When I left work a small crowd was gathering on the corner. 2 guys were having some kind of scuffle.

I got closer. One guy was on the ground wearing yellow roller blades. The other guy was standing above him. The guy on the ground took a long, slow lunge at the standing guy, tried to get up, and slipped and slid. The standing guy shoved him and made him slide more.

A car was parked just a few feet away with its driver's door opened.

The standing guy didn't get taken down. The rollerblade guy couldn't stand up. He loped around on his knees throwing an occasional punch to the gut.

A woman waiting for the bus finally busted in. "STOP IT!"

The standing guy yelled at her to shut the fuck up, and pushed the other guy again.

I was rooting for the rollerblade guy to swipe the other guy's knees and bring him on the level.

A police car was parked on the opposite corner with its lights flashing, but no officer could be found.

I imagine them still there at midnight, deadlocked among the gravel and rain puddles.

Raining and reading

On a rainy, cool Sunday afternoon, when the house is clean and I'm buzzed from a long lavender bath, I curl up with some Bukowski. After reading for a few minutes I start to feel hopeful and light. Then I feel ashamed.

Hope comes because Bukowski reminds me that everything is strange and beautiful and even the most heartbroken soul can find grace.

Shame comes because it has been way too long since I have wandered in this field.

Next stop: Karamazov.

Wagging the Dog

It has come to my attention that the previous post may have been unclear, or heaven forbid, unseemly.

I guess I just meant woof.

Apologies to Scott and everyone if this seems disappointing.


*********************

Other topics of the summer:

1. Faith.
Why have it. What is it. Where can I get some.

2. Firemen.
If it weren't for the macabre sense of comfort provided by this show, I'd have completely given up on item #1.

3. 'Fiddich.
I do not drink this often, but take comfort knowing it's out there if I need it.

4. Frank.
Finally, yes . . . I believe every fucking word he sings.