Travelogue #6
Playing music in Tacoma, a cop came up to my seated figure in the vestibule of a bookshop. The officer gave me an incredulous look--you're really playing music... HERE?! I noticed that he eyed the bookshop, moved within my 3-foot bubble (stabbing distance). I broke the ice--
"How's it going?"
He grabbed the door handle, which was obviously locked (it was 6:30pm, and the place was closed). His face changed tactics, and in a delay, he sighed and answered my question: "I'm fine."
And that's why I left Tacoma with $3 in my pocket instead of the killing I could have made at the AC/DC concert. Besides, I had had enough of "Play some AC/DC!!!!!!!!" from fat suburbanites.
Travelogue post #5
1) At 4am, I was sleeping on this bench on a very cold park. There was a rustling, the sound of a truck, maybe some whispers--THEY WERE TRYING TO ROB ME. I reached for my bag--GONE! I grabbed my knife from my back pocket--THERE!--tossed off the black fleece blanket, and ran after the intruder with a weird holler, who was grabbing/dragging a bag (loot!) across the concrete square. Half-way across the street, I saw that the guy! MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!!!
Sleep is necessary. When I looked back, the bag was still there, attached to the guitar. It was then that I realized:
I almost killed the garbage man.
2) Thanks be to Mitch, who gave me a ride to Seattle from Bellingham. We swerved through traffic. No time for turn signals, and a couple times, we almost rear-ended a Mexican who coincidentally looked a lot like Super Mario. Mama mia! He was on methadone and chain-smoking the entire time, nervous because he was visiting his pregnant methadone-hooked wife at Swedish hospital. Mitch's lisp was endearing and how we ever covered the 60+ miles in 45 minutes--well, do the math.
Playing music in Tacoma, a cop came up to my seated figure in the vestibule of a bookshop. The officer gave me an incredulous look--you're really playing music... HERE?! I noticed that he eyed the bookshop, moved within my 3-foot bubble (stabbing distance). I broke the ice--
"How's it going?"
He grabbed the door handle, which was obviously locked (it was 6:30pm, and the place was closed). His face changed tactics, and in a delay, he sighed and answered my question: "I'm fine."
And that's why I left Tacoma with $3 in my pocket instead of the killing I could have made at the AC/DC concert. Besides, I had had enough of "Play some AC/DC!!!!!!!!" from fat suburbanites.
Travelogue post #5
1) At 4am, I was sleeping on this bench on a very cold park. There was a rustling, the sound of a truck, maybe some whispers--THEY WERE TRYING TO ROB ME. I reached for my bag--GONE! I grabbed my knife from my back pocket--THERE!--tossed off the black fleece blanket, and ran after the intruder with a weird holler, who was grabbing/dragging a bag (loot!) across the concrete square. Half-way across the street, I saw that the guy! MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!!!
Sleep is necessary. When I looked back, the bag was still there, attached to the guitar. It was then that I realized:
I almost killed the garbage man.
2) Thanks be to Mitch, who gave me a ride to Seattle from Bellingham. We swerved through traffic. No time for turn signals, and a couple times, we almost rear-ended a Mexican who coincidentally looked a lot like Super Mario. Mama mia! He was on methadone and chain-smoking the entire time, nervous because he was visiting his pregnant methadone-hooked wife at Swedish hospital. Mitch's lisp was endearing and how we ever covered the 60+ miles in 45 minutes--well, do the math.
