50
"Get out from behind this kook. He's hardly movin' the
passenger said, instinctively controlling the volume on the
radio as he spoke. gesturing at a Chinese family in a Volvo
in front of them,
"Hey, I don't think I should take you to this place. I... I
don't know if it would be cool with the guys. Y'know, you
might tell someone. Sometimes you talk too much," said
the driver,
"You wanna know something? You're being a real prick
today. Do you realize that, pal? You owe hard. Big-
time...maxo-du-plenty." The passenger's temper began to
flare. "Who flows when you've got no dough?"
"You do. But....
"No buts!" The passenger was breathing hard. "Whe
set you up with that one killer Madonna-Der?"
"You did. But....
"No buts!" His eyes were rolling wildly about, he was
panting. "Who always puts you on the quest list at ALL
Our shows?"
"You do, but....
"Okay! that's enough buts DAMN IT!!!" It was looking
worse than a scene from the Exorcist. The inside of the
windshield dripped of condensation; it needed to be
wiped.
The driver felt as if somebody had flushed his blood like
a Russian toilet. Then he said. "I'm sorry. I still can't do
it. Can't take you to that place. I made a promise."
At that precise moment, the passenger lunged at the
driver's throat, grabbing it with both hands. "I'll show you,
you son-o-bitch," he screamed, sounding like somebody's
secret crazy relative. "You can't hold out on the secret
spots from me and get away with it!"
Meanwhile, high in the sky flew a flock of seagulls, car
ried by the wind, talking seagull talk.
Drip on any people today?"
"Only six."
"I got about seven of the real little ones that run around
behind fences in the daytime.""
"Dooh, that's good."
Yeah, they're fast."
"There's gotta be some fresh garbage just past the
Hollywood freeway over there.""
"Yeah, yesterday me and, wha...? Hey, look down there
on the freeway."
"Hey, what's going on down there?"
"It looks like one of those cars is trying to spell out
something in French."
Not French, it's Chinese.""
DRESSEN
HOSOI
"Look at it go."
"Yup."
Inside of the piece-of-shit car was a scenario resembling
a kaleidoscope. The driver's eyeballs were almost touching
the inside of his sunglasses; then he sensed that things.
were going dark, just like when you get up too fast, start
walking, black out, fall flat on your face and break your
nose.
The car bolted off the freeway, up an ivy-covered em-
bankment, did a "Ty-slide" then came fakieing down to
rest seremely on the shoulder of the road. The 'strict' bank-
ed maneuver broke loose the passenger's death-grip.
There they sal, pulsating, panting like mad-men, ape-
like, psycho-dogs in the November desert sun."
"We could's been squelched," coughed the driver
"You're still a prick," the passenger, soon-to-be ex-best
friend if something doesn't change here pretty damn
quick, spal
The driver hard-pressed his temple into stacked-
spaghetti and smunched his lips into the shape of the let
ter '' lying on it's side and said. "If you promise not to
tell a soul. then..." he hesitated, "I guess I could sorta
take you there." He reflected on how he had just commit
ted himself. "But you gotta promise that you won't tell a
soul. You gotta swear to GOD!"
"I promise."
The sun was cranked up to a good seventy-five percent
blasting capacity. Lizards would sometimes run across the
small, scarcely shadowed driveway. A snake would stretch
out on the hot surface and absorb the brilliant heat like a
sponge on a raging river.
Two pairs of feet scurried up the drive, anticipation in
one sel, possible regret in the other. They cut off the road,
up the side of a hill, through some bushes and right into a
fence. Before them sat a giant dream. Six-foot walls,
twenty-foot walls, twelve foot walls, thirty foot walls.
pockets, jump spots, lips, grindable lips, speed lines
...in short, paradise.
The place lay under the siege of a five man assault
squad. They were intimate with the terrain, and as
the wind stirred up these boys did play.
their inhibitions all tossed away
Across the bottom and up the bank
another soldier flew, wind at his back.
Up and down and around they slashed.
Sliding like this and sliding like that.
One boys slips, the surface he hits
A frying pan version of nineteen grit.
One boy laughs, "Better help that rash.
"That's ok laughing back.
No broken bones,
gonna skate some more!"
A backside carve in the packet
and a Bert-one-eighty
lets you know they're rockin
Careening and screaming.
so full of gas.
Big slides to power
and airs to blast.
They ain't foolin'
about their solution.
as eye pollution
is in their constitution.
Grabbing their tools
right about then,
going into service
was the driver and friend.