Goin out bein a creep
Goin’ Out, Bein A Creep
Tired I was of my black apartment. Pitch floors, raven ceilings, blue mirror from the reflection off the floor into the bathroom. Light switch on the wall invisible with the hour and no reason to reach for it. Too late for the lights on, too odd. Two in the morning all I hear is the damn air conditioner unit. Blind men hear better, taste better, feel better. Can’t see very well though, my god-given right to this world, the visible world, taken away by something every night and why should I let it? This sun, this setting and this rising. Why do I conform to the dark and the heat and the cold its cycles bring? And what about the moon. I digress. If the sun won’t wait for me, I won’t wait for it. Big stupid ball in the sky goes to ruin a perfectly good day. Fingers on the blinds moving sideways show a street lamp fifty yards up. Same place every day but I don’t see it none because I don’t look yonder often. Defiant on the sidewalk, beaming on the wet asphalt. Starry is the pitch they laid on the road, dark is the sky above from all the defiance in the street. Can’t see the real stars nowadays, not anymore, not in a while. Gotta shoegaze at the wet ground to see the astral paintings. God’s glory, I digress.
Jacket on my arms, pants half up standing over the toilet. One eyed Randy can’t hit the target like he used to. Mop ain’t been unhooked from the bucket in some years but I don’t get no company. No sir, not the visiting type. Untrustworthy, the rest of them. Could be a time to be had at someone else’s place but I don’t get invited nowhere. Not so unlike myself, they are. Not so much of a peep from them neither. Man on the television tonight said it’s a cloudy one with a rain storm coming down from up by the lakes. Mid-summer showers they called it. Explains the knee all the same. Arthritis they said, pressure I swore. Left knee buckles every time it comes round here, this upheaval of dust and wet and grit. Turns into a slushpile by mid morning, then after that I’m crippled. Walk it off, momma used to say. Ain’t no good from a boy who gone sit all day, no sir. Wait till papa hears about your slacking. Beat you with a switch if you don’t keep it moving. No chores left undone. Piss floors, dusty walls. Maybe she had a point, maybe she was harsh. Don’t recall that switch but I do recall the goat that kicked me. Little devil had his day, yes sir. Good supper the next month. Now I pay for it. God bless.
Hands rang under cold wet soot water, shiny they were as I opened the door. Light from the moon that I could not see. The lamppost was the culprit, I squinted. Maybe the moon had enough tonight too. Restless under lock and key from the sun. My door unlocked for the poor souls who think wandering in was the right thing to do. If they need the money that bad, so be it. This used to be a nice town till all them folks started leaving. Don’t blame them, not one bit but it’s a shame nonetheless. Drawers needed hiking up, boots clunking untied on the pavement. Hard mother earth hurts the knees more than the sitting does but the air is nice. Juniper tree blossomed somewhere near here, smells like gin. Followed my nose down the road and ended up at the next lamp by the park. Shadows of two still figures on a park bench, I a shadow to them. Standoff till they notice, their hands move, heads turn. Who is that guy, they’re saying. Just some creep, out being a creep.
A pop can with a red logo and I have been walking together for a quarter mile. He talks more than I do, he yells from time to time. Has to get prodded along and I lost him once by a grate but he’s alright. Stomped him out as I took an uninhibited turn down an avenue I didn’t recognize. Sign said Mable Avenue. Town’s got that much in it that we’ve got avenues, I guess. No point reasoning with that, can’t remember anything built after the new mall got put in. Shut down too when the big glamourous department store closed. State wide, they said. Bad business deals or lack of people needing clothes. Thought about moseying around in there one day after work but never came to fruition on account of those new cameras they got everywhere. Can’t go to a burger joint without some kind of photography being done. The automatic tellers, I understand on account of weirdos trying to tip them over and gut them for change, but the big arches? What kind of criminals so badly want to gun down rotten Ronnies? The new America, maybe. Lawless wasteland its become, traded good folk for bad folk in a heartbeat.
I found myself at the end of a bay and blinked. Big new houses all in a circular way. Some real nice cars here, some new some old. Trucks with big black grills and some of those Japanese cars turned all sporty. Looks nicer than a Ferrari but sells for the price of a minivan. Saw it on the television that they get loads of miles on them before they shit out. Tell me who thought it was a good idea to sell a car based on how little they crap out on you and I’ll tell you where it all went wrong. Looks nice up close, real shiny trim with red pointed lights on the back. Space age, moon man kind of car. Hands cupped on the window there were a collection of those hair ties the girls wore back in the day. Big ones. Couple of cans in the cup holders. Red like my brother back on the road. Porch light off still, ain’t got that motion detection Orwell nonsense going on here, no sir. Bet if I needed they’d let me in. Rainstorm or other. Old man like me no harm, practically built this town they should be grateful I’d look in their car. Seats cushy and soft, no leather to be found. Center console had a bunch of tubes of perfume, smelled good, spritzed in my eye by accident. One eyed, half blind again. License and registration, please. Okay, officer, my name is Nicole Winslow, I live on 720 Ashbury way, and I am sixteen years old. God damn child driving a supercar what has this country come to. Put it all in order and left with the porch light coming on as I left. Skipped down the way, hollering some nonsense from behind about Hey Get Back Here.
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