Who Knows? Soylent
Green Might Be the Answer
Here we go now. Once again, a couple
weeks ago I quit my job and dragged my ass back home. Even though I
live in the crappiest trailer park in Florida, it is MY trailer park
and the squirrels really missed me. Not due to my charming
personality, but because of the raw peanuts in the shell that I get
from the Winn Dixie. Even as I type here at a sublime sundown, they
gather outside the door screaming out their demand for more peanuts,
but I ran out of peanuts at the noon feeding and I really don't feel
good about this. I'm too drunk to drive and that means I am WAY too
drunk to ride my bicycle. But these are some scary squirrels. M.
Night Shyamalan (an obviously made up name) could really do something
with this scene.
Saurians
But on a groovier, more better Audubon
note, there are two birds who have joined the fray. I think they are
Steller's Jays but one looks like what we would call a red cardinal
and the other one is the same thing but blue. Just beautiful birds
but also pretty pissed about the lack of sundown peanuts. Birds are,
after all, the last living relatives of the dinosaurs. I honestly
don't know how I get into these jams.
Gathering of the Gloom
Listen: I spend a whole lot of time on
the road, chewing on rolaids and and battling motel maids, as some poet
once said. Plus there are prostitutes (the friendliest appellation I
can apply to what they really are) and I have a disturbing habit of,
when in my cups, as we say, engaging them and getting into
grandfatherly conversations. Thirty years ago I wasn't a Grandpa but
now I am and so I often find myself giving them money just to go
away. I got a better deal thirty years ago.
And Yet...
All of my bicycles are done. Built and
ready. And the money I give those lost girls ain't peanuts, but,
having known the freedom and pain of having nothing, I like to hand
out a little surprise once in awhile. The other day, just before I
realized I was losing my mind and it was time to head out fast for
the home fires, I went to the ATM and got out five twenty dollar
bills. I roamed the neighborhood of the motel I was at in Sarasota,
handing them out. You would think I had cured cancer, or brought
back a dead relative when you saw the expressions that rewarded my
gift of a lousy twenty dollar bill. I can't recommend it enough. I
know my readers and I know that every one of you can afford to take
out a hundred dollars every other month and hand out five random
twenty dollar bills.
I don't make a ceremony of it. I just
hand them the twenty and get away as fast as possible. But I almost
always hear “God Bless You Sir!” as I pedal or stride or drive
away. I hope that Fucker is listening. He better be, if he wants to
get a twenty when we finally bump into each other.
It Helps If You Are
Crazy
Feel the darkness dwelling in my soul?
I am sorry for that. I have been home almost three weeks and the
treasury is seriously depleted. I gotta go back out there. All
three bicycles are built and I have not, in three weeks, pedaled a
dozen miles. OK, maybe fifty. This bodes not well for the Trailer Park Cyclist.
But what of that? All three bicycles
are built and ready. Little Miss Dangerous is ready to go. So
whatever else happens, I at least have my righteous steed, hand built
by me my ownself and with that knowledge I know it will all work out.
Plus, there is still enough daylight to
pedal to the Winn Dixie for another pound of peanuts, and maybe a
little rum. Hell Yeah.
Whispering Pines Trailer Park and Animal House
Mid May 2017
