Read Part One first.
My next ride was the most exhilarating. Two 19-year-old and fairly attractive girls pulled over asking if I needed a ride. They invited me to Starbucks. As we were walking in Hollis, in a roundabout way, informed me that she and MJ were in a relationship by walking with MJ’s butt in her hand. They had a small, tiny pawed, and wet-nosed puppy with them. We got coffee, walked to the car, buckled up and rolled out. As MJ drove us out of Starbucks for the highway, Hollis, in the passenger seat, began rolling a joint – nothing of concern to me. They stopped at a hotel for a restock on weed, still not enough to be concerned. They needed to run into their apartment for a few minutes where they invited me up to “Apartment C”, but I opted to hang outside with their dog until they were ready.
After 90 minutes of patience and tromping around the apartment complex with their puppy, my endocrine system and hypothalamus were on high alert while pumping adrenocorticotropins at maximum velocity. My flight responses began considering reasonable and extraordinary exit strategies. I couldn’t access my bag, which was in the trunk. So my risk-preferred metabolism digested the adrenocorticotropins and sharpened my awareness for any surrounding clues and resources. I took a little slip of paper to record my name, their license plate number from their 2015 Dodge Avenger (which wasn’t presently available; I’m sure they had just bought the vehicle and hadn’t had the time to register it yet…), VIN, and a series of text messages recording information for geolocation/to leave a sort of electronic trail.
I failed to come up with much more of a plan other than alerting people of my whereabouts and leaving a paper trail. I had just seen Joe Dirt, where he innocently meets a genuine-seeming guy named Buffalo Bob/Tim who invites him inside, only to pervertedly demand that Dirt rubs lotion on himself in a ten-foot hole while Buffalo Bob enjoys himself as his poodle licks his tongue.
Anyway, I was nervous that they’d fillet me and wear my skin like a trench coat. The pup and I knocked on the door to Apartment C. We were greeted by a head-to-toe naked Hollis. I quickly covered the puppy’s innocent eyes. She apologized for taking so long, and the tattoo on her butt informed me that she was just jumping in the shower. MJ came around the corner in her skimpies and a t-shirt. The pup and I sat next to the door for an easy escape (if need be) while MJ sat cross-legged with her back to me, held her Bic up to the the underneath of a spoon that couched a tiny rock and a few drops of water, lit the belly of the spoon dissolving the contents, and used her syringe to absorb and plunge deep into her veins. Almost immediately MJ had roughly twelve conversations with various unpresent characters then drifted into her purple haze of an oblivious yesteryear.
We were ready to leave.
After the puppy and I had a coherent conversation with now-clothed Hollis, she indicated that she was merely high and comfortable to drive. We loaded into the car – I with the dog – and set forth for the roads. As we were driving I spotted an RV, “Bingo,” I thought. I said, “Whip this ride around. I want to check out that RV.”
I got out of the car and said to Hollis, “Thank you both. You were kind and helpful. I owe you $20.”
“No, no. The ride was on us.”
“The $20 is for that dog.”
“Ah, well, make it $50 and you can have the dog.”
I responded, “$20 or nothing.”
Through the window Hollis handed me the puppy.
Hollis agreed but only if MJ, who was “attached” to the dog, could hold her one last time. MJ – with her legs sprawled across the dash of the car and eyes drifting behind her skull – was incapable of physically holding the pup just as much as the five-week old pooch was capable of scrapping to stay in her lap. MJ blankly stared at the dog that she was so much attached to. I was comfortable with forfeiting $20 for the dog. If anything between the two of them were going to survive, it would be the dog.
The RV would be used to drive Whit, the new, Whitman-inspired name of my wittily acquired pooch, home in the unfriendly-to-puppy’s Montgomery heat. Alas, the RV was $8000 and I could only offer $1000 and a laptop for – not enough. Whit and I walked to the Burger King to use their wifi for Craigslist-ing purposes. After catching a few rides and checking out two cars, we somehow traveled all of Montgomery by hitchhike and ended up at the exact same McDonald’s and truck stop that I started at that morning.
Physically I had a net gain of zero inches. Mentally and spiritually, I crossed the world.
That night I found a man who called himself “Kill” and was selling a $1000 1997 Honda Civic with 236,000 miles…
The story goes on; to be continued. Here is more original poetry,
i need money to–solve this—riddle me out of this scene
shoot me—up—to the moon
and watch my jet pack—up my mind—burst.
wear my needle inches into my arm, itches into my vein, clinches my dope-a-mean
there go up my green words round in jamble jingle jumble junkle jangle
three-point/out the order in this/one-fouronefiveninetwosixfivethreefive
i run circles around me–circle me–as i circle
no to the jesus—loves—, no to the Confucius—knows—, no to the preacher man—hood—