Saturday, November 19, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
The song is called: Insomnia
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
This one guy was laying down across the front entrance wearing what looked like his entire wardrobe. He had a big beard and a stench of body door surrounded him. My nose stung as I walked past him but I tried to ignore it so I wouldn't cause any issues. I pressed the buzzer.
"Hey," crackled Laura's voice through the intercom.
The clank of the door unlocking caused the man to get up. "Hey my friend lives here and I can't remember his apartment number. I know where his room is though," he tried to explain.
My heart raced. He looked like a junky and I'm sure that there were dealers for every drug within that complex. Gangs and guns and thugs, people pushing heroin, the most extreme. Maybe not, but it wouldn't have surprised me. So I told him, "I don't think it's a good idea." I should have just quickly walked in and pretended not to hear him. But I didn't.
"What do you mean, not a good idea? I have just as much right as you to come and visit my friends."
His argument was poor so I decided to indiscreetly call him out before sliding through the door and locking him out behind me. "At least I remember my friends apartment number. I told him, "That gives me more right than you." I reached for the handle but the man shoved himself in front if me, knocking me back a few steps. He reached for the handle but it had already relocked. I was trapped in the cubicle class corridor of the entrance with him.
"Your a little shit you know that? All I wanted was to visit my goddamn friend." He was starting to get hostile so I backed away and turned to leave. I imagined him coming up behind me and knifing me in the back or something, but I just didn't want to deal with him so I didn't look back.
"Where do you think your going?" he called at me. I could hear him following. "Come back here asshole," he shouted. I just kept walking, trying to ignore the harassment. The parking lot was a dark stretch, probably the worst place I could have turned. I was starting to panic just before a set of headlights turned in.
"Hey Sam, what are you doing wandering around out here? Your car is parked right by the door."
I jumped into Jack's front seat without answering.
"Just drive, don't stay here. Someone is following me."
"Dude, just chill. No one is following you."
He must have seen the fear in me because he followed my directions.
"Where should I go?"
He had left the parking lot and turned onto the road facing the front entrance. As we went by I searched for the man. There was nobody to be seen anywhere, and the entrance was clear.
"This is stupid. There's no one anywhere. You're just trippin'."
I hesitated, but agreed, "Okay let's just go in then."
Saturday, October 29, 2011
"It won't be that bad," she warned. But she didn't tell me I was going in alone. She told me we were partners, half and half, but it started to feel like I was getting pushed into all of the dirty work.
"I'm not doing that," I told her.
"You have no choice. He said it's you or no one. We can't get in any other way."
I didn't say anything right away while she stared at me. I wanted to say no. I wanted to overpower her glare, but it had no mercy over me. "There's no other way?" I asked, already knowing what the answer was.
"There's no other way Ollie." She was the only person to ever call me Ollie besides my parents. The situation I was in was a result of me trying to impress her. "You know you can be a real chicken shit sometimes. You told me once that you were fearless."
She was right, I did say that, but I didn't imagine what was happening.
"Think about all of the people we will disappoint. Think about how made we will be."
I finally worked up the courage to say, "Fine. I'll do it," but I didn't know if I actually would. It was more of a way to avoid dealing with the situation for a little bit.
"Just relax," she suggested. "Why do you have to be so tense all the time?"
I replied with a subtle shrug. "I guess it's just in my nature." I have pondered her suggestion, those simple words, 'just relax.' It seems so simple, yet it's impossible.
"Let's go to my place. I'll help you relax." She winked a naughty gesture. I knew exactly what was planning.
I least I thought I did.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
“Ah sure,” replied Jeff reaching into his pack for a camel 99.
I offered her a light and tried to be polite with small talk. “Are you from around here?” I asked.
“Naw. Kentucky. You?”
“Canada,” I said, not being specific assuming that she wouldn’t know details anyway.
“Oh wow, so far. You drove here?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I shrugged not thinking anything of the question. I had assumed that she was in her early twenties on a travel with some friends or something and I was eager to meet some inhabitants of the foreign land I was wandering. We had parked in a stall along City Square and decided that wandering on foot was probably more efficient. We hadn’t planned on drinking due to the fact that we were driving. We searched the scene for a coffee shop or something to give us somewhere to chill for a bit but the entire city square was nothing but loud music, alcohol, drugs, and people shoving through each other to get to the next place. We walked across the two-lane one way that circled the perimeter of the grass island that created the center square. The area was filled with nicely trimmed grass surrounded by flowerbeds, benches, and paved pathways surrounding a center manifold of well designed floral patterns of vibrant patterned colors. There were palm trees lining the area with a unique stone pattern wrapping around a central flowerbed and benches. When we gave up on our search for coffee the center island seemed like the only reasonable spot to rest our feet. We walked to the inner center and sat down on the concrete edge. It was at this spot when we met Katy.
“I came here with my boyfriend and some friends,” she told us as if warning us to not make any moves, “but they’re getting food. Wanna meet ‘em?”
I replied, “Sure,” even though I was slightly nervous of being introduced as a foreigner to a bunch of locals. The worst ideas always ran through my mind. Friends called me sketch as a joke and always made sure to remind me of my frequent paranoia.
“There they are,” she burst out as the group submerged from the bustle of the streets. She introduced Jeff and I to them. “They are Canadians,” she added, while all of her friends warmly welcomed us with handshakes. Two of them were carrying grocery bags, which they unpacked revealing a bag of twelve bread rolls, sandwich meat, and a pack of processed cheese.
“Want a sandwich?” a tall skinny man asked. He was wearing a unique grey suede cap with a button on the front that attached to the brim. It reminded me of something my grandpa used to wear but he gave it a vintage sort of appeal. I politely refused his sandwich and continued trying to introduce myself to everyone welcoming me. Jeff seemed thrilled to have so much attention and I went with it not wanting to bring down his mood.
We were in a town called Arcata, in California. We drove my 92 Ford ranger from Alberta, Canada with hopes of discovering new opportunities. Jeff and I worked together for Parks and Recreation of our town. We were as low on the hierarchical system as you could get, and we were there for far too long. We both had aspirations, talents, and dreams beyond that mindless, unsatisfying labor that we pushed through for nearly three years of our lives. There were old men in their forties and fifties who had been working their for decades, still at the bottom of the hierarchy, and everyday they shared their desires for a new life. We were both still in our twenties, barely, free of debt, and we were single. Jeff had broken up with his girlfriend about four months before I was dumped by Julie. In a way, that trip was therapeutic for both of us. It was through Jeff’s influence that we ended up in California.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Everyone has a story. It may not be structured, laid out, or even brought to the consciousness of anyone else, but it essentially existent within the mind that possesses it. The houses lining the bottom of the street beneath my apartment window all have their own story; separate from my own and ones I’ll never know. I’m free to guess based on the actors that submerge from the house, but the chances of accuracy are doubtful. I make inferences and judgments on people based on the vibes that they give me. “Vibes” is the word I use for that unexplainable flood of emotions that seems to present us with the aura of a person. I’m sure it can be reasoned in more scientific terms but the spiritual idea seems so much more exciting. I could say that unconsciously by picking up on the body language of others emotions are created based on what we perceive them to be, such as distaste towards someone you think is being deceitful. It makes more sense explained that way but the idea of vibes makes it seem as if we can accurately read people based on feelings, almost a gift from an unknown essence.
Monday, June 27, 2011
The owner didn’t even live in the country. The club was his investment or some bullshit. I’ve only ever seen him once and I didn’t know I was talking to him until after.
It was a dare. We were racing the golf carts through the course. We had a set rout down hole five, four, we cut back through hole 8 and across what we called the suicide plank. We did this race weekly. The entire rout is the roughest terrain to stretch over that land. We came close so many times of flipping and hitting each other. It could have been so bad. The best part was that it was all down hill from where we started so the golf carts go five times faster than normal and the bridge at the bottom was only wide enough for one cart. On one race it was so close against Colby and I. He managed to win every time and it was my chance. I was getting that paralyzing feeling you get when you are on a roller coaster. The bumps were making me nearly bounce out of my seat and I was terrified that if I let go I’d slide sideways and start flipping. I could have died for sure. We were so close I knew that he would shove me for the opening in-between the railings so I panicked and turned away from the bridge. I had no idea what I was doing. It was straight communication between adrenaline and my body.
I drove straight into the pond and sunk the cart beyond sight, or so I thought. The wind had made the water murky that day.
Some golfers were cruising towards us so I jumped on Zach’s cart to flee the scene but before we could make it anywhere one of them waved us down. My heart was pounding with fear that he witnessed what had happened. When we made it to him he just small talked a bunch of useless words. I could barely follow anything he was saying and before any of us had a chance to speak he would cut us off. I got so frustrated I just went and sat in the passenger seat of Zach’s cart while they continued talking for a bit.
When Zach hopped back in the cart he asked me, “Do you know who that was?”
“Nope.”“That’s the owner of this golf course.”