this is an excerpt from a larger piece of writing that I'm working on:
so I walked into the restaurant and went straight to the bathroom to wash off the filth from my hands. My job is street, so my hands literally are black with sut.
it was one of those bathrooms that needed a coin to open, and once I was inside, there was no mirror above the sink. My guess was that it had so much graffiti scribed into it that they had to remove it. And they had shitty soap, it smelled worse than my hands smelled to begin with. And when are restaurants going to learn that that hot air method of drying hands simply doesn't work?
I stalk the entire layout of the greasy spoon in search of a booth that allows me a view of the TV. NASCAR is on... The #8 car is in the top ten. I order a coffee: too much cream, even more sugar.
worried that I missed a call, due to a too quiet cell phone, I hurriedly whip it out to see if there are any missed calls. I'm safe, so I set the phone next to my napkin and unused silverware, and slide down the booth, so that I can use the opposite side like a foot rest. If only you could still smoke indoors, eh?
I look around at all the people in the shitty pancake house located in a remote desert town, and I wonder how many years these regulars have been coming day in, and day out, never missing a beat. Hell who could blame them, the homes were hot as fuck, and the restaurant's rotating display of assorted fruit pies looked appetizing enough. And to top it all off, there I was with them all. At the only place in town to be. The only difference being that in another hour I would never come back to this restaurant, or this town, or this state. I was on my way, and nothing was holding me back, certainly not a glossy looking cherry pie.
the following day I was awoken by the light of Sunrise filling the cab of my truck with light. I sat up in the back seat, a little confused and disoriented. It's hard waking up in a brand new place every single time, and not recognizing any of your surroundings. Things looked a lot different in the dark when you arrived. I unravel the balled up sweatshirt I used for a pillow and put it on, and open the car to get some fresh air. It's fucking freezing outside, maybe a cigarette will warm things up.
time to grab a coffee, fill up the gas tank, and get to driving. There's work to do. Distance to cover. I've stopped and smelled these roses for long enough, there'll be plenty more along the way, and you better believe that I'm gonna stick my greasy Italian shnauze into each and everyone of them.
the hum and vibration of the engine are familiar, and comfortable. Holding still feels un-nerving at this point. Got to keep it moo-ving.
how long will this last, how far can I get? Will they come find me and drag me back?! There's no time for bullshit. Worry will drag the ship into a storm. I can't think about what I did, and who will come hunting... It might make me sloppy...
i pull the sunglasses down from my forehead, and position them porpperly on the bridge of my nose, as i approach a nice looking coffee shop. i could use a blast.
December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 January 2006 July 2007