.A.P. (reads aloud): "B-u-m-d-o-g"?

Snobby Artist Jackoff: "Bum-dog"? Are you kidding?

Punk Rock Girl (who works in the coffee shop): "Bumdog"? That's a weird name.

Veronica: Buumm---daawwwg??? What the fuck kinda name is that!?

Musician (who works in coffee shop): Where did you get the name Bumdog?

Bumdog: Because I'm a Bum.

Mella TheNeighborhood Maid : You're homeless?

Bumdog: Yeah.

N.Y.C. J.A.P.: How can you be homeless and write a book?

Bumdog: By that logic how could you have a home and NOT have written a book?

Random Local Denizen: Are you sure you are homeless?

Bumdog: I'm sure I am.

Man (reads aloud): "I dropped out of school after the 7^th grade." Why did you drop outta school after the 7^th grade:

Bumdog: Because I didn't learn anything in the 7^th grade that I didn't learn in the 6^th.

Burner Chick (after reading he looks up): You write here in London you were in an ALL White race riot?

Bumdog: Yeah, between Irish and the English. Man when those guys go at it, they really go at it. I had never been in the middle of so much racial hatred, and because I was the only black person there, absolutely none of it was directed at me.

Artist Chick: You were in Paris? Parlay vous Fraincais?

Bumdog: Oui Je parl franiase. Mai J'apprend ma Francais sur les rues, chez les immigrants et le chomage. Si tu vu parl avec moi, parl docement et pas compliquer. Pas comme un avocat. Si tu plait.

Artist Chick: (After a moment) What???

Veronica (reading): Damn! You got arrested for murder in Paris?

Bumdog: Yeah.

1^st Bum: How are the jails in Paris?

Bumdog: Small. Not as roomy as the ones in London. But they feed you allot better.

Burner Dude: I hear Morocco is cool.

Bumdog: No its hot. Sahara desert and all that you know. And plus because I was an American, so all those paranoid Arabs thought I was CIA. I kept trying to tell them I was only a bum.

2^nd Bum: "Iron Like A Lion In Zion: A Young Black Man's Experiences In The Jewish Mafia". (Laughing) Fuck Bumdog, you were in the Jewish Mafia?

Bumdog: Sorta.

N.Y.C. J.A.P.: What's the Jewish Mafia like?

Bumdog: Like a bunch of Jewish Mothers on crack.

One Of The Gottfried Helnvien's Spoiled Brats: What are these Music Videos about?

Bumdog: I wanted to direct some Music Videos for some Bob Dylan songs, so I wrote of the scripts for them and sent them in. But nobody was interested in them. I put them in the book because I needed filler.

Actress (who works in coffee shop): Being homeless you must have some interesting experiences.

Bumdog: You have no idea.

Bitch That Manages The Coffee Shop (screaming in her finger nails on chalkboard voice): How times have I told you CANNOT SIT HERE AND BEG! I'm sick and tired you goddamn filthy homeless people in front of my shop! You better be gone when I get back out here or Ill call the police!

Bumdog: Yeah, yeah.

Young Woman: Bumdog? That's a sad name.

Bumdog: Its better then the last name I had.

Texas

Red Neck: Oh yeah. And what was that pray tell?

Bumdog: I don't want to talk about it.

Photographer (as she takes his picture): You have an iPod? How can you be homeless and have an iPod?

Bumdog: Well I had a place for a while and the rent was due and I didn't have it. So ask a friend of mine for some help. And he gave me a new iPod in the box to sell. It was worth about $500 at the time and my rent was about 450. At first I tried to sell it, then I made the mistake of using it one time. And that was it. I said fuck having a place to stay, Id rather have this iPod.

N.Y.C. J.A.P: You would rather have an iPod then a place to live? I don't understand that.

Bumdog: There's a saying. "The silence has demons that only sound can chase away." Without a home I'm homeless. But without this iPod, (rolls his eyes back in his head and imitates "The Exorcist" with his voice) I'm possessed!

Artist (who works in coffee shop): You have a cell phone too?

Bumdog: Yeah. Its prepaid, cost me $50. I also have this palm pilot (tapping on it hitched to his belt). I could tell you how I got this, but then I'd have to kill you.

Man: How much for one of these books?

Bumdog: $20.

Guy who looks like he just crawled out of a Maytag box on 5th and San Pedro (who works in coffee shop): $20 why is it so expensive?

Bumdog: I don't have that many left.

Old

Texas

Red Neck: Twenty dollars! Oh hell brother I aint bought a book in twenty years. And I sure as hell aint gonna start again with a $20 one!

N.Y.C J.A.P: Id buy it, but Id have to read more about it. I mean before I invest my time and money into something I like to research the history of the book, the back ground of the author

Snobby SCI-ARC Trust Fund Babies: We would, but there's just not enough pictures in it for us. We go to SCI-ARC school of architecture. We're going to be architects. We are more visual personality types.

Burner Chick: I don't have any money but how about I trade you one your books, for one of my handmade, coral reef necklaces.

Someone who just bought coffee: I'd love to but I just spent all my money on this liquid crack. The next time I see you I'll buy one.

Burner Dude: Oh bro. No can do. I'm not into the whole exchanging one's creativity for monetary gain thing you know.

Veronica: $20 eh? All right Buuummmdaaawggg. I'll buy one. (She gives him a twenty dollar bill) But this better be good, Bumdawg. That was my Ecstasy money.

Bumdog: I'm flattered.

Veronica: You should be!

As soon as Bumdog gets the twenty dollars he immediately packs his stuff up and heads up the street towards the burrito stand and the flinty faced Mexican. He buys a bean and cheese burrito with a coke, it comes to $3.59. Equating in his head he has enough for dinner tonight ($10.32), and breakfast tomorrow ($3.75). He has to sell another book to tomorrow in order to eat lunch. If he's not able to sell one, he'd have to make what he had left stretch. But if he did sell another book, he could use that $3.66 to pamper himself.

In fact one time I was living in Broward County, Florida where people would warned me about Key West. The rents were too high, they wern't many jobs and the ones they had were all low paying, the cops were assholes, and half of the population was homosexual. But I was getting tired of Broward County. Where I was living in a cheap sleazy Motel, I was forever being surrounded by punks, prostitutes and crack heads. I needed a break and Key West was calling.

When I got off the Greyhound I started calling Hotels. All I had was a $120. They told me the Red Rooster wad the cheapest.

"Hello, Red Rooster? Yes how much is a room?..$75? A week?... No. A night?? What in it? ... Just a room with the bathroom down the hall. Thanks... click."

$75 a night for ONE fuckIn room!!! For ONE fuckin night!! And that was the cheapest! Man when they said finding a place was going to be difficult they wasn't lying.

I started calling more hotels. It was all the same story. $150 a night. $200 a night. $100 a night. I looked up and around. What the hell is in this town that makes it so expensive? I was about to give up. Well at least its pretty warm, I thought. Sleeping outside shouldn't be too much of a problem. Then I saw a listing for a Youth Hostel. (If you dont know what a youth hostel is dont feel bad most Americans dont. I heard about it by accident. It's a European idea thats only recently been got on by Americans. It's for young travelers. It works like a bunk house where youre in a room with about ten other people on bunk beds but its really cheap.) I called up. $12 a night. Fuckin cool. I got a cab over but when I got there they told me I needed a hostel card. I didnt have a Hostel card. What do I do? Well theres another Hostel called the Pegasus Hotel. You dont need a card there. Ok so I got back in the cab and went back across town (About ten blocks) to the Pegasus. $15 a night. Cool.
As I was signing in a young guy came down with his backpack. He noticed I was getting the room he was checking out of.

"It's cool up there." he says. "Theres only one other guy in the room. An old man name Joe. His pretty cool, but his kinda touchy about his stuff."

I went up and opened the door on an old scrappy little rebel. He gave me a smile that I often, see when people find themselves alone with a 6'4 blackman.

"Well hey thar ol bud! Pleased ta metcha. Names Joe."

"Hi names Bumdog.

New in town?"

"Yeah, just got here this morning. This is the cheapest place I could find."

"Yeah thas what I hear. I been here a month. When I got of the bus I jest asked a feller where the cheapest place was and he pointed across the street here. Been here ever since. Its small but I spent allot time in jail in California, so Im kinda used to being confined to small tight places."

"Yeah I know that feeling myself."

"Yeah then you know this aint so bad. In fact it's kind roomy to me. Found a job working construction over by the Police station. But man that job was killing me, ol hus! They had me carrying a 70 pound jackhammer up four flights of scaffolding! Ohhh they were trying to kill me!" He shook his head chuckling. "I couldnt take it no more and went out to find another job and found work as a painter. Oh hus Im a dandy of a painter! Dont pay to well but its a job."

"Yeah Im gotta be looking for a job myself."

Well what do you do for work?"

I hemmed and hawed "Well ... kinda like ... you know ... odd jobs. .. janitor ... cleaning up...

He impatiently put me off. "Hey now lets jest cut to the chase! What do you do besides selling drugs for a living?"

I just looked at him. "Oh so its gonna be like that uh?"

He just grinned and you could see he didnt have that many teeth left in his mouth.

"Wants some beer?"

"Naw I dont drink."

"Oooohhh myyy Laawd! You mean I aint gotta worry about someone stealing my beer! Ooooh dear Gawd!

As it turn out he was a pretty cool old man. He drew me a map of the city and gave me directions on where I could look for some jobs.

"Thats right ol hus its pretty hard to find a job in this town. And being black I know I aint gotta tell you its gonna be extra hard for you. But you can do it, if you dont get discouraged."

"Yeah. Thanks."

I unpacked my stuff and laid down to rest for a bit, but I underestimated the effect of the bus ride down, and didnt wake up till the next morning. Joe was already going work.

"Good luck finding a job ol bud!"

"Thanks Joe."

I went right out and with map in hand started, looking for a job. I went to the place where Joe last worked. They said they didnt need anyone which was alright by me because it was right next to the county jail and wouldnt much care to see all those pigs coming and going from work everyday.

I checked out a few other places Joe told me about, but none them panned out. I looked in the local newspaper but there was nothing there (On the front page was the headline "CAT MISSES WEDDING BUT HAS GOOD EXCUSE". It seems a cat got stuck on a boat for three months and with all the things going on in the world this was on the front page. Unreal). Walking around town I got allot of good vibes. It really felt like a little Los Angeles. As I walked down the main drag of Duvall street there were lots of HELP WANTED signs but they were all in clothing shops. Im black, 6'4, painfully skinny with typical Mike Tyson face. I could barely dress myself much less convince anyone else what to wear. I was getting discouraged. I decided to take a break and ducked into a restaurant bar named Ricks for something to eat.

I waited at a table for a waiter when I noticed a HELP WANTED sign in the corner. I asked one the waiters and they said they needed some help and that he would get the manager. In a few minutes the manager came down. He was a young guy with a goatee and pony tail. He looked really cool.

"Hi, my names Eddy. You interested in the job?"

"Yeah sure what is it doing?"

"It's cleaning up at night after the bar closes. It's from 4 in the morning to 12. We're having problems getting people because it's a job no one wants. You can't blame them it's only minimum wage and it's from four in the morning to twelve separating trash to get recycled. So it's hard getting people to stay.

"You take taxes out?

He sighed with a smile. "Yeah, fraid so. When I first started that was my job. I was homeless at the time and just needed something. Its a shitty job but jobs are hard to find in this town."

"Whats it like being homeless here?"

"Pretty rough, the cops are pretty much assholes. Theyre always fuckin with you when they know your homeless. But allot of cops hang out here so since Iv been working here theyve left me alone."

Well the job sounds ok with me. The hours are not a problem I like working nights and used to have to do the same kinda job cleaning up trash in Las Vegas."

"Cool man. Ill get cha a application."

He came back with the application and left me, at the table to fill it out. It was a standard application: Name, Address, Birthrate, Social Security ... Musta filled out hundreds of them. Most of times without even thinking. But this one was different. I dont know why but for some reason I really LOOKED at this one.

FIRST NAME: Bum...Kevin

LAST NAME: Torres

MIDDLE NAME: Edward

ADDRESS: Pegasus Hotel

BIRTDATE: May 25 1969

SINGLE?
Now why would they want to know that?

SINGLE? Yes ... Unfortunately.

MARRIED?

What the fuck is this? Whats with all the personal questions? Im not applying to be the president of a bank. This is a job nobody wants.

MARRIED? No...Thank God.

DIVORCE? Not in my mind.


DO YOU HAVE A SPOUSE?
Then I just flipped out.


DO YOU HAVE A SPOUSE? I killed her


ARE YOU LIVING WITH ANYONE? Yes-They live in the refrigerator

DO YOU HAVE ANY CHILDREN? Three... from a past life

DO YOU OWN A HOUSE OR DO YOU RENT? I own a house. I live on the roof.

LIST YOUR EDUCATION ELEMENTARY,HIGH SCHOOL AND COLLEGE:


HOW MANY YEARS WHAT YEARS NAME OF SCHOOL
One year
1975 RAINBOW TREE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL
Burned down school in 1976


WHAT WERE YOUR MAJORS: Positive Thinking and Constructive behavior

NAME YOUR LAST THREE PLACES OF EMPLOYMENT:



NAME FOUR PERSONAL REFRENCES,THIER OCCUPATIONS AND ADDRESSES:





HAVE YOU BEEN CONVICTED OF A FELONY IN THE LAST SEVEN YEARS? Yes

IF YES WHAT FOR? I still dont remember.

DO YOU HAVE ANY MILITARY EXPERIANCE? Yes

IF YES,WHAT BRANCH OF THE MILITARY: C.I.A

WHAT WERE YOUR DUTIES? Im not allowed to divulge that information.

DO YOU KNOW ANY FORIEGN LANGAUGES? Yes

IF YES LIST THEM: Gang sign language.

DO YOU HAVE ANY PHISICAL IMPAIRMENTS? Yes

IF SO WHERE? My hip

WHAT CAUSED THE INJURY? An AK-47

DESCIBE THE INJURY IN DETAIL: BANG!!!BOOM!!!CRASH!!!

DO YOU HAVE ANY SPEECH PROBELMS? Nnnnnnnnnnnnoooooooooooooo

DO YOU HAVE ANY HEARING PROBLEMS? Huh?

DO YOU HAVE ANY SEEING PROBELMS?

DO YOU HAVE ANY MENTAL PROBELMS? No ... Why do you ask mother?

DO YOU TAKE ANY MEDICATION? Yes

IF YES WHAT FOR? They make the voices go away.

LIST SOME OF YOUR HOBBIES: Lying cheating stealing and general acts of nationwide' terrorism.

IS THERE ANYTHING YOU WANT US TO KNOW IN CONSIDERATION OF YOUR APPLICATION? Yes. I take rejection VERY VERY badly. Just ask my mommy. Of course if you really want to ask her your going to have to hold a sance. I just got out on that one. Now when do you want me to start?




I looked over it. I thought about tearing it up and starting a new one. But then I thought about how cool the guy was. I figured he would read it and either get a kick out of it or tell me Id have to do another. The worst he could say is get the hell outta here. Which would be alright with me. Hell its a job nobody wants!

But he didnt even look at it he just took it and said ok just be here at four o'clock tomorrow morning and you can start. Cool.

Well how about that. I got a job just like that. Joe was right just dont get discouraged. When I got back-to the Hotel Joe was back from work. I told him about the job.

Well hey ole bud thats wonderful jest won-der-ful! How but that, you went right out and did it on the first day. Im proud of ya hus!"

"Thanks."

I was starting to feel pretty proud myself. You know this old rebel wasnt so bad afterall.

"Ooooooh deeeear Gaawd, Im happy for you ol bud. As hard it is to find a job and you did it. I think that calls for a celebration."

We bought a whole chicken but it was too frozen and we had to eat sandwiches instead. For the rest of the night I listen to Joe talk about his life, He had sparkling blue eyes and when he talked he spoke in a low moan, the kind that southerner often have like they were singing their words.

"Ooooooh deeeeaarr Gaaawwd."

I went to bed early and woke up around 3 o clock. I had plenty of time but I wanted to get a head start. I showered and got dressed and was off.

Walking down Duvall street there were still plenty of people out partying. As walked a cop car drove by. The cop wave Ay whats up man! I wave back. This is gonna be great. I got a place to stay taken care of and Joe a pretty cool dude so staying up there with him wont be a problem. Ill have enough money to pay, the rent and with these hours Im working I can still get more work. And this job will keep me cool with the cops. Theyll see me working everyday I wont have to worry about them constantly hunting me down like an animal like every other city Iv ever been in. Another cop car went by and I waved at em and they wave back.

I did It! Everyone talked about how hard it was to make it in Key West, and I made it on the very first day! Beat the rents, beat the jobs, beat the cops. Ha! That shows you what Bumdog is made of!

When I walked into Ricks there were some cops sitting at the bar. I nodded at them they nodded back. Cool. I ask someone for Eddy. They went to go get while I waited. Eddy appeared at the door with a another man. The man was older. He looked like the owner. He talking really fast as if he was upset. Eddy was trying to calm him down. He kept looking over at me really agitated. Finally Eddy came over.

"Hey man."

"Hey. Whats up?"

"Say man what was up with that application?"

"Oh I was just kidding around."

"Yeah well I showed it to the owner and he really freaked out."

I looked over to the owner and took a step toward him. He took a jump back and looked quickly over my shoulder. I looked over my shoulder too and there the cops were on top of me.

"You want to step over here."

I stepped over to the bar where they handcuffed and search me. They took my ID and asked me how long Id been in town, where I was staying etc.

"Ok Mr. Torres were just going to take you down to the station to have you checked out."

"What the fuck for?!?!?"

"Those were some pretty strange things you wrote down here."

"But I was just KIDDING! Didn't you see where I wrote down I work for the CIA! Thats a JOKE!

They didnt want to hear it I looked over to Eddy. He shrugged trying to say there was nothing he could do. I looked at the owner, he was clear across the room but still looked at me apprehensive, like he thought I was gonna jump him. The cops yanked my arm towards the door. When we got outside there were six cop cars out there waiting for me. Jesus they dont have that many cop cars in LA when theres a murder. All the cops were out and staring at me hard. Memorizing my face for future reference. The first impression is always the most lasting.

They put me in the back seat of a cruiser and rode off one escort car in front another in the back.

I started imagining myself in a cell with a bunch of big hard up niggas.

"What are you in for? Murder. How about you? Rape. And you over there? Grand theft auto. Then a pack of them come over to me. "So what cho' in fo'?"

I look up. All these motherfuckers are twice my size.

"Im in here for filling out a job application.

They all look at me all weird. Your kidding?

No Im not

As I start to explain what happened the snickering starts, turning to chuckling until every one in the cell is laughing at me.

The cops kept looking back at me a little nervous, because they cant figure out why Im in the back seat of the cruiser giggling to myself as we pulled into the parking lot of the Monroe County Jail.

Bumdog the Filmmaker Part 1

 

 

 

I live in downtown LA, Just east of skid row section of downtown known as "The Pits". It's a section where the  warehouses and work factories  of a bygone era were transformed into Lofts by painters willing to brave the intense smog, noise, congestion, crack, violence and homeless Mecca that was to lay just outside the door of their cheap, yet spacious high beamed, hardwood floored studios.

 

If you lived downtown you more then likely a social security/welfare case,  homeless, Schizophrenic, Alcoholic, a crackhead, crack dealer, heroin addict, transvestite hustler., just-out-on-parole or jumped parole and hiding out, a gangster who got kicked out of their own gang, an artist or some other form of fated non-entity. Im always amazed at the amount of people I meet who have been ALL the above.

 

Where I stay is just east of this downward swirling cesspool (that I love). Its almost all warehouses, which means its almost all lofts, unlike a few blocks west where $5000 a month condo are surrounded by three or four $220 a month welfare hotels ("Please to met you, Im your neighbor from just across the street. I thought Id bring over some homemade crumb cake, and wanted to ask you if you wanted to pay me $20 to watch over your Mercedes now, or would you like to have it broken into later?"). Although the rents are starting to go up astronomically, Its still cheap enough (and there are a few hotels about) that most of the people who still live here are struggling artists: either doing something creative for a living, want to do something creative for a living, have pretensions of creativity, or sysphcons  who leach off of the former.

 

Last year I was living in the Fairfax district of LA, when I got into a fight with some shit talking punk. I socked him in the jaw and started strangling him. Then I did something stupid. As I strangling him I got the idea in my head to pick him up in the air like a rat. I started picking up. I had him up off his toes Then it happened. My knee (which was already tricked out from an old injury) went out from under me. It didn't hurt but I couldn't stand on it anymore. I was trying to figure out what was happening to me, at the same time I was still trying to strangle the little bitch in my hands. Eventually he pulled away from me, and as I couldn't follow him, he scampered off. But now I had to figure out what had happened to me.

 

I made it over to a friend's house and he took me to the hospital. Diagnosis: Torn ligaments in the knee. Beautiful. After a few days at his house he said I couldn't stay and where did I want to go? I said I always wanted to live downtown. He dropped me off on first and Vignes.

 

From here I had more then a few interesting adventures, which Im going to have to get back to at a later time.

 

One of the strange things for me about living downtown is that I don't really know any other homeless people here, even though I'm homeless. I know allot of them by face and name, but I don't really know them. Almost everyone I know live in these big ass lofts, some people are quite influential. The reason for this is downtown homeless are all about drugs. That's why they are downtown. They've given up on everything except chasing whatever it is that elevates the oppressive misery of their everyday lives. Everything else has failed them: Hard work, positive thinking, faith in a loving (or vengeful) God etc. Or they simply lack the training or experiences to make it work for them. They maybe all together, but they all live in their own painfully separate worlds. Their only interaction with the outside world is to accrue that which sustains that neither world: The easy company of alcohol, the indescribable warmth of heroin, the two dollar paradise of the first hit of crack (But only the first hit. They spend the rest of their lives chasing that first hit). And they are all very parochial about it too. The heroin addicts don't associate with the crack heads. Crackheads don't deal with the winos. Winos don'tetc.

 

I don't do drugs. Don't drink. Don't even smoke cigarettes. Because of that there is no reason for them to know me. No purpose. I may sleep right next to them, but Im in another world as far their everyday mission is concerned. So the people I know aren't homeless. They often live in big nice lofts (although they still may be drug addicts themselves). Creative types.

 

Many of them make movies. Excuse me only a very few of them are in the movie business in any way, shape, or form. Most of them want to make movies. Id see them in their five by five hotel rooms, with their little digital cameras shooting something for a few minutes, then editing it on iMovie into these little music videos, that they repeat like a mantra, will eventually bring them fame and fortune. Most of them inhabited a fantasy world none too different from the people who slept in their door ways. Its just that instead of crack rock, it was rays of hope that kept them getting from day to day.

 

Rays of hope made possible by this new technology. In fact that's what sprung me. Watch them put together these pointless little movies, documentaries, and music videos together right in front of my eyes with such ease fascinated me. "Anyone can do this shit Bumdog. Hell if you had a computer you could do it! Hahaha! Can you imagine that?" they kept saying to me. "Yeah thated be funny."

 

So Im walking around downtown just trying to figure out some way to waste my time when I started seeing that I could in fact make a 3 minute music video culled from just the images around me here downtown, and it wouldn't cost me anything except someone to shoot it and somewhere to edit on. I decided to do it. I didn't think it would accomplish anything; it would just give me something to do. I also thought of another music video I could do that would be 13 minutes long, and all I would need is someone with a digital camera and iMovie to edit it on. Then it occurred to me that if I somehow made them fit together; somehow write it so that one segued way into the next, That would make it 16 minute. Then I wouldn't just have two music videos. I would have a "Short Film". Cool.

 

From there I started adding things on here and there. Scenes and shots that met the criteria of not costing anything, just a camera and iMovie. I added in a couple of my short stories ("The Jewish Mother and Black Bum" and "Job and Punishment"), and a few more cheap to shoot personal experiences,  and when I was all done I had 107-minute movie worked out in my mind, that would cost me nothing. Well not NOTHING. I mean just to walk around in this world cost money. So theorized I would need at least $500 just for misilaneous.

 

BUT A MOVIE!!! I always wanted to do a movie, but I thought the only way id ever get a chance to make one is if I met some billionaire on the street, Id tell him I liked to direct movies, and he would give me a couple of million dollars just for kicks. That's how much in the realm of possibility me ever making a movie was. But now I had figure out the means of doing it all by myself, while Im jobless, homeless, loveless, and living in one of the lowest pits of humanity in the country.

 

 

I was proud and confident (two rare emotions on my part) as I started to formulate a plan of assured success..

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED:

 

 

 

This is another story in my book. There are actually pictures in this one but I couldnt figure out how to HTML them in. If someone knows how to do this please message me. in the mean time your going to have to imagine the maps of paris and a picture of the eiffel tower at night.




When I got to Paris I had 25 Dutch pence. Which in the United States is 12 cents. Which in France is nothing


The date was May 17th. I remember because it was a week before my birthday on the 25th and I wanted to spend it in SPRING TIME IN PARIS. Back in Amsterdam I was freezing my ass off. It was unreal cold. But on top of that I was from Los Angles so it seemed my ass was freezing over more then everyone elses. I traveled across America running away from the cold. The last 3 months were the coldest and longest Id ever spent in my life without seeing the sun. After The last month in Amsterdam and the previous two months in London I needed sunshine like a bad fix.

While I was in Amsterdam I dreamed of Paris. The Netherlands was so bleak, barren and desolate (and dont forget cold!). I hungered like a fasting man for food, for the warmth of the sun on my face. After all that time I was literally nostalgic for heat and sunshine. It had been so long it seem like a childhood memory.

And Paris in the Spring Time was legendary beautiful!! Man o man beautiful bright flowers blooming everywhere! (Even on the buildings! ). God I cant wait! I just hope it aint over by the time I get there! Eventually my moms sent my just enough money for a bus ticket. And in one night trip I was there in the miracle that is Paris in the spring time.



PARIS IN THE SPRINGTIME

WHAT A FUCKING JOKE!!! Fuckin MONSOON IN PARIS is what they need to call it! I never saw so much water in my life! Heavy, light, hard, breezy, windy, gusty. It kept changing but at the same time IT NEVER STOPPED! Even going through the Florida swamps I didnt see this much water. And it was such depressing rain. It was even worst then Amsterdam because it was soooo depressing.

Underneath the cover of a bus stop watching all the rain come down a song played in my head as if I was sitting next to a jukebox:


Get this video and more at MySpace.com
I ate a couple of sandwiches I had bummed off some bums back in Amsterdam and crashed out in as nearby park under a canopy. I was cold and wet but it didnt matter the tiredness from the bus ride knocked me out as soon as I was settled in.

When I woke up the next day it was noon. It was cloudy but strangly bright with a light drizzly coming down. Apparently that was good enough for most people here who were use to the weather because the streets were crowded and there were even people and children playing here in the park too.

I sat there watching the people and the drizzly, not wanting to move out of the canopy because of the drizzly, and not wanting to move around because by this time hunger had embedded itself deep in my stomach, making any movement pointless except to remind me of my hunger.

So there I was looking out from the canopy, with a mad hungry look on my face, at the people in the park. Watching these people was actually quite interesting. I was viewing mores and customs Id never seen before. When two people meet they kissed each other on both cheeks. This was always the case with a man and a woman or two women. Less so for two men, and often RELUCTANTLY for one man of the two.

There was a small group of Arab men in the park. I notice that every time that someone new came into the group they made a point of shaking the hands of every single person in the group. Not like in America shaking the hand of the person closest to you and just waving or nodding or grunting to the rest. I also notice that every time they shook someones hand theyd touched their hearts with the same hand. A beautiful gesture that immediately struck me. (In fact after I picked it up myself I never stopped. To this day I still use it.)

As people walked by me it was strange to hear what people were saying and not being able to understand a single word. I couldnt understand anything in Dutch either. But in the Netherlands they all spoke English so communication was never a problem. And even when they spoke Dutch they laced it with so many English words, that figuring out what they were saying was no great mystery. On top of that I really didnt care.

But now it was different. Here the language physically separated me from the everyone else. It was a hard cold reality that I was a alien in a native culture.

There's a something odd about me. People talk to me. I mean they REALLY talk to me. Ive sat in parks before and had people sit right next to me and tell me theyre whole life story. Once while in the park a man struck up a conversation with me and told me that his Grandfather and sisters molested him and now he was on the run from the law for molesting his niece. I used to think things like that were flukes. But as the years passed by more and more people found me fit to confess all their sins to, while the whole time repeating over and over" I cant be believe Im telling you this". Since Im usually in the company of dope fiends and drunks I figured that they did this all the time when theyre high. It was only when people who werent dope fiends or drunks started doing it I took notice.

Well that cant possible happen here I thought. How can someone tell me their life story without me understanding a word theyre saying?

Hours passed and the hunger that was gnawing into my stomach was now powerdrilling into it. A decrepit old Arab man with a cane hobbled over to my bench and sat right next to me.

Bonjour (Good day) he sezs to me.

Bonjour

He ask me a question in French and I replied

Je ne parle pas Francais

Ou tu vein du?

The only thing I understood in that sentence was "Ou" which meant "Where?". Logic concluded that he was asking me where I was from.

Je suis Americain (I am an American)

Ahh!Vous etre American?

The only words I understood were Vous (You) and American. So I nodded. He smiled and began to talk... and talk... and talk. I made out that he was from Algeria and that he liked France very much but other then that it was all Greek to me.

Before I left Amsterdam I bought I a French phase book and dictionary. So I made out a few words, but no where near what I needed to understand what he was saying. When he said a word I understood I nodded or made some kinda response like I new what he was saying:

Vous: You (nod)
Mason: House (Hmmm)
Belle: Beautiful (oui)
.. Like or Love (oh?)
Beaucoupe: Very Much (Of course)
Mange: Food or Eat (Nodding vigorously)

Every time he said mange (to eat) my eyes light up and I nodded my head vigorously. I interrupted him several times to try to tell I was hungry and needed food. But he didnt understand what I was trying to say and continued on talking.

This went on for a half an hour him trying to explain to me his life story and me trying to explain to him I WAS HUNGRY! I was really getting nowhere when he stopped smiled, got up shook my hand, thanked me and hobbled off on his cane.

I think he musta had some kinda built in weather tracking system because as soon as he was outta sight the clouds thickened and soon thereafter the monsoon season returned. It rained hard for hours into the night. When it finally let up my hunger was at the stage where I couldnt just sit there and take it anymore. I got up and started asking people where the Louvre was. The problem was no one seemed to know. When I asked Ou le Louvre? people would just point in a direction. Then when I walked two blocks in the appointed direction Id ask someone else and theyd point me back into the direction I just came from. These people were just like Londoners. They really didnt know where anything was. They knew how to GET to where they were going. But they did so on instinct and memory. They had no idea how to direct some one else. They werent trying to get me lost. They just didnt know. Passing a bus stop I passed what I thought was my salvation
JAVIEIR

MARTINIER
HOIDER
BOUCHIER

SURVILLE

VOUS ETRE ICI BOUNGOLET

EPERNAY
TONNERE

BLOIS

SAINT DENIS

RUE RIVORI




LOUVRE




Since VOUS ETRE ICI couldnt mean anything other then YOU ARE HERE I was obviously taking the right route. I started a trek down, because it was all down hill. I had a heavy army duffel bag that was getting heavier. Back in Amsterdam before I left I had two bags and both were way past heavy. I dumped as much as I could, notebooks I had for years, books I cherished, tapes I couldnt live without, tossed them all. But this damn bag was still a load.

Luckily I was going down hill so it wasnt that bad. My hunger, along with the rain had let up. But it did keep growling everytime I past a fruit store. I kept walking wishing I had the guts to steal some fruit off one of these fruit stands.

I think I was about two miles down when I stopped at a bus stop to check on my progress. I couldnt believe what I saw









LOUVRE

RUE RIVORI

SAINT DENIS VOUS ETRE ICI

BLOIS

TONNERE
EPERNAY

BAGNOLET

SURVILLE

BOUCHIER

HOIDER
MARTINEIR






As I write this down I can see now I was going in the right direction. But because it was upside down and opposite what I thought was indicating north south east and west, hunger, disorientation from being in a new country and desperation just didnt allow me to think straight and I became convinced I was going the wrong way.

I stood there fucked up. I looked up the hill just not believing it. But I didnt have no choice. So I started back up that fucking hill cursing the motherfuckers who mapped out this fuckin city.

I tol myself fess up this time. Your gonna have to steal some food off of one of those damn stands. Now check your nuts! And take of business.

I agreed (with myself?). I was gonna get some of that fruit off of one of those fruit this time around. But climbing up that hill all the stores I had gone pass before was all closed. The only one that was still open had two Arab storeowners sitting in front of it staring right at me with the infinitely suspicious look of their race.

I got as far as the park when I stopped at a bus to look at the map. And sure enough...













JAVIEIR

MARTINIER
HOIDER
BOUCHIER

SURVILLE

VOUS ETRE ICI BOUNGOLET

EPERNAY
TONNERE

BLOIS

SAINT DENIS

RUE RIVORI



LOUVRE


Aw thats it! Ive had it. I cant make down that hill again. I dont give a fuck where I am I just cant make it.

I sat on the bus stop bench the little energy I had from those cheese sandwiches the day before gone. And now the monsoon had now returned. I crawled over into a apartment doorway and crashed out.

I couldnt get no sleep. I was too cold and wet. The next morning I got up and walked over to a bus stop bench with a rain top. The rain came down hard again as I thought to myself how much longer I can go on like this in life. Chasing after silly dreams to avoid the cold hard realities of life. And even when I do escape into the dream it turns into one of those nightmares where you see the whole truth of your life right in front of you and you cant wake up. The rain came down so that I couldnt see more then a block in front of me. The water level of the street started to rise to the soles of my shoes, and I thought this is so my life. No matter where I go Ill never escape it. Again a song from "GAY PUREE" sang though my head.



Id give anything right now to strangle just ONE of those motherfuckers who ever told me how beautiful Paris is in the spring time!

Oh its simply beautiful! Flowers blooming everywhere! Even on the buildings!

Sometimes it rains a little but I just put on one those light trash bag over myself because the rain is very light, and I go walking around in street! I just love it!

Aw THAT bitch Id especially like to get my hands on right about now!

I closed my eyes and fell asleep. When I woke up the bus stop was full of people, all staring at me. Whatsamatta? You never seen a Black American Bum before? They all just kept staring at me like I was the lowest piece of shit in the world. Where the hell am I a opera house? Im at a fucking bus stop. And obviously I can see this aint even one of the better parts of town. I mean this is a public place, and they were looking at me like they couldnt believe I had the nerve to sit at the same bus stop with them. I tried to just stare back at them but it didnt work. I kept blinking. And theyd been learning how to make people feel like shit with just a look since they came out the pussy. It was genetic. Then I started to get mad and they sensed it because they finally turned away, the bus soon came and they were gone. I never saw such rude obnoxious people. And this was only the beginning had fifty million more of these motherfuckers to deal with.

Things were now officially desperate. What the hell was I going to do? I thought the best thing to do was go to the police and tell them my wallet was stolen and I needed help. Theyd have to give me something. Directions to a homeless shelter? a place to sleep tonight? a sandwich? Something. Man I hated to go to the pigs for anything, but I hadnt eaten in two days, besides that the wind was blowing the rain right into the bus stop shelter and I was getting drenched fast (A light trash bag my ass). I walked through the rain into what looked like some kinda shopping center. The exit was also the entrance to the Metro (The French subway). I stood there watching people come outta a Giant Super Market. The first thing you notice about them is that their a all carrying these huge loafs of three feet elongated French bread. They had two, three, four, sometimes a dozen of them sticking out of their shopping bags. I didnt know it was possible for human beings to eat so much bread. It looked like they ate them like candy bars. Man what I wouldnt do for just ONE of those loaves of bread. I started to feel queasy. The sickness of hunger was getting to me. Damnit if only I could beg. Even back in London it was famously easy to beg in Paris.

I tell ya mate I had me a fuckin ball in Paris. I eat in fine restaurants, slept in hotel and had a bottle of champagne every night

Yeah? What were you doing for money?

Begging

Well if there was ever a time to start begging it was differently now.

In the middle of that rushing flow of people was an old small Arab man with his hand out. As people past by they dropped coins into his open hand. He just stood there stone faced. He didnt say anything, he didnt ask for no money, if he got some he didnt say thank you, or acknowledge the people in any way, he just looked at the coins and put them in his pocket.

Thats when a thought occurred to me. You know it would take me awhile to work up the nerve to beg these people for some food but it would only take me half that amount of time to work up the nerve to rob this old man of his grip.

My courage rose as hungry simultaneously gutted down my stomach. I started to get the old man in between crosshairs, when like a bird that takes flight just as your about to shot it down with a bb gun the old man turned down the tunnel of the metro and was gone.

Damn! Now its gonna take me twice as long to get the guts up to beg. FUCK!

I dont know how long I stood there but I starting to get delirious and I was no where near being able to beg these people for anything.

So I did what I do whenever I get like this and everything seems hopeless: PRAYED.

I must warn you, dear reader, not to mistake this act as a signal of a devoutly deeply religious (superstitious?) man, and not what it truly is: a sign of utter and complete desperation.

I lowered my head and closed my eyes: Lord I am really cold, HUNGRY and alone. Please Lawd have one of these people take pity on me. I need a friend. Gotta find me an angel to save me! Help me Lawd! Help me! Save me!

I kept repeating this. Crying it out in my head over and over and over again until I was spent.

I looked up and nothing had changed. The huge exodus like flood of people coming out of the market was still there. Rushing back home so they can eat all that bread. Eat it with cheese. Maybe dip it in their fresh made tomato sauce they made for their spaghetti. Or maybe theyll eat it along with their truffle soup or mushroom covered filet minoin or potatoes au gratin or a-Aw fuck! Im going crazy!! I need some food and I need it bad! My knees were starting to buckle under me.

I dont know how long I stood there before a man walked over beside me and lit up a cigarette. Next to him is a grocery basket full of food and on top of it was a uncooked pizza.

I looked at that delicious piece of art work on the basket and back up at him. He is smoking his cigarette and staring at me. I felt like a animal in a glass cage that sees his dinner on the other side.

I whipped out my French/English dictionary to look up the words for I AM VERY HUNGRY.CAN I HAVE SOME OF YOUR PIZZA.

I: JE (pronounced: JAH)
AM: SUIS (sWEE)
HUNGRY: FAIM (fA)

I scrambled for the words looking up at him in desperation, trying to convey to him I was trying to communicate to him and not to leave before I did.

He was a painfully thin man with thick dark hair, large nose and horned rim glasses. He looked thoroughly French. He watch me as I was flipping through the dictionary, curiously interested, and annoyed. (The French no matter how you deal with them always want you to know that youre annoying them. When theyre staring at you, curious about you, interested in you, talking to you, serving you, having sex with you, they forever give you the impression of being annoyed.)

With dictionary in hand I tried to force out some words. Uh...Je suis...uh..fa-

He cut me off quickly in English-What are you trying to say?

Oh you speak English!

Yes...A little- He says. Annoyed by the question-Now what do you want?

Oh ... well see Im very hungry... I was wondering if I could have a piece of your pizza.

He looked dead straight at me and sucked on his cigarette then blew his smoke up into the air, looking me up and down.

(Oh god , I thought. A fag.)

Where are you from?-He finally said.

Im an American.

He sucked on his cigarette and blew it into the air again. Again he made me wait for his reply. -What are you doing in France without money?

I lost my wallet in Amsterdam. I just had enough money to get the bus here. -That was I lie I used every time someone asks me what I was doing in a new town without any money. It was easier then explaining I was just too stupid to plan too far ahead.

Again he made me stand there like a chump waiting for him to say something. With my whole being, eyes, facial expression and body language I tried to display how desperate for food I was, as I kept staring at back down on his pizza. He looked at me, then at the pizza I was hawking, then back up at me. Up and down. As if he was deciding to buy me or not. Oh god! Damn this dude was gay! This dude was so so gay. He saw my desperation and let his silence weighed down on me. His waiting was designed to demonstrate the advantage over me.

And you are hungry?

YES. I am VERY VERY hungry.

His tone changed into a inquisitor-Yes but why are you here without money?- Again so ANNOYED with me.

I told you I lost my wallet in Amsterdam (a lie) and I just had enough to get here. Now Im VERY VERY HUNGRY. All am asking you for is some of your pizza.

He gave the cigarette another blow job, and waited. Oh man this fool killing me! So I say to him...

Listen -And with my finger I pointed to the pizza and outlined a corner piece out of the rectangular tray-Thats all I want.

He looks at me up and down for another moment or so then sez-If you like... I could offer you more.

Yeah?-With my finger I outlined HALF of the pizza.

He shouted with laughter-No-no-no-no. I mean if you like... I could take you home... and fix you dinner there.

Now I knew the implication of what he was saying but my hunger didnt allow to think of anything other then he was offering to feed me.-Yes!-I all but shouted and shook my head eagerly like the hungry dog I was.

Ok... come along.

He took up his basket and me my duffel bag and off we went down the metro.

OH GOD WHAT AM I DOING!! FOLLOWING A HOMOSEXUAL TO HIS HOUSE?!?!?!? AM I CRAZY!??! I SWORE ID NEVER DO THIS!!! Oh god what will people say??? I heard these stories all the time, some homeless nigga suddenly living with some homosexual. The homosexual lets him stay in his apartment, feeds him, gives him money everything. Yeah what do you do with him for all that?... Oh he just likes me to watch TV with him... maybe play chess. FUCKING BULLSHIT man!! I dont believe any of that shit! I used to tell em.

And now here I am. If I go with this guy no one will ever believe that I didnt do anything with him. STOP NOW!!! Keep your dignity!

But it was no use I ate my dignity with the cheese sandwiches I had two days ago. Hunger pushed all those thoughts to the back of my head, refusing to let me think about anything other then the fact that I was about to be fed.

And I remembered that I had actually PRAYED for this. That GOD sent this man to me. And I had to trust God. His all I got now.

Besides I thought all Ill do is eat as much food as I can then leave. If he insists on something else then Ill knock him out throw him in the closet, eat everything in the refrigerator and then leave.

As we entered the metro he ask me if I had the money to get through the gate.

No. I told you I didnt have any money.

He sighed annoyed and gave me a spare ticket he had and I passed through. We got on the metro and I asked his name. Terry (Spelled in French: Thiery).

We got off at a stop called the Republic. When we got up out of the metro he pointed down the street.

Look there is the Statue of the Republic.

Down the street was a statue that looked alot like the Statue of Liberty in black marble.

Yeah yeah yeah great.-apparently I was supposed to be a interested tourist. Man I didnt give a FUCK about no damn statue! I need food! FOOD!

Thiery smirked at my hungry impatience. We crossed the street into a building, up four flights of stairs and into his apartment (His! HIS apartment! Im following a MAN into his apartment! OH MY GOD! MY GOD! MY GOD!)

He hung up his coat and put his hands on his hips and looked at me.

Well... I think it would be best if you showered before you eat.

Yes I agree.

The bathroom is here... Here is wash cloth and soap and shampoo... And please-says with a grin -take as looong as you want.

Then he give me that deep so distinctive French chuckle. There was no questioning he wanted to tell me I stunk. He was right. I had only showered twice in the last month.

Do you have any clean clothes?

Yeah in my bag.

Ok-And as he walks out of the bathroom he says back-and remember shower as looong as you need.-Another deep French chuckle and he was out the door.

Cute. Real cute.

Before I got into the shower I wanted to lock the door to make sure he didnt pop in with- Did you need a towel!... How about some more soap!... Is the water hot enough?... Trying to get a shotta me au naturale. But the lock didnt work. It looked like someone had taken it off. Apparently this wasnt the first time he invited a stranger into his home to take a shower and he had anticipated such moves. As I showered I kept one eye on the door expecting him to pop in at anytime. But these thoughts were all unfounded as he never even knocked.

I finished showering and came out. Thiery was in the kitchen and I took a chair in the small adjacent dining room. He came out.

Well... dont you feel better.

Yes.

Where are youre dirty clothes?

I pointed over to a pile.

We MUST wash them... and your jacket?

I pointed over to the wall.

I want to give that special attention...- He looked at me- You can take off your hat you know.

I had a wool skull cap on. I always wore a hat because at the age of 24 I was already going bald.

I prefer to leave it on.

He looked at me strangely then shrugged- Diner will be ready in a few minutes. After that we will wash your clothes. -He looked up at my hat and suddenly became very irritated and ordered-Stop being ridiculous. Take off that hat!

I took it off and he looked at me oddly but it wasnt the shocked disappointment you often see when you take off your hat and people see your losing your hair.

Hmmm... How old are you?

24

He shook his head and smirked -You look much older. -He shrugged and went back into the kitchen.

After a while he came out with the food and began placing it on the plate in front of me. And I DOVE into it!

Shoveling food into my mouth like the starving man I was, I cleared that plate so fast if youd a blinked you would have missed it. I placed some more (I couldnt tell you what it was, it was all a blur) on my plate and started working on the pizza to my right. I polished off half of the pizza and started working on the other half when he shouted with a laugh.

Hey! Save some for me! I did buy that for myself you know!Hahaha!

Sorry.

You know there is more food if you are still hungry. You wont have to eat my plates. HA!HA!

Thanks.

He looked very in control and confident sitting there staring at me. Considering the situation he seemed unusually calm. The fact that he had brought a large black man off the streets and into his home didnt seem to phase him in any way. I after all could be some kinda violent psychopath. But I wasnt sensing any anxious vibes in the air. Actually I wasnt getting any bad vibes off him at all personally. Although he had brought me here for obvious reasons, I had decided what to do if he got nasty and started to INSIST on anything, but his whole personality was remarkable disarming. Of course that could have just been a part of his plan his plot his modus operendi. But still as I put my feelers out I couldnt get any sense of betrayal or treachery that you so often get when dealing with homosexual men. But then again like I said that could just have been a part of his plot.

I became curious so I asked him (without stopping eating) -Say... why exactly did you bring me here?

He smiled at me through the smoke he blew in the air.-I saw you at ze metro and I thought you look like de bad boy... I like de bad boy.

I looked at him for a moment, then continued shoveling more food into my mouth. Better eat as much as I can before its too late.

After diner he gave me a pint of ice cream. I ate the whole damn thing. After ward I asked him if I could have some more?

Any more? What about the ice cream I just gave you?

I showed him the empty container.

My God! That usually last me a whole week!-He laughed.

He gave me a couple of cups of yogurt. I ended up eating 6 of them.

He looked at me. That self-confident smirking smile NEVER leaving his face-You MUST be full by now.

I sat back. Aw man I felt goood -Yeah Im cool.

Now...what do you plan on doing while you are in France?

I guess Ill have to find a job.

That will be very difficult. You dont know French... You cant get a job here without knowing French... And you also need papers... They are very strict about those things.

Well worse comes to worse Ill just sleep on the streets.

That is another thing...The police ride around in vans looking for people who sleep on the streets. They take them take them to the suburbs to Nanteirs.

Nanteirs? Isnt that a famous prison?

It used to be. Now thats where the keep the homeless peoples.

Well at least Ill have a place to sleep.

He smirked-You really arent capable of planing things are you?

He was too smart. He saw right through me.

I like to live for the moment.

He smirked again and shook his head. He didnt believe that either. Why should he? It wasnt true.

Thiery started to sniff the air then looked down at feet. (My legs were so long I could stretch them across to the other side of the table.) He was smelling my feet. I knew he was because I could smell them too.

Did you take a good shower?

Yeah.

My... Even after a good shower I can still smell you feet. - chuckle.

Sorry. I got a problem with them.

He popped up gayly- I have just the thing! Come! -I followed him into the bathroom where he took some cologne off a shelf and began spaying my feet with it. -There thats better.- He looked at me and raised his eyebrows, then started spaying my body with the cologne- You need this here too.

Apparently even after a long shower he could still smell me too. I looked into the mirror and didnt like what I saw. My balding head was not a pretty sight. Especially circled around with all that uncombed bushy hair. I looked at Theiry.

Could you shave my head?

What?

Could you shave my head bald, you know like Micheal Jordan.

I dont know how to do that.

All you have to do is take a razor and shave my head.

Ive never done this before.

Its easy. Its just like shaving your face.

He shugged- Ok Ill try.

I got some scissors and cut my hair down as far as it would go, then Theiry started going over it with a razor. He came across a big thick scar I had on my head,

Hey! Whats is this?

Thats a scar I got in San Francisco during the Rodney King riots. I got jumped on by about 12 dudes.

Hmmm... You are a bad boy... I think I should be worried about having you in my house.

Its too late now.

While he was shaving my head a knock came on the door. He left me in the chair in the bathroom half my head covered with shaving cream...

When he returned he had another black man with him. Theiry was obviously into black.

Theiry introduced us- Kevin this is Francois, Francois this is Kevin.

Allo. How do you do?

Fine thank you.

He was large and muscular, but he had a sweet lilting voice that disarm any imposing effect his figure may have had.

Kevin here is an American- Thiery says going back to shaving my head.

Oh really? What are you doing in France?

Just traveling.

Yes...He has no money, no friends... Just me. Ha Ha Ha

Ah so you are an adventuer.

I shruged. But man That sounded nice.

I am sorry my English is not good.

Not at all. You speak it very well.

No-no-no-no-no I am not fluent at all.

He and Theiry then began talking in French as Theiry finished shaving my head.

You need to put some oil on your head. -Francois says.

Theiry began looking though the shelves for some oil. Francois sees something on the shelf and pulls it off.

We could use this.

They giggled and chuckled at some joke. Theiry took it out of Francois's hand and showed it to me. It was a small tube of something I couldnt make out because it was written in French.

This is too good for you. But maybe when I know you better.

They both chuckled and laughed again. I didnt know what the fuck they were talking about.

We all retired to the dining room where they continued to talk in French, Theiry finally turns to me and says

Well we are going out to the club... What are you going to do?... You cant stay here if my roommate comes home and finds a black man here he will kill you!

Ill just go back on the streets.

But your clothes are not dry... Your jacket also.

If you could just give me a couple of blankets Ill be alright.

They looked at each other then began thinking about it .While they kept thinking I said

Well...I could...uh...go with you guys..

To the club with us?

Yeah-I said like I did this type of thing all the time.

But we are going to a gay club.

Thats okay- Again using all my will power to prevent my veneer of non chalance from cracking- Ive been in gay clubs before... Its no problem Im not homophobic.- It was true Id been in gay clubs before, but every single time I made a point of being in there with a woman. It didnt matter if she was a lesbian, as long as she was a woman.

Well... I guess it is okay. you can come if you like- Theiry looked over to Francois like why not?

Francois shrugged- Yes of course you can come.

I forced a smile- Great.

In no time we were out the door and into the metro. As were walking Theiry looks up at me.

You know with your head shaved and that mean face of yours, if I saw you in the middle of de night, I would cross the street immediately.

You wouldn't be the first.

We got off the metro at a place called Chatlet. On our way to the club (OH GOD PLEASE DO SOMETHING TO STOP THIS!!!DONT MAKE ME GO THROUGH WITH THIS!!!SAVE ME!SAVE ME! SAVE ME!!!)

Francois ducked into a store to buy some cigarettes. When he comes out he offers me one. I said I didnt smoke.

Hey! Thats great! You really got it made.

Yes- Theiry said grinning- He doesnt smoke, doesnt drink, and he doesnt have sex- He starts laughing.

Now how did he know I wasnt getting any ? Maybe it was just a lucky guess..?

We arrived at the club where Theiry and Francois told me to wait while they went over to talk to the door guard. He was sitting in a chair and they started to talk to him and pointed me out. The man glanced over to me, looked me up and down then shook his head no at Theiry and Francois. Theiry and Francois kept talking but the man kept shaking his head no.

They came back over to me.

He says you cant come in because tonight is a busy night and hes only letting people in that he knows.

Oh really?- (THANK YOU GOD!!!!THANK YOU GOD!!!THANK YOU !!! THANK YOU!!!THANK YOU!!! THANK YOU!!! THANK YOU!!!)- Oh well.

You know one of us can stay out here with you while you wait.

Oh no-no-no-no-no-no-no. You both just go in there and have a good time. Ill be alright.

What are you going to do?

Oh Ill just walk around. Ill be alright.

Well ok. You can meet us back here about 2 o'clock.

I looked at my watch it was ten o'clock -No problem.

Theiry then gave me directions- That street is Rue Rivori walk down this way and you will see many interesting things.

Thanks.

As I was walking away they both called out to me in high girlish squeals.

Bye bye! Kaveeen!

I looked back at them and saw all the people around me looking at me and in my deepest strongest most masculine voice I replied.

Yeah alright man.

As I walked down Rue Rivori people stared at me like I was the weirdest thing on the planet. Youd think they never seen a tall bald black man before. But that wasnt the case there were lots of black men in Paris. They were just looking at me like that to make me feel out place and uncomfortable. They were just being ...just being... French.

My god what am I doing??? I got no money in the most expensive city in the world! I cant get a manual job because Im cripple! I cant get any other kind of job because I cant speak French! Im surrounded by the rudest most obnoxious people on the planet! And I doing something I swore Id never do, Im staying with a homosexual! My God what am I gonna do?!?!???

In all my travels this is the most depressed Iv ever been in my life. To my left I began to pass the Louvre. So here that fucker is. " The Worlds Greatest Museum" . Great. I thought drearily. How many years had I dreamed of one day seeing the Louvre? But now it was as appealing as a stack of wet pancakes in the rain. I kept walking depressed as all fuck, spiraling down further and further into a black bottomless pit of despair.

what am I gonna do? what am I gonna do?... I looked up and there it was...

I couldnt believe it... thats it.. Looking over the spiraling city before me it stood out all lit up like a Christmas tree...


The Eiffel Tower...

It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life...Then I realized. I was Paris. I did it... I made it.... IM IN FUCKIN PARIS!AW FUCK YEAH!!! I DID IT!!! I DID IT!!! I DID IT!!! THEY said I couldnt do it! THEY didnt beleive Id ever make it! But I did it! Im here in PARIS!!! YES! YES! YES!

Suddenly I felt like I was somewhere. I never felt like was I was anywhere before. When I went across America, in the Keys, I never could feel any distance between me and my home. I was always a phone call or bus ride away. Even in London or Amsterdam that seemed to be true. But now I felt the thousands of miles that separated me from Los Angeles and it felt good.

I threw my hands up into the air and started yelling Viva le France! The same rude obnoxious people would pass by and stare at me, but they didnt phase me anymore. I shouted at them Hey look! look! The EIFFEL TOWER! Can you see it?!!

Now talk shit motherfucker! I finally got something over all those sophisticated niggas back home. Yeah they can say they lived in New York, in Chicago, in Detroit, Texas etc. Whereas I aint never been out of Los Angeles County. But now Ive been in PARIS. Have YOU ever been there??? Ha! Of course you havent! A retorical question at best! All those niggas who breezed through life, while I struggled. Niggas who were all smoothness and balance while I was all thumbs and left feet. Who looked like they born cool and poised. And I looked like I was genetically engineered in a goofy factory. Yeah theyre clothes were all ways the fresh and on top. My shit was incurable poor and raggedy, and if not that at least three fashions out of date.

BUT NOW IVE BEEN TO PARIS! What about you??? Thats right yall niggas aint got nothing on me anymore.

I went from the lowest point in my travels to the highest in a matter of moments. And I mean high! Man I was beaming, just floating. A turn to the left and I was staring down the Champs Elysses. A row of moving red lights going to my right and a steady stream of white coming towards my left.

And look over there! Thats the Museum of Paris...and theres the Arts de Metiers...Holy shit! Im walking across the river Siene!..Hey thats!...It couldnt be!... I cant possible be seeing all these things in the space of a few minutes!...

Places and scenes that I had only read about in history books and Jean Genet novels. Places I had never contemplated ever seeing in person were now right under my feet as walked and walked into one of the greatest night of my life.

This is the last story in my book. I also adapted for my film.





"Imagine a man thrown into a jail cell with a madman. After a while the man realizes that he is losing his own sanity. Soon he will completely lose it. So he begins to talk to the crazy man, slowly talking him out of his insanity there by preserving his own. I wonder if that man would have any idea that he was following in the footsteps of the Hassidic Masters."

-Elie Wiesel





I was going through the trash bins they got put out on Thursday mornings for trash trucks. If you hit them early enough before the trucks got there you could make good money digging though them for glass bottles and aluminum cans to recycle. Up to about thirty dollars as an average, one time I hit fifty. But they changed their schedule every couple of weeks. Sometimes I could do my whole route and load down my shopping cart without seeing a single truck. Other times no sooner had I started then the trucks were everywhere. Thats when I had scrap the whole day. But today was pretty good, I got a good load. I did most of my round in front of the apartment buildings where you had all these wonderful groups of alcoholics and diet cola addicts living together filling up their trash cans for a week so I could valiantly dig through pounds of freshly hatched maggots, leftovers, maxi-pads, diapers and dog-shit to get by another day.

I was on my final stretch toward the recycler on 3rd and La Brea, pushing my shopping cart full of goodies pass the private homes of this heavily Jewish neighborhood. Men in black suits, long black coats, long grizzly gray beards, with yumakas, black Stetson hats or huge black fur King-of-the-Cossacks headgear. The women long sleeved shirts, ankle length dresses, head covered in a scarf or a seemingly universally agreed upon big Barbra Streisand haircut. They didnt bother me much. I actually had some admiration for their tight close-knit respect for their family and tradition. Even as this unapologetic clannishness saw me as being from outer space. As a 6'4, black bum I used to people being afraid or nervous at the sight of me. However they usually try to play off any fear they have on seeing me bearing down on them on the same side of the street. But the Orthodox Jews had no shame in their paranoia. On the sight of me, grown men would actually get up and run! At least they were honest about it.

I didnt mind. Years of bumming around had really sent me to hell. I had athletes feet that you could smell through my shoes and ten yards away. A body odor that no amount of showering could any longer get rid of. Add to that a nightly jackoff habit that made me just as eager to avoid other people, as they were to avoid me.

So I was digging through this one trash bin in front of a house and when I see one of the long sleeved, ankled dressed, covered head types walking my way. I immedatly started pulling my wagon towards the other side of the street to dumpster dive. She was a small woman walking her dog. As I starts making it over she calls out to me.

"I know you found allot of stuff in that one.

What immediately hit me was her voice. Although obviously Orthodox she didnt have the thick foreign or square Yiddish accent I had become accustomed to hearing from these yids. Her voice was friendly, open, American liberal. Quite jarring considering the costume she was in.

"Huh?"

"My trash bin. There's allot of recyclable in it."

0h. I havent looked in that one yet. "

Well theres lots in there. You can have it if you want. "

Thanks."

She walked up to me her face was dark, intense and full of concerned. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."

"Do the police give you any problems?

"When they feel like it."

"Thats awful."

"Thats the way it is. You know how some people are."

"Yes I know. But its still hard to deal with."

"Tell me about it."

"I have some more plastic bottles out back, would you like them?"

"Sure."

"Is there anything else you need?

"Um ... Do you have any extra trash bags. I need some more for my cans.

"Ill check."

She went into the back of her house. I stood there in front of her very lovely two-story brick farmhouse style home. From the house right next to her a middle-aged woman came out, she walked half way down the driveway when she looked up and noticed me. Upon which turned tail scrambled back behind her gated front porch. From there she just stared at me, as if waiting for me to make my next move. Only her eyes were visible, looking over the guardianship of her brick fence. I thought to myself Like I said you have to give it to these Jews, at least they were honest about their paranoia. The lady came out from back of her house and said hello to the woman behind the gated front porch.

"Hello Sara." The lady with the plastic bottles said to the woman behind the gated fence.

"Hello. Ruth."

"Thanks for that shovel, the boys will be done with it this after noon. Ill have them send it over to you when theyre done."

"Oh dont worry. Take your time its not like Im dying to get it back The women behind the fence said, shifting her eyes back and forth from the lady to me. From me to the lady.

The lady came down and gave me some plastic soda bottles with a few plastic shopping bags. When the lady behind the gate saw them talking she slowly came out from behind the brick fence, walked to the trash bin in front of her house, dumped a bag in and quickly trotted back into her house at the same time looking back over her shoulder at me. The lady sez to me, looking over from the woman.

"A nice woman ... But very fearful."

"I hadnt notice."

"Is there anything else your going to need?"

"No thanks this is enough ... But can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"What are those things?" I pointed to this thing that was like a hut. It had plywood walls and palm tree branches for a roof. Id seen them pop up all over the neighborhood. Behind houses, on the side of houses, and in every single synagogue and Jewish school. I once tried to asked this one Rabbi what it was, but he said it was too difficult to explain, even though I keep pestering him for an answer he refused.

"Thats a Sukka."

"A what?"

"A Sukka. You never heard that before?"

"No."

"A Sukka is a Jewish tradition that we have this time of year. For eight days we eat all are meals in it. Its to remind us of the 40 years we spent in the desert. You see how its made fairly flimsy. Thats to remind us there is no real protection except God. And see the roof how its made up of branches but not too many. Thats so we can see through up to God. The whole purpose is remind us of how difficult it was for our ancestors to reach the holy land. The poverty, pain and sacrifice they endured to achieve God purpose. Back in Detroit we dont have palm tree so we used cypress trees. As a kid when I thought of sukkas I always remember the smell of cypress."

"Thats beautiful."

"Yes it is."

"But if you really want to know what it was like living like they did why dont you live in the Sukka for eight days?"

"Some people do. It depends on their tradition. I grew up in Detroit. And its somewhat impractical to live in a Sukka at this time of year."

"But isnt the purpose to make you realize the power of God to protect? To make you closer to God?"

"Living in a Sukka in the middle of September in Northern Michigan will make you allot more closer to the hypothermia ward at the county hospital. Although your point is still well taken."

"Ive been living in sukkas off and on all my life but I didnt know it. I remember being able to look up at the roof through to the sky, but I never thought about God while I was doing it. I wish I had heard about these sukkas before. I would have appreciated those spots more."

"Its never too late."

"Thats one of those sayings that Ive heard more times then Ive experienced."

"Dont tell me youve given up."

"I wont tell you that, but thats whats happened."

"You cant let that happen. Theres a thing we call menataza. Basically it means your purpose for going on. God has a purpose for everyone even though we may not know what it is. But when you give up, you give up on Gods divine plan and thats a mortal sin." She stepped closer to me. "Ill tell you something, there are days when I feel like jumping off a roof when I think about all the p6ople in the world and what they do to each other. But the reason I dont is because my religion forbids it."

"Be nice if I had a religion like that."

"What is your religion?"

"Nothing specific. My mother was something of a hippie. One week wed be in a catholic church, the next in a Buddhist temple then shed drag me to some damn place where people mediated all day surrounded by pictures of people levitating over fences. I pretty much have a open architecture when it comes to religion.... And what about you. Have you always been an Orthodox Jew.?

"No I used to be a typical left wing open minded liberal. You know I was an activist for all these causes. Always doing the right thing for the right people depending on how you look at it. But I just felt there had to be something more then what I was doing. Then I had my four children. And I didnt want them to inherit this huge void I was experiencing. Thats when I rediscovered the traditions and values of Judaism. The spirituality was just amazing. Amazing because even though I was a Jew, it was all so new to me. Judaism has been one of the saving graces of my life. Like I said if it werent for that Id have killed myself a long time ago. So while I still have problems it gives me the strength and direction that I really dont know where Id be without."

"Youre lucky like that."

"I know I am"

"Well as long as youre here, can I ask you another question?

"Yes."

"I dont get to talk to many people who would know these things... Is there an equivalent of a "J" in the Hebrew language?"

"No.

"No?

"No.

"Oh really. I just asked because I know Jesus original name was Yeshua or Joshua-"

"Yes I know."

-so I was wondering if there was even a J in Hebrew."

"No there isnt."

"So what do you call God? Yahweh? not Jahweh

"There is no name for God."

"There is no name for God?? What do you call him then?"

"The name of God is too holy to be spoken by man. Its always silent."

"Then what does Baruch Ashem mean ? Doesnt it mean thank God?"

"Yes but not literally. Ashem means the name or master. We say thank the name or the master but we dont say God because God is too holy to be spoken by men."

"Then whered they get Yahweh from?"

"That was the Greeks when they were translating the Old Testament they made allot of mistakes because Greek letters all signify sounds but the Hebrew alphabet have letters that are meant to mean both sound and symbols. We write the word God but we dont actually say it. Because God is too great to be expressed in words. But the Greeks, they didnt understand this or the ones who wrote it decided not to go along with it. When they saw the letter for God they decided to give a sound-JA or Jahweh or Yahweh etc." Out of her dress pocket she pulled out a small notebook and a pen, sat down on the curb, and nodded to the space next to her. "Sit down Ill show you."

"I dont like sitting down."

" ... why not?"

"Because I got a bad leg, sitting down makes me uncomfortable."

"Oh well I have gout, see my ankles" I looked. She was a small birdlike women but her calves and ankles were swollen giving her those piano legs I always associated with old ethnic women. "You can't sit down because of your leg and I cant stand up for very long because of my legs. We'll just have to make do." She started writing on the pad.



"You see these are four letters the Hebrew alphabet. The first two are my name Ruth. There are no vowels in Hebrew. Then the next two are letters that dont have a sound. The first means 'To Life'. The second is the symbol of 'God'. When you write it you have to remember not to link the upper line with the lower line, cause that symbolizes how the material, which is this world, can never touch the spiritual, which is God."

"Thats remarkable. I always thought it would be cool to learn Hebrew because I like to learn new Languages, but I had no idea it was that beautiful."

"Can I ask you question?"

"Yeah."

"You seem very intelligent, why are you homeless."

"Well its not really one thing, its a string of things."

"Do you have any mental problems?"

"Yes. Yeees I dooo."

"Really. Do know you what kind?"

"To be honest Im going paranoid schizophrenic. I can feel myself getting crazier and crazier every day you know. Like I think cars are following me or trying to hit me as I walk down the street. Now I dont really think this or believe this is happening. Its just like a sensation that goes through my mind. Like Im looking at a tree in a park and I start letting my mind go and can imagine the tree getting up walking away. I havent lost my grip on reality yet, but my hold on it is definitely loosening. Im not crazy now. But Im getting there. Id say in three or four years tops Ill be completely insane. I can see it coming like the darkness at the end of a tunnel that doesnt go anywhere."

"I can understand that, I have mental problems myself. I suffer from manic depression"

"Yeah got manic-depression too."

"One day everything seems so beautiful and I see that people deep down really are good and mean well. But then another day comes and I see the reality of what people are here and now. And gulf of what people could be and the reality of what they are right now and what they do to each is too great for me to look at day in and out that I just wanna die. People tell me to just stop being so sensitive to things like that and just go about my own business and dont concern myself with anything else. But living my life totally mindless like some dronish worker bee is worse then death to me."

"Yeah I know."

"The other day I asked my son if he thought I was manic depressive, and he said 'Not manic mommy. Not manic.'" She smiled at the cleverness of the episode.

"How old is he?

"Ten years old."

"Does he know what manic-depression means?"

"Yes."

"How does a ten year old boy know what manic depression is?"

"Ive been crazy for years."

Oh.

"What are you going to do now?"

Well now Im going to take this down to the recycler and cash in.

"No I mean in general. In life."

0h I dont know. I barely know what Im going to do after I turn this in."

"No really."

Well ... what Im really planning on doing is going up into the mountains for a month or so and fast. I met a guy up in the park who said he would take me up there. Ive been basically waiting around waiting for him to show up again. Im thinking of moving up into the mountains."

Well whatever you do keep in touch. Write to me. I dont go around telling everyone meet how I felt like jumping off a roof. But when I walked up and saw you I notice you gave off such a nice energy and I ... Hold on a second, dont go away." She walked over to her driveway where a sleek black Japanese sports car was pulling out. She stopped at the window and started talking. When she was done the car drove back into driveway as she came back. "Thats my husband Bob. He suffers from depression too, but then he bought that new sports car and now he feels allot better. That sports car helped him deal with his depression... Maybe thats what you really need a new sports car."

"Maybe."

"You know he got a real deal with that one they usually go for around $37,000 but got a used one that was only two years old for $15,000 less. Lucky uh?"

"Lucky."

"When he was shopping for a new car I told buy any kind of car you want just please dont let it be German."

The car came out again and again she went over to talk to him. When she finished she came back to me. I couldnt make out her husband, the windows were dark tinted as he pulled out of the driveway and drove away. Even though I couldnt see him I could feel him. I felt the strongest vibes in the world that warned LEAVE ME ALONE. I suppose I felt it even stronger because it was so diametrically opposite from the willingly open vibes Ruth gave off.

"Is he orthodox too?"

"No. Hes a very special man. Hes married to a orthodox woman even though hes not orthodox."

"Are you a Hassid Jew?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Wild guess."

"Do you know anything about Hassidism

"No. The only thing I know about it is they were the group of people back in Crown Heights Brooklyn that got into the swab with the blacks."

"Yes that was another depressing affair.

"There was a very small community of Hassid Jews back in Santa Monica. And they were very nice people. They invited me to several times to come and eat with. But every time they asked me I was always smelly and grimy. So I was always saying no. I felt bad I wanted them to known that it was me not them I didnt want to be around."

"They were probable Lubavitich Hassids."

"What?"

"Hassid is a sect of Judaism but there are different sects of Hassidism. Hassidism started back in Russia with a man called the Baal Shem of Tov, which means the Master of the Word, in the middle of the 17th century. He believed in dedicating every facet of life to God. Eating, working, raising your children, singing, writing, even sex could all be done as a form of worship to God. .He stressed experiencing God as opposed to just reading about in the scriptures. The key was being conscious of God in everything around you. Everything you did. All of what you absolutely are there God is. So that you must never exclude God from any of your thoughts or actions. For when you forget God even for a moment You forget why your really here and who you really are. Hassid means pious. And the Baalshem promoted living apart from the rest of society in small tight communities that would be pure. After he died his followers were known as Hassidics. They spread across Eastern Europe and became the dominant form of Judaism. During the war many of them emigrated here to America although they actually considered America Treyfe medina a decadent country."

"Why is that?"

"All the freedoms they had here was contrary to theyre philosophy of discipline and obedience to the Torah. They felt that American Jews had been spoiled with freedom and materialism. But of course after the war freedom to worship was the main reason they came here. Hassidic Judaism is a very clannish faith. They only move around in theyre own community theyre own Kehilla which means community. At the head of this Kehilla is a Reba."

A Rabbi?

"No its pronounced Reba. The Reba is everything to the Kehilla. He is their teacher, their spiritually leader, their guide in this material world back to the spiritual. Hes both their foundation on which all their problems fall upon and also their highest leader whose purpose is to serve as their intermediate link to God."

"Like the Pope?"

"Something like that. Actually the Catholic concept of a Pope is derived from the Jewish Rabbi. The main difference is that the Catholics only have one in the whole world whereas in Hassidism each Kehilla has their own. This makes them feel more spiritually connected because they have a personal relationship with this spiritually link to God. Thats why the whole community must always be close to their Reba. All their jobs and businesses are always close to their Reba and synagogue, because on the sabot its forbidden to use electrical or mechanical devices, so they have to be able to walk to their synagogues. You mentioned Crown Heights earlier. The problem there occurred partly because Crown Heights use to be a predominately Jewish neighborhood. But eventually the non-Hassidic Jews began to move away into the suburbs and other places. And the community began to see a large influx and Caribbean and Hispanics. And people say 'Well why dont these Jews just move out of the neighborhood like the others?'. Well its not that simply for Hassidic Jews. Because they dont function as individuals, they cant move away as individuals. The whole Kehilla would have to make the decision to move some place else together. Which considering their businesses and homes, would bring up more complications then would really be worth seriously considering. So they stay there."

"What a shame."

"Not necessarily. A Reba in Russia after the Communist Revolution refuse to leave even though his temples and scrolls and books were all destroyed by the Bolsheviks. He said that God had put him there to preach Judaism and thats where he was going to stay. He could have left for Palestine or America but he refuse to leave his followers in the Kehilla, who couldnt possible leave with him. You see he was a Reba who thought of his responsibilities to his people first before himself."

"What happened to him?"

"After the Germans invaded, the Kehilla was completely destroyed and he was force to leave for America."

"So much for God wanting him to stay in Russia."

"Yes. But that story is a inspiration to the whole Hassid community. Maybe that was the reason God wanted him to stay, so his story would live on as a model of loyalty for other. It is a powerful story."

"I gotta give you that ... Russia? Is that why you see all these rabbis with those big Cossack hats?"

"Yeah. Theyre probable Russian Hassidics. Those things are often passed down from their fathers. Thats why they still wear them even in this 100 degree California heat."

"Im glad you explained it to me. I hate admitting it but I was beginning to just think they were just crazy. I hate thinking like because I know theres a reason for everything, but I knew I couldnt just walk up to them and ask them why they were wearing those damn things because every time they see me they get up and run." Ruth nodded knowingly. "And that kinda made me frustrated not being able to figure out what they were doing, and it kinda makes me mad at them too. But I know thats just the way they are you cant change that .... Like those Sukkas. I tried asking this one Rabbi what it meant but he wouldnt explain it to me. I damn near begged him but he wouldnt tell me what it meant. he seemed like a nice enough fellow, but he really pissed me off."

"Was he foreign?"

Huh?

"Was he foreign? He speak with a foreign accent?"

"Yeah as a matter of fact did. He was a foreigner."

"Well maybe he didnt feel he knew English well enough to explain it to you. It can be a bit complicated to explain and if you arent familiar with the language you would be a little reluctant to get into a conversation about it."

"Yeah ... yeah youre right that was probable it now that I think about. Things are allot easier when you understand them. I must say youre awfully open minded for a Orthodox religious person."

"Being a Orthodox Jew doesnt make you as closed minded as allot of people think. Its very strict and disciplined but it encompass everything. Every aspect of life. Even meeting people who are digging though your trash can."

"Really? what does it say?" I laughed. "Have you been following the party line with me? And here I am thinking this was all just spontaneous."

She laughed. "Well its actually very specific in the torah to show hospitality to all strangers. Its massimtounim which means good deeds. To always help the poor and needy. Theres a Jewish saying, 'Do not stand and watch while your brother bleeds.' Its one of the steps to being Tzedakah. Which translate into whats called in English, Righteous. The other two steps are study of the masters law, the Torah. And to perform those laws in everyday life at all times, mitzvoth. So youre right. Being orthodox means you must follow the word to the letter. You see how special my husband is? His not orthodox but hes still married to me."

"Hes a lucky man."

"I think Im the lucky one. But hes got problems too though. Im afraid depression runs in our families. My mother was a very depressive person, she got it from my grandmother. Gods know how far back it goes. Thats another reason why I have to stop it, I dont want my children to have it."

"Yeah I get it from my mother too."

"Depression runs in your family too?"

"No actually insanity runs in my family. My Grandmother was in and out of mental hospitals all her life. Then theres my mother whos not so much legally insane but has definite mental problems. Which are worse because she refuses to admit to them. Its not so much depression as it is fear. My mother is a very fearful person. Very paranoid. Everyone was plotting and planning against her. All my life Ive been surrounded by so much fear its just ridiculously difficult for me to function. I tried many times to break away from it but I was never able to. But now I know Im going to have to. Im going to start by breaking it off from my mother. I just cant be around her any more. Its just not healthy for either of us. Ive been hoping all these years there could be another solution but theres not. You know I swear if I didnt know better I would think she was Jewish. One time at my school they had this Jewish comedian. He kept telling these Jewish mother jokes. I was the only one in the whole auditorium who laughed."

"What is your mothers background."

"My mother is Puerto Rican. You know how they are, they got all these different races in her. white, black, Spanish, and French. But didja ever meet someone and you think theyre Jewish by the way they talk or look, or theres just something about them that makes you think theyre Jewish but you cant understand it because theyre not, theyre maybe rednecks or something like that and have no association with Judaism whatsoever. But then later theyll say something like 'Oh know they say that maybe, possible theres an outside chance that my great-great-great-grandmother could have been Jewish.' And you say 'Thats it! There no could be about it. You are defiantly Jewish. For better or worse." Ruth knowingly nodded her head. "When I was a kid I was probable one in my neighborhood who had a complete collection of Woody Allen films. I know thats not that unusually black kid, but its not that normal either."

"Your mother is from Puerto Rico

"Yeah."

"You know when Spanish exiled the Jews from Spain, many Jews were allowed to stay on the account that they convert to Christianity. Theyre called Mooranos. And while they became Christens officially, they practiced theyre Judaism in underground chambers. And they were known for being very paranoid because if they were found out they would have been immediately killed, because the Inquisition was still going on. Your mother could somehow be a descendent of them."

"Hmmm that would explain allot of things. Im not saying its true but I wouldnt be surprised if that was the case."

"So when are you going up to the mountains to do this fast?"

"As soon as I get a new pair of shoes." Looking down at his shoes. "These ones here are turning into sandals on me. And Im not going to be able to make it to mountains in these."

Ruth stared into all the huge holes in my shoes separated only by threads rubber. "Yeah those shoes are going on a wing and a prayer. What size shoe do you where?"

16.

"Sixteen??? Really? Wow thats going to be hard to find."

"Yeah."

"Ill keep my eye out."

"Thanks."

"Then she put her hand to her mouth as if a memory just surprised her. Oh my goodness I told you my whole life story and I dont even know your name."

"Bumdog."

"What?"

"Bumdog."

"I cant call you that."

"Its my name."

"Okay....Bumdog. I have to go now. But be sure to drop me a letter sometime so I know how youre doing."

"Its a deal." I reached out to shake her hand but she pulled back her hand and placed it against her chest.

"Oh, I never touch other men. She said. My religion prevents me from touching any other men but my own. I can touch my men, my husband and my sons. but no other."

She smiled. Obviously enchanting by structure and tradition of this custom. It wasnt just a rule written in a musty old book. It was a eloquent living principle, just one of which she lived by, that gave her life meaning and structure. Coming out of someone elses mouth I would have dismissed it as gibberish. But she said with such strength and power in her face when she explained it, it made me not just understand but feel its purpose. Gods purpose. So much so he brushed of his initial impulse to reach out and grab her out of spite.

They said their good-byes and I worked shopping almost to the end of the block when I heard her call me back.

"Bumdog! Bumdog!!

She was standing next to a tall man waving me back over. I pulled his shopping cart all the way back to them.

"This is Josh, Bumdog. And guess what?! He has shoes your size!"

"Hi how are you." Sez Josh. He was dressed in old faded jeans and a T-shirt. He looked like a bum except he was getting hes things outta a brand new Mercedes. "Yeah Ruth was telling me you need some shoes."

"Yeah."

"What size do you where?"

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen? Wow I know it must be difficult finding shoes I wear 14's and hard as hell for me to find em. I can only imagine what it must be like for you."

"Yeah you try to explain it to people but they just dont understand how hard it is."

"Yeah well I believe you. I have a pair of Nikes I can give to but their 14's."

"Hey actually I could use those. Theyll be a tight fit but I need new shoes because Im about to go up into the mountains and the shoes I got on just arent going to make it."

"Yeah I notice they arent in the best of shape." He says looking down on his tattered shoes. "You wont be able to climb any mountains with those."

"You see how things work out Bumdog. Ruth said smiling.

"Baruch Ashem" I said.

"Baruch Ashem." Ruth smiled.

"Baruch Ashem." Josh added. He looked at both of us. "What did I miss a Hebrew lesson here?"

"Yeah! " Ruth and I said simultaneous.

This is the first story in my book. I fucked it up. All the question marks stand for jackpot symbols"Lemons, Cherrys, Lucky Sevens etc.

This is the first story in my book. I fucked it up. All the question marks stand for jackpot symbols"Lemons, Cherrys, Lucky Sevens etc.

GO BACK JACK

????

 

I'm on a bus to Las Vegas from San Francisco. My plan is to make my way to Texas but since Im going by I think Ill stop in on Las Vegas. After all it is the glitter capital of the world. I wanted to see all the lights and stuff. Just to experience it for a little while. I had about $300, I figure I'll stay for a week then move on. People told Id better watch out for gambling but Im really not worried about it. I dont have an addictive personality. 1 don't drink or do drugs, dont even smoke cigarettes. I'll do a little gambling, maybe $20 a night, but I know eventually it will get boring.

I arrived in Vegas round about five. I went to go get my bag only to find out they put it on the wrong bus. It'll be a couple of hours at least before it gets here. Great. I walked out of the terminal and out into the street and -GODDAMN!! ITS HOT!! It was like walking into a furnace blast. Goddamn it! They said it was hot in Las Vegas but I had no idea. What I was wearing didn't help either. Coming from San Francisco where it was cold, I had on a wool Mexican poncho with a long sleeve shirt over a thick pair of overalls. I couldnt change because all my clothes were in my bag that wasnt here yet.

I started walking. I amazed at all the lights. I look up to one of the overheads and I was intrigued by all the light bulbs. I few of them had burn out but there were still thousands lit on this small section of the casino. I thought there must be millions of light bulbs on this casino alone. And man there must be a million casinos in this town-OW FUCK!! This heat is too much!! I ducked into the first casino I reached-Oh thank God! Air conditioning! I looked around, there werent many people here. It seemed to be one of the lower class joints. Might as well kill some time. I changed in five dollars worth of quarters and sat down to one of the video poker machines. I put in one quarter at a time to make it last longer. I looked bored, this all seemed sort of silly to me. But as I played I noticed all these interesting things started happening on the screen: If you put in one quarter and you got one pair, you got one quarter back. But if you put in 4 quarters in and it came up with a straight you won $10. But if you only put in 3 quarters and you-.... Hey Im all out of quarters. I went back to the changer and got another $5 worth of quarters and sat back down again. Now where was I? oh yeah, 3 quarters and I could win $50 if it came up with 3 of a kind. And if I put in 5 quarters and got a royal flush I can win $10,000! Wow. And just for putting in 5 quarters. This was all so fascinating. All those possibilities began to draw me in, and I started to slowly feel, adrenaline rush of maybe winning five, maybe ten, maybe ten thousand doll- Hmmm all out of quarters again. I went out and got $20 worth of quarters this time. And started playing again. But then I thought I shouldnt spend all my time here, I should visit some other casinos.

I walked down Fremont Street, saw all those famous moving neon signs: The hitchhiking cowboy, rolling dice, hip swaying women horseshoes etc.. I walked into a couple of cheap casino dropped a couple of bucks and left before I ended up' in the GOLDEN NUGGET. And GOLDEN it was. It looked as though the whole thing was made of gold. Golden columns. Golden walls. Golden carpet. I walked through golden air as I passed the golden slot machines into the center of the casino. This was a real nice place. I decided to move up to the dollar slot machines and cashed in $20 for one-dollar coins. (Man Im already spending twice as much as I should for a night ... No matter I'll stop after this. This is the last money I got in my pocket. I will not go to my ATM.) Playing the dollar machines was something. I just loved the PLING!PLING! the heavy dollar coins made when I dropped them into the slot. And if I won then there was the orgasmic PLUNK!PLUNK!PLUNK! of them cuming out and dropping into the tray. They also seemed to pay off more. I was starting to win... well not exactly win, but I was losing a lot slower. I think I'm starting to get the hang of this. All I have to do is keep-Damn! all out of money again. I thought a bout going to the ATM machine then I thought about the decision I had made not to go. But now I couldnt remember why I made that decision.

PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD: MAJOAD. ENTER AMOUNT:$20 PLEASE TAKE MONEY PLEASE REMOVE CARD. THANK YOU.

I went back to the one-dollar slot machines and started playing again. I was still losing money. But I thought I was getting better because I was losing it more slowly. Then I got restless and thought I should try my luck somewhere else. I walked across the street to the HORSESHOE. I was just walking, looking around when I notice a couple of security guards following me. So I did what I always do when they follow me around. I lead them on a trail. I started criss crossing, the casino. Going around in circles until they finally got tired of it and stopped me.


"Do you have any ID?

"Why?

"We want to have you checked out."

"What for?"

"You look suspicious. Just look at yourself. Youre in the middle of the desert and you got all these sweaters on like youre in Alaska."

He was right. I looked around everyone else was wearing shorts and T-shirts. They asked me again for my ID.I didnt know what the laws in the state were for this kinda shit so I gave it to them. They had me stand there and wait while they checked me. When they were done they gave me back my ID and said I was free to go. Thanks allot ... assholes. I thought about staying, but then decided to leave. I walked back across the street to the GOLDEN NUGGET and sat back down at the one-dollar slot machines. It was one of those machines that you could put up to three dollar coins in at a time. Next to me there was an old Asian couple. The woman had a cup full of coin to play with so she keeps putting three at a time. As I was playing next to her she keep winning and winning. I was trying to stretch mine out by putting one dollar in at a time. I was about $50 down by now. Then the spinning symbols clicked onto a combination I hadn't seen...???? I looked at the play and pay display and it said that that combination was a winner for $40. Fuckin yeah!! I looked down at the tray waiting for the money to come... Whats the hold up?... I looked again and it said I would have won $40 if I put in 2 coins. From behind me I heard a man giggling, it was the old oriental.

"Heh heh you see." Shaking his thin finger at me. "You should have put in two. Heh heh heh."

I looked at him, and then finally admitted. "Yeah youre right." I walked back to the ATM (For the absolute last time).

PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD: MAJOAD ENTER AMOUNT:$20 PLEASE TAKE MONEY PLEASE REMOVE YOUR CARD THANK YOU.


Yeah yeah thanks yourself. I sat back at the same slot machine next to the same oriental couple, determined now to win my money back. I put in three coins every time. I kept winning one, two sometimes five coins back and I put them all right back in (My mother gave me the advice of only spending a certain amount of money and then anything that you win you put it in your pocket and dont spend it that way you wont lose as much. It was good advice, but I had left it way back in the FIRST casino.). I got down to my last five coins. I put in three first ...Nothing. I put in the last two in...

????

Looked at the display I won $180. I won!! I won!! I did it! I won! ... Hey wait a minute why isnt any money... Coming out? I looked at the display again...I would have won if I put in three coins ..... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHRRRRRR
RRGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I jumped out of my seat screaming, and when I was finished I had three security guards massaging my shoulders, and ten more running towards me. I looked around, the whole casino was staring at me. I pointed to the screen. When the guards looked, they nodded knowingly, and waved off the rest of the guards. I looked over at the little oriental, whose was shaking his thin little finger at me.

"Heh,heh,heh. You see ... Told you ... You should have put in three. Heh,heh."

I just looked at him. And from then on in IT WAS ON!!!

ENTER SECRET PASSWORD: MAJOAD PLUNK!
PLUNK! ????PLING! PLING! PLING! ENTER AMOUNT: $20 PLING!PLING! PLING! PLING! PLING!????PLUNK! PLUNK!?? PLUNK! PLUNK!PLUNK! PLEASE TAKE MONEY PLING! PLUNK! PLING!????PLEASE REMOVE CARD PLUNK!PLING! PLUNK! PLING!! PLEASE ENTER SECRET PASSWORD. PLUNK! PLING! PLUNK! !PLING!PLING!PLING!MAJOAD PLING! PLING! PLUNK!PLING!TAKE MONEY. PLING! PLUNK! PLUNK! ????PLING! PLING! PLING! PLING! THANK YOU.

Everything was just a blur from the on in. From the ATM, to the change machine, to the slot machine. The thought of stopping was there but I couldnt grab a hold of it. It came and went as fast as my money came out of that ATM and went into that slot machine.  

PLING!????PLING! PLUNK! PLING!PLING!????PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD PLING!PLING!PLING!PLUNK! PLUNK! PLING! ????PLUNK! PLING!PLING! I lost the money for the hotel. Fuck it! Ill sleep on the streets! PLING!PLING!PLING! PLUNK!??PLUNK! PLUNK! PLEASE ENTER AMOUNT PLUNKI PLING! PLING!
????PLING!I lost all my food money. Ill leave tomorrow. I got to win that money back!DPLING!PLING!PLING!PLUNK! PLUNK!MAJOAD PLING!PLING! PLING!????PLUNK! ?

 

When I finally stopped I counted out in my head how much money I had left...$80. Ow fuck. Thats when I finally knew what those crackheads felt like after they spent their whole welfare checks in a few hours. Im an addict ... Im addicted... I got to get out of here ... Now.

 

I got out of there fast and started walking down Fremont Street. As I was walking I noticed people staring at me. I couldnt blame them. It was 105 degrees and I looked like Nannook of the North. I didnt care. I got to get to the Greyhound. I got to get out of this town! I got to the Greyhound and into the cool air-conditioning straight to the teller.

 

 

"How much to Houston, Texas?"

 

"Its $180."

 

"What about San Antonio?"

 

"Its $150"

 

"Chicago?"

 

"Its $125."

 

I was desperate.

 

"Kansas City?"

 

"$110"

 

I sat down in a slump into one of the hard plastic chairs. I decided I was going to stay right there and not move. This was the only safe place. But those casinos were like a huge magnet that slooowly drew me back in. When I finally broke away again I had $40 left. Back in the Greyhound station I thought about someone to call for help. I couldnt call my mother. She sent me most of the $300 I had and I couldnt think of a good enough story to explain how I lost It so fast. I call a friend of mine in Los Angeles and explained what happened. But before I could ask her for money she told me to go get a job. I decided to call my mother.

 

"Hey Ma, hows it going?"

 

"Hi Kevin, where are you?"

 

"Las Vegas."

 

"Have you done any gambling yet?"

 

"Ooh just a little... You know it gets boring after awhile... Hey listen Ma um... I think Im gonna stay here for awhile."

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah. Theres allot of jobs here and... It's a really nice town."
 

"You really like it there?"

"Ooh yeah." As I was talking, through the glass window I noticed a huge white glow rising in the air. It was the light from the light bulbs of all those casinos. As darkness fell the glow got brighter and higher.

 

"Well thats good Kevin. It's so nice when youre travelling to find a place you really like" 

"Isnt tho."

When I hung up the phone I was still standing in the window looking up at the glow of a million lights from a million casinos as it rose above the desert night skyline.