twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five

twenty-one...

Three days, maybe more, have passed since I last saw Kevin and I feel as if I have really been turning on. I've spent the last few nights drunk and have ended up in the worst places I could ever think of. I think tuesday night I somehow ended up at a harsh leather bar down on Davie Street after I had mentioned to someone how it had been years since I had been or went to a gay bar. Foggy at best on that one, I 'll have to give it a little more thought although I'm sure I'll hear about it. Monday night is still a bit of a blur but I do remember ending up with a guy about seventy years old at the Legion over on main and something. I had started of the night as any other but somehow, and here's where the fog drifts in, had linked up with my friend Vern who convinced me that going to the Legion was a good idea. He had heard of my book and that I was looking for ideas and that I was trying to expand my personal experiences and told me the Legion was the place to go. All I knew of the place was that they had daily meat draws, a lot of the patrons used to handle heavy firearms-and in fact may have killed a few people, and that being a vegetarian this was hardly any reason to go there. Vern saw it as chance to meet some really interesting pals. Pals was his description.
For the greater part of the evening we sat by ourselves drinking jug after jug of cheap beer with me wondering all the while what the hell Vern had in mind. Then as if by divine intervention an older, as if there were any other kinds there, guy approached our table and asked if he could sit down and talk with us. He spoke of the old times, something Vern and I had no idea of really, except what our grand parents had told us, and how it would never be the same again. I was pretty sure he was right. As sure as I could be of anything at that point. The last thing I remember, truly, is Vern getting up to dance with a woman who had to be in her seventies and the guy saying something about her once taking on the whole bar. As I watched Vern dancing with her I wondered out loud if Vern would be her next victim. Then the lights went out. Literally.
I woke up on Vern's bedroom floor early tuesday morning with a head as big as the great outdoors but without Vern anywhere in sight. Gathering my clothes, that were now scattered around his place-how this happened I still do not know, I made my way out of Vern's place and out onto Railway Street. The sun hit me like a ton of bricks and I knew right then that the best thing was to head home and wait for Vern to call wondering what happened to me. I knew the call was coming and it was better that I was at home to receive it than to have to listen to Vern's usual ten minute tape eating messages on my machine later. My coffee maker had hardly begun to do it's magic when the phone rang and I knew it was Vern.
"Hello."
"You're the man."
It was Vern alright.
"What? What do you mean?"
"The way you handled yourself, dude. It was a thing of beauty."
"I don't know what you're talking about Vern. "
"The guy at the table, man. The woman I was dancing with. Lorraine. You don't remember?" Vern was practically in tears laughing. "You're the man!"
"Vern. You gotta help me out here. In have no idea what you're on about."
"Lorraine. The woman I was dancing with..."
"Yes Vern..."
"I had no idea you had it in you."
"Do I want to know this, Vern?"
"Oh, man! You killed last night. I..."
"Vern!"
"Tim. I know you've been stepping out of yourself lately and kicking some ass but when Johnny hears this one you'll be the king."
"What happened, Vern?"
"That was the old guys wife. Lorraine. She was, shit, is, the old guys wife. The guy at the table."
"So?"
"I never knew you liked the older ones Tim. I had no idea."
"Shit."
"I'll show you the pictures later. No, really, no pictures but fuck, man, you held up your end."
"My end? Vern. I don't think I need any more details. Really..."
"Alright. Alright. It's between us... For now. Talk about the meat draw!"
"Enough Vern. Really. I gotta sleep this one off."
"Sure, sure. When can we go out again, Tim? "
"Maybe never, Vern. Maybe never."
"You make me laugh big fella. Make me laugh."
"See ya Vern."
"Okay man. I'll catch up with ya later."
Shit. It was like I was living a life for someone else that night. Vern has since told, at least, a large handful of people that I slept with some seventy year old woman that was set-up by her husband and I have no way of knowing whether or not it really happened. I made a private vow to myself yesterday to stay away from Vern for a while until I get a firmer grip on that night and to stay away from the Main Street Legion for life.
Tuesday night found me at home avoiding all phone calls and playing the screening game. By wednesday morning my machine was almost out of tape with the majority of the messages making little, if no, sense.
"Tim... Kevin here. You're there I know you are... Pick-up... Fuck. I need a place to sleep. I need food. I need love. I'm in love with your sister... "
"Tim...Vern. Hubba da hubba da... Control top panty hose... Can you say girdle?"
"Hello. This is the geriatric ward at Vancouver General Hospital. Could you please submit a blood sample? We think you may be the father of a bouncing baby boy... " (caller unknown)
"I'd like to get my teeth back if I could. It's hard to chew with just my gums... Please call Lorraine at 555.Gums." (caller disguised his/her voice as a that of an older woman.)
"Tim. It's Dad. We've got to talk. I heard you got fired and was wondering what you were going to do. I might be able to line something up for ya, I have a friend in shipping at a warehouse in Surrey. Let me know, it's a good set-up. Your sister tells me you're writing some sort of a book too.. That's good but... Well, call me. "
Shit. Now he knows I'm out of work. That's great. And coming to my rescue. Thank god for my little nest egg, as small as it is now. Surrey warehouse. Right. I'm going back to school before that happens, I'd rather be a baker.
Wednesday, okay. Stay sober. That's the plan for today. Things could hardly get any worse than the last two days. I've got to meet Fawn at noon for lunch and then catch up with Jamie a little later on but that's it for today. I've got to get my head on straight before I go any further with this book thing. Although, I suppose, I could just let the chips fall where they may and keep on hitting it hard. As long as I stay away from Vern and keep to my plan. It's no good just getting drunk and forgetting the whole experience. It's a good thing I don't have a job right now, that I was relieved of my duties, however unceremoniously, because I'd have been fired from any job right now the way I've been handling things. Maybe I should look for work today and get some income coming in. Maybe I should forget the whole damn thing. Looking for a job that is.

twenty-two...

Tuesday night has also come back to haunt me. The details are still coming in but by all accounts so far, and I have had to rely on some rather shady sources, I, apparently, was indeed at a leather bar on Davie Street wearing a very large, very black, fake mustache. Leeanne's friend Steven called and gave me most of the gory details including a rather vivid description of me in leather chaps that I had borrowed off of a guy and strapped on over top of my jeans. He had seen me there with a friend, who I do not remember but suspect it to be Johnny but lost all track off as the night progressed, and had come up and asked me what I was doing there. I had replied, according to Steven, that I was just checking out how the other half lived, what that meant I have no idea now, and that this place seemed as good a place as any. No pain, no gain. Lord knows I was a long way from feeling any pain.
What I do remember is that Johnny and I had gone out with Lori for dinner to some place over on Broadway and then had decided, in our infinite wisdom, to saddle up with some Japanese tourists downtown and try some karaoke. We headed downtown and had opted for some hotel on Pender Street that was famous for karaoke and known to have alot of Japanese business men.
Somewhere around the time I heard another friend of ours, Derik, who had met us there after we had phoned him, start to get into an argument with one of the other drunken patrons and my sixth or seventh grasshopper things apparently went awry.
Lori in the middle of singing 'Hey Good Looking' decided it was time everyone checked out her new bra and pulled down the front of her dress exposing, of what I remember, a rather nice looking lace bra. Johnny amused by this took off his own shirt and ordered a round of drinks for the band, something that didn't exist.
Derik now, for some reason without pants, stormed out of the bar after a woman saying 'I was only joking'. All I remember from that point on is standing outside the hotel with the bartender asking me who was paying for the drinks and me telling him it was the partially naked couple singing on-stage. I think I then got into a cab and said something about wanting to go to Davie Street pronto. Why or how I have no idea but somehow I ended up at a gay bar on Davie Street in the company of Steven and a bunch of guys in cowboy hats, plaid shirts and leather.
Of what I remember and what Steven has helped me piece together, I think I almost went home with a biker named Alan who's chaps it was I was wearing. We had met in the bathroom as we stood along side each other at the urinals. He was very tall with a three or four day growth of beard that could easily become a full on beard in less than a week. As I remember it, his feet were unusually large and were housed inside high cut Dayton biker boots. We spoke as we peed and it turned out that we were both really into late model BMW motorcycles, although he told others he was into Harley's because it was considered much more macho. Sure, I thought, why not? He actually didn’t own a BMW or a Harley but said one day that he would. I decided not to tell him that I had a ’68 BMW Slash 2 for fear he’d want to go for a spin on it sometime. Besides, I think he had other ideas that really didn’t involve my motorcycle at all but, indeed, did involve spinning around.
I had also acquired a sassy cowboy hat off one of Steven's friends who had taken some sort of shine to me as we all danced, even though Steven had told him that I was straight and that I was just out having fun. The cowboy hat had obviously made some sort of impression on my new bathroom pal and he told me had been watching me all night. I told him that was impossible, because I had been watching him all night and that I hadn't seen him look at me once, I was bluffing. He wasn't. Before I knew it I was asking him if I could try on his chaps and complete my cowboy outfit. He asked me my name and I think I told him it was Donny but I'm still a little sketchy on that, although I wouldn't mind that name so much, if I got to choose a new one-that or Chaz. He asked me how well I knew Steven and I told him that we went way back and I had in fact dated one of his friends. I didn't mention that her name was Leeanne not Leon. Before I knew it I was out dancing in the chaps and wondering how I was going to get myself out of this one as Alan danced just a few steps away from me. I also caught myself in the mirror a few times and found myself trying to get a good look at myself in the chaps. When I did I remember thinking that I looked hot and that I could really use a big mustache to complete my look and maybe a nice red plaid shirt. Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought I looked fabulous.
Alan told Steven he wanted to get my number and maybe go out sometime. Perhaps too shy to ask me himself, it's nice to know that shyness transcends sexual orientation, especially when it helps me. Steven, saving my ass, so to speak, told Alan that I was leaving for Australia in a few weeks and that I was going to be there for a year and that I was having one last night out before it was time to the land down under. I always knew that Steven was a good liar even though I had no real reason or evidence to support that thought. I drank right up until last call and reluctantly gave the chaps back to Alan, who really was a sweetie, and thanked him for the use of them. He pulled me aside and told me that he wished he had met me sooner and that he would love to get together before I left for Australia. Drunk as I was I knew that I couldn't take the step he wanted me to and as if I was giving him a consolation prize leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. That's when I apparently passed out falling into him missing his cheek by a good margin. Somehow I ended up in the back seat of Steven's car with three of his pals headed towards the Denny's on Burrard Street.
They let me sleep in the car for an hour or so while they ate late night Grand Slam Breakfasts. I may have been dreaming but I ‘m sure that during my slumber I heard someone knocking on the window of the car and calling out the name Donny, but I couldn’t even open my eyes to check my watch. When they woke me up we were outside my apartment building with the security guard, John, looking in and asking them where they had found me. At that point I do remember raising my hand to my face as if to let them know it wasn't in my best interest to let that cat out of the bag, not just yet.
A few of my neighbors were heading in as I got out of the car.I decided to let them go ahead before I made my move towards the door and the last few moments before I made it up the elevator to my place and the comfort of my bed. Thank god for Steven. Even if he did call me Donny as he drove off.

twenty-three...

Storybook romance... Somehow added to rest of text.

The night has tuned into day and I'm still awake. Jacked up on something I should never have taken. For some reason my muscles ache as if I've been working out with weights for days without stopping. My arms so weak, from what I don't know, that I can hardly raise them up to my face. Noon, shit, it's noon and I haven't even closed my eyes for more than a few minutes. The worst part of it all is that I have, at best, vague recollections of the last few days, even the last few hours. All the others have gone and left me here to sort things out for myself. Except for her, lying there in the bed across the room, I think it's her place after all, she deserves the right to sleep if only because it's her place.
My t-shirt is stained with the sweat of the last few days and smells as if I've been wearing it for weeks on end. Somehow, I have managed to live the last few days in nothing more than my boxers, a pair of wool socks and this shitty old t-shirt. A t-shirt that apparently used to belong to her ex-boyfriend, Roger, who was now living in Montreal. He had gotten her pregnant and then jumped ship once she started on the junk again and left her with nothing but a burning desire to see him dead and maybe in the process kill herself with the drugs.
A mark, not unlike that of a hickey, now graces my arm just slightly above my elbow. A mark made by a length of surgical tubing that had been used to cut off my vein's blood supply and give me enough room to stick the needle in successfully. And even though it was my first time it had a familiar ring to it. A familiar feel as the rubber pressed into my skin and made it burn. A familiar rush as the band was unleashed and the heroin ran towards my brain and then off to my heart. So familiar but at the same time so new. This was nothing like smoking it, as I had done before in the park near my place. The park where junkies are found cold mornings stiff as boards, dead from both the cold as well as the junk. I'm the lucky one, I get to go home after I fix. The lucky one who chips away but never gets caught it the lifestyle, never lets it go to far.
We had met at a party over in East Van and had left together to go to her place. She knew me from around town and we discovered, after a long night of talking that we had a lot of things in common. She liked the shit and decay of the streets , as I did and even seemed to relish in it, walking the streets of Gastown and the MainStreet end of Hastings Street late at night looking for all there was to see. The junkies, the barefoot prostitutes and dealers. She had taken to smoking a lot of pot and had tried smoking heroin a few times but hadn't in a while. We spent time together, late at night. She'd come over to my place late after she had been out roaming through the neighborhood sometimes bringing drugs other times just stories.
One night, a month or so ago, she came over at three in the morning and produced a small fold of paper that she said she had just gotten from the park near my house. I had only ever seen heroin once or twice before that but had never tried shooting it, never been drawn to it. She asked me if I wanted to try it and, before I could say anything, had taken out a needle and placed it on the table in front of me. My heart seemed to jump out of my chest, beating so fast I could hardly contain myself. At first I thought it was fear but soon realized I was up for it and that I was more excited by the idea than scared of it. I said yes, I made up my mind at that point to change everything, to go for broke.
The marks on my arm have come to signify that night. The night I left the world of soft drugs and went to being one with the junkies that lived all over my neighborhood. All except that I had a place to sleep each night and clean clothes to slip into each morning before I went back to the park to get more.
I ended up here days ago, at her apartment after we had landed enough junk to last us a few days or more. I had left my place and gone over to her place just in time to meet her at her front door and go in with her. I had given her some cash the day before and told her to stock up just in case, in case of what I'm not really sure of now. Her room mate and a few of her friends were there s well, most of which I had never seen before but knew by the looks on their faces had ideas of staying as well and taking part in the shit that would follow. I knew then that this would be my last kick at the can and that I would have to get out before I got in to deep but was up for the days ahead. As if I was giving up smoking and had decided that this would be my last pack of smokes, like I had made a promise to myself.
Now days later I sit here in the corner of her apartment long after the others have made their ways home or otherwise and feel a sickness coming over me. I can't remember eating anything yet feel full as if I have. She gave me something before, hours ago that was supposed to help me sleep but instead has wired me up leaving me to watch the world as it changes from night to day. My mind knows the message is clear as does my body. If I can get out of this chair and out onto the street I should be okay. The buck and a half in my pocket will get me a ride home on the bus, a bus now full with those riding to and from work. Shit, I've got to go.
After dressing I grab a handful of smokes and head for the door deciding to leave her sleeping. As I hit the door I think I hear her say something to me but when I look back I se that she's still sleeping with her back to me. Out on the street I realize, maybe for the first time that I used to live across the street from her apartment years ago and wonder what the fuck I've been doing for the last ten years that landed me here. Fuck my body aches, I think it hates me. I think I may hate me.

twenty-four...


Why is it that all my friends, the ones still involved in the halls of higher learning, those working on their phd's, all look like hippies? I don't get it. Are these guys the future of our nation? I see them around town, driving their old Valients and rusty Volkswagen vans looking as if they haven't got a care in the world. What gives? Out at bars at night I run into them and they are almost always hammered out of their collective skulls and looking as if they haven't bathed in weeks. Sure, right now I'm not looking much better but at least I'm not lying about what I'm doing. I tell people I have no idea what's up right now and that I'm going to get back on course soon, when the money runs out. It's a plan of sorts. A weak one but a plan none the less.
Some of them tell me they have grants to work on their thesis' and that soon they'll have to buckle down and get it together but right now they've got to keep the course. For now. Maybe I've got this whole thing all wrong, what I should be doing with my life. Maybe following around the Grateful Dead isn't such a bad idea after all. Even though, now that Jerry's dead, I can't really follow the Dead, but there has to be some sort of replacement band the freaks are following now. Maybe it's Blues Traveler or Widespread Panic, someone like that. I could do it, I know I could. Grow my hair out and start on some dreadlocks, start wearing petiole and some leather sandals. Christ! I really am losing it.
The hot water's out in my building so I have to have a cold shower if I want one at all. The water hits me and I worry for a second that I'm having a heart attack. As I try and wash the shampoo out of my hair it feels as if someone is hitting me in the head with a sledge hammer. As I get out of the shower I see that I have no towel and have to walk upstairs soaking wet and in doing so have to walk directly in front of my sliding glass doors that face out towards the crack/shooting gallery behind my place. Several other rooming houses are also behind my place and even though they are home to old age pensioners, I don't relish the idea of them seeing me naked and walk as fast as I can past the window and up the stairs to my loft. Truth be known, I don’t like seeing myself naked.
Last night, in an effort to stay home and save a little cash,I surfed the net for the worst the world has to offer and came across a posting in some swingers bulletin board, something I would never describe myself as, that was entitled 'gangbang/604'. Turns out some guy is trying to get this thing set up and is looking for participants to help him get it going. According to his post he already had a few folks interested and was looking for more. I e-mailed him and asked for more particulars as to the event and was he really serious. The net never ceases to amaze me in this regard. But what was I thinking? Was it so late that I would respond to anything even mildly interesting? Would I go through with it if indeed I was picked as a 'lucky' participant? As I dry off and put on my clothes all I can think of is whether or not he has responded to my e-mail and what I will say if he wants to meet me. What if's run through my head and could I's rattle inside my brain. I could I guess. No I couldn't. All that pressure to perform like a circus seal. What if it was some sort of a set-up? Looking at my computer I think what the hell and turn it on and wait for it to warm up so I can check my mail.
I click the modem and it starts to dial and I wait for it to connect to my server while I pull my t-shirt over my head. The tone as it connects almost scares me as I think of what may be waiting for me. Hitting 'check mail' I wait as it goes through all the motions and riggers of finding my mail box and before I know it the ring that signifies whether or not I have mail rings and shows that I do, indeed, have mail. Hitting the okay button I see that I have mail from six different people, including Alan, the ringleader for the event.

"Hi and thanks for your interest.
Here are some details about it. We are very serious about it.
We have so far 7 guys and you would be 8th. There are 2 ladies.
One of them is 26 y.o. extremely sexy and beautiful. She has black hair and slim body. She will only meet with us if I can get 10 guys or more. That is not easy, however. Since you mentioned that you are a homeowner I just wanna ask you if we could meet at your place. You are welcome to take some pictures or video tape the whole meeting. We hope that everything would be ok so we could keep meeting bi-weekly with the same group of guys. That way it would be safer. The other lady is 31 y.o. Very horny, slim and always ready. She is always partying with her husband.
Please let me know if it is possible to meet at your place. If you want to meet before we could of course. Basically they are ready as soon as I get enough guys. Please e-mail me back. As soon as we have enough guys I would let you know.
Hope to see you soon.
Alan"
I had, in my e-mail, let him know a little about myself and had, for some reason, mentioned that I was the owner of my own home. He obviously like this idea and now wanted to do it all at my place. I had also told him that I would also be more inclined to just view the proceedings and even videotape it for them if they wanted. This, in my estimation, would eliminate my having to participate and suffer the results of bad nerves and other anxieties. I decide to e-mail him back and see what's what and maybe even see if this was something I could use for my book.
"Alan...
I'm not sure I want to meet at my house. I will meet you downtown and we can talk this thing out. As I said I'm more into the viewing and videotaping thing more than participating. I live downtown so let me know what good for you.
TGS..."
I hit send and wish for the best although I have no idea what that could be. I leave my computer on and go about finishing getting dressed. I throw on my glasses and remember that I have some other messages to check besides the one from Alan, the sex ringleader, so I sit down and go at them one by one.
I must have gotten onto some sort of weird mailing list because three of the next messages are from sex on-line services that have somehow targeted me as a prospective client. Free sex this and free sex that. Apparently hot girls are waiting for me to call them right now, to chat with them directly from my computer, from the privacy of my own home. While I'm sure they're hoping I'm some sort of sex starved twenty year old college student or some house bound sex freak I'm still, somehow, flattered that they still picked me and file away their numbers and web address because, you never know, there may come a day.
The other two messages are from my friend bill who says he has something for me at his office and that I should come by and pick it up. The next, however, says that he has forgotten it at home at that I should come by tomorrow. He doesn't, however, tell what 'it' is so I'm left in the dark, as usual.
I'm about to turn the computer off when all of a sudden another piece of mail comes in and it's from Alan. It's like he's been waiting at his place for my reply and has e-mailed me right back.
"Sure we could meet somewhere in the city first. Actually only 4 or 5 guys will be from Vancouver and the rest from Alberta and Seattle. Mostly they are married or attached. When could we meet? I am kind of busy right now working and studying( having a few midterms next week).That couple would be interested to be gang banged for the whole weekend if possible but most of the guys would show up just for one evening. Darla is a very horny lady and whoever stays overnight will be asked to fuck her a lot or at least have his cock sucked by her for hours and hours. Anyway it seems like it will happens sooner rather then later.
E-mail me please if you have more questions.
Take care
Alan"
Jesus Christ. What now? I don’t like to do anything for hours and hours. Or at least there are things I just can’t do for hours and hours. To hell with it, I've gotta keep this thing going if not for any reason but to get some more insight into the world and some of the freaks who inhabit it. And this is something I really know very little about. What's the worst that could happen? Really? I asked for this didn't I? Sure I'll meet him, in a restaurant or somewhere where I feel safe that nothing’s going to happen. It’s not like someone’s going to just shit kick me in public, are they? Shit.
"A-
Let me know what's good for you. I can meet just about anytime.
TGS..."
Well, that's that. It's sent now and there's no turning back now. Well, there is but as of now I'm in, so to speak. I turn off my computer and head back downstairs and start to make some coffee to get me going. It's noon and I need to get out and see people. People who have a greater sense of reality than I do right now. But then again, maybe I'm living right in the heart of it. Maybe.

twenty-five...


It has come to my attention, and I shouldn't be too surprised by this really, that one of the women at the Starbucks near my house has been slipping me decaf. Sure, I drink alot of coffee. Sure, I've been known to fire back fifteen to twenty shots of espresso a day, any given day, but who decides who gets what and how much? Shit. I've been shelling in the neighborhood of twenty dollars a day and not getting what I so rightly paid for. Who gave Heidi the right? Who the fuck does she think she's fucking with? I knew something was off, the way they looked at me sometimes as I ordered my three shot short latte at midnight, the way they looked at each other as I left the bar area. Fuck. I should have seen it coming as well. The day they asked me to test two cups of coffee and tell them after which was the decaf cup. I did it. I passed the test, so to speak. The chemical smell of the decaf, the lack of power in it, the lack of smack. I'm at odds now as what to do about this. My head feels as if it's about to explode if from nothing else but from a general lack of caffeine in my diet. I've got to get hold of myself somehow. Maybe an e-mail to Starbucks headquarters in Seattle, maybe a trip to the big man in charge would do the trick. So many options so little really make use of. Fuck it. It's enough that I found out, found out the truth about this little game they've been playing with me, enough that I can now get a few free coffee's out of all of this.
The day has not started off well. In fact, last night at about ten o'clock things started to go seriously awry. It seems some people have found out about my novel project, not like it's any sort of a secret but they have begun to call me with questions about it. By the end of last night there were ten saved messages, regarding the book, and how they may be reflected or represented in it.
"Tim"
"Hi Dave"
"I hear you're writing some sort of a book and..." Dave sounds as if he's out of breath and can't get the words out properly, "Well, maybe there's some stuff about me in it.."
"Dave.."
"I mean, if it's like that then I want you to use a different name for me"
"A different name?"
"I mean I don't know how you're going about it but just in case you write about things you and I have done."
"I haven't written anything about anything you and I have done Dave, at least not yet."
"Well, that's it, the not yet part."
"I think Fawn and Jamie should be more concerned that you"
"Sure but..." Dave's voice trails off as if he hasn't really thought this whole thing out before phoning me.
"Ok, Dave. So what about a name? What name would you like?"
"How about Taylor?"
"I can't call you Taylor?"
"Why not?"
"Because I have a friend named Taylor and I don't think he'd be very happy if I used his name to represent things that you and I did together."
"How about Hunter?"
"As in Hunter S. Thompson?"
"Sure."
"How about Ray or Raymond?" I suggest knowing I will probably never use Dave for anything anyway.
"Ray? What about Reed?"
"How about Ray?"
"Ok. Alright."
"Ok. I've got to go Dave. "
"Cool. I'll talk to you later. Don't forget I'm Ray. "
"You're Ray, Dave."
And so it went with all the messages, people worried that they were somehow being placed in some sort of weird light, like I was telling lies about them. Shit, the lies I would and could make up would maybe put some of them into a slightly greater light. And so it is this morning as I try and make sense, somehow of all the messages that I feel I need to take a fresh look at all of this. What started out as a means of reflecting on whatever it was that I got myself into, which turned into more of a prolonged drunken stupor than anything, was now including those around me. How could it not? I had set out to see the world from a completely different viewpoint but hardly got past the drugs and booze. Guess I liked that part of it too much. Although I’ve got to say the extra sex action was bit of a bonus I never expected at all, especially the older women I met. It seems the worse off I get, stinky, dirty, whatever, the more action I’ve gotten. There’s got to be a lesson there. Yikes.
Maybe a break would be good now, a little time off from the writing and the hunt for experience. Maybe a job would take my mind off of things a little and I could step back and get a clear perspective on things. Cash is definitely becoming a concern. I actually phoned my mom the other day and asked if I could borrow a little scratch just until I got going again. I'm not totally out of money yet but a buffer would be good.
I've thought about going to Seattle for a few days anyway for a break from everything, maybe now's a good time. Or I could just stay the course and see what happens, that may be a better idea, for now. I still have a that small sum of money left in my bank account, from when I was working, plus what my mom lent me , so I'm not desperate as of yet. It can wait for now, the job that is, and Seattle's not going anywhere.