·Travelogue #45--when the going gets tough, you've cooked it too long
It took several attempts at sheer poverty until my wallet was absolutely extinguished. New Orleans scared me, Austin was too yuppy, Minneapolis too homoerotic. Economic desperation seized me—no safety net! Where the fuck was I? Denver? Wasn’t Denver a jazz mecca in On the Road? Okay, let’s go.
-----------------------------------
I saw Steven the following day, huddled in his dirty overalls and his banjo case near. We exchanged greetings, as I had holed up with his road dogs in an abandoned hospital the night previous. My last exchange with him may have either been making out with a CPR doll or passive aggressively trying to wrench my guitar from his drunk hands. Come to think of it, no—the last statement I remember Steven saying was “I love my life!”. His friend Bucket agreed.
Today, Steven looked terrible. Gainesville was in an unexpected cold spell, and Steven was waiting out for an opportunity to go to the Rainbow Gathering with his friends. Plus, all the malt liquor we had consumed really took a toll on his body. I felt it, too.
“Hey man, do you know when that feed is today?”
“Five,” I replied, “in the park.”
What really got me attention was the alcoholism. Brown teeth filled with black jelly—that was his teeth. For all of his joviality, the kid was 20. Previously, he had disdained any type of “bum feed”, mocking the patronizing tone of “feed”, like nourishing cattle in a trough. But, now, he begged for it as his luck had changed…
Steven was very good at the banjo.
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The best place I’ve found to sleep undisturbed, at least into the morning hours, is a cemetery. Sure, it’s morbid, but you’re desperate. More often than not, a tent or sleeping bag will elicit a smirk. Trespassing, sure, but as long as you’re careful not to have beer cans and crack pipe in plain sight, its safe to say you can sleep as well as the dead. Best of all, the grass is usually free of bugs (thank you, pesticides) and well maintained. Historic gravesites are wonderful—who would grieve for a person dead 300 some-odd years. Portsmouth, New Hampshire has a wonderful graveyard, replete with a bench to watch the sunset pass over Kittery, Maine. Portland, Oregon’s Lone Fir Cemetery has been my favorite for late-night snoozes, especially with mausoleums and one gravesite that you can climb approximately eight feet and out of plain site. Salem—yes, that Salem—Massachusetts holds a historic graveyard with gravestones dating back to the 1700’s!
Also, I forgot to mention the creepy factor which works in your favor. Despite whatever claims you have towards atheism and reason, being sleepy enhancing the flight-and-fight response. Have zombie fear? Seen The Creep Show, you know, that one episode where the grieving elderly woman is dragged six feet under by a decomposed hand? Of course that never happens, but with our culture playing up life after death coupled with writhing bodies in late hours, you can rest assured of at least six hours of comfortable sleep.
-----------------------------------
Britney,
poor girl
She thought I was Jack Kerouac, or trying to be
She drove me all the way to Philadelphia from Kutztown
I was horny and always wanted to have sex with an attractive girl while hitchhiking
Here was one for the blog…
And she bought me a coffee at an AM-PM
I taught her how to not pay the toll outside Philly by acting confused
She was beautiful and it worked
The women in the toll booth even smiled
And we stopped for coffee at a diner north of the Philadelphia limits
She showed me her writing assignments from college
which revealed her dark side
Something about a neglected hula hoop relating to her grandmother
withering away, maybe dead
Poor boy,
She had admitted that she had a boyfriend in the Marines
suffering from PTSD, wanting to marry her, her youth
She had admitted that it was a sexual relationship
and after singing a few songs on the trunk of her car
while cops congregated at the Greek diner north of Philly,
we fondled passionately…
Finally, it was time for me to go, but Philadelphia was cold
She was warm, warm, warmer than a simile that doesn’t come to mind
And somehow I convinced her to drive me back to Kutztown
to sleep with her…
“I can’t believe that we drove all the way there, and now we’re here,” she said
and from that, I realized that she had gotten cold feet despite my attempts to stir her coals on the way back
rubbing her neck with my left hand
She handed me $10
and we traded Facebook information
to which she deleted me after several days
for reasons unknown
I asked how her writing was, and never got a response
and that left me feeling more lonely than not sleeping with her that night
That $10?
I ended up going to another dinerin Kutztown
buying an overpriced plate of French fries
And hitting on a blond girl with acne studying Psychology
who sorely needed never to be in charge of the welfare of the mentally ill.
Instead, I plopped down along a gravestone overlooking Britney’s apartment complex
and walked in the morning to the highway…
It took several attempts at sheer poverty until my wallet was absolutely extinguished. New Orleans scared me, Austin was too yuppy, Minneapolis too homoerotic. Economic desperation seized me—no safety net! Where the fuck was I? Denver? Wasn’t Denver a jazz mecca in On the Road? Okay, let’s go.
-----------------------------------
I saw Steven the following day, huddled in his dirty overalls and his banjo case near. We exchanged greetings, as I had holed up with his road dogs in an abandoned hospital the night previous. My last exchange with him may have either been making out with a CPR doll or passive aggressively trying to wrench my guitar from his drunk hands. Come to think of it, no—the last statement I remember Steven saying was “I love my life!”. His friend Bucket agreed.
Today, Steven looked terrible. Gainesville was in an unexpected cold spell, and Steven was waiting out for an opportunity to go to the Rainbow Gathering with his friends. Plus, all the malt liquor we had consumed really took a toll on his body. I felt it, too.
“Hey man, do you know when that feed is today?”
“Five,” I replied, “in the park.”
What really got me attention was the alcoholism. Brown teeth filled with black jelly—that was his teeth. For all of his joviality, the kid was 20. Previously, he had disdained any type of “bum feed”, mocking the patronizing tone of “feed”, like nourishing cattle in a trough. But, now, he begged for it as his luck had changed…
Steven was very good at the banjo.
-------------------------------------
The best place I’ve found to sleep undisturbed, at least into the morning hours, is a cemetery. Sure, it’s morbid, but you’re desperate. More often than not, a tent or sleeping bag will elicit a smirk. Trespassing, sure, but as long as you’re careful not to have beer cans and crack pipe in plain sight, its safe to say you can sleep as well as the dead. Best of all, the grass is usually free of bugs (thank you, pesticides) and well maintained. Historic gravesites are wonderful—who would grieve for a person dead 300 some-odd years. Portsmouth, New Hampshire has a wonderful graveyard, replete with a bench to watch the sunset pass over Kittery, Maine. Portland, Oregon’s Lone Fir Cemetery has been my favorite for late-night snoozes, especially with mausoleums and one gravesite that you can climb approximately eight feet and out of plain site. Salem—yes, that Salem—Massachusetts holds a historic graveyard with gravestones dating back to the 1700’s!
Also, I forgot to mention the creepy factor which works in your favor. Despite whatever claims you have towards atheism and reason, being sleepy enhancing the flight-and-fight response. Have zombie fear? Seen The Creep Show, you know, that one episode where the grieving elderly woman is dragged six feet under by a decomposed hand? Of course that never happens, but with our culture playing up life after death coupled with writhing bodies in late hours, you can rest assured of at least six hours of comfortable sleep.
-----------------------------------
Britney,
poor girl
She thought I was Jack Kerouac, or trying to be
She drove me all the way to Philadelphia from Kutztown
I was horny and always wanted to have sex with an attractive girl while hitchhiking
Here was one for the blog…
And she bought me a coffee at an AM-PM
I taught her how to not pay the toll outside Philly by acting confused
She was beautiful and it worked
The women in the toll booth even smiled
And we stopped for coffee at a diner north of the Philadelphia limits
She showed me her writing assignments from college
which revealed her dark side
Something about a neglected hula hoop relating to her grandmother
withering away, maybe dead
Poor boy,
She had admitted that she had a boyfriend in the Marines
suffering from PTSD, wanting to marry her, her youth
She had admitted that it was a sexual relationship
and after singing a few songs on the trunk of her car
while cops congregated at the Greek diner north of Philly,
we fondled passionately…
Finally, it was time for me to go, but Philadelphia was cold
She was warm, warm, warmer than a simile that doesn’t come to mind
And somehow I convinced her to drive me back to Kutztown
to sleep with her…
“I can’t believe that we drove all the way there, and now we’re here,” she said
and from that, I realized that she had gotten cold feet despite my attempts to stir her coals on the way back
rubbing her neck with my left hand
She handed me $10
and we traded Facebook information
to which she deleted me after several days
for reasons unknown
I asked how her writing was, and never got a response
and that left me feeling more lonely than not sleeping with her that night
That $10?
I ended up going to another dinerin Kutztown
buying an overpriced plate of French fries
And hitting on a blond girl with acne studying Psychology
who sorely needed never to be in charge of the welfare of the mentally ill.
Instead, I plopped down along a gravestone overlooking Britney’s apartment complex
and walked in the morning to the highway…
