Back to the scene of the crime. Eh, who am I kidding, _crimes_ is more like it. Crimes against literacy in the free world, wherever that is. Everywhere, right? The young criminologist in us all wonders why? And more to the point, why now? Looking back is what kills you in these sorts of enterprises, I guess. I looked back. Bang. Dead. It happens just like that. Just like that… Peace, love and harmony to all those hippies in the hills of Humboldt. Trees and grass, the only industries out there. Lumber and marijuana, major building supply and major cash crop… 20 year old arts supply stores with decaying paper-machete walls still operating despite completely insufficient clientèle… And what clientèle there is, drives new black Mercedeses and rocks torn jeans and Def Leppard Tshirts with puke-stains– all at the same time… Peace, love and harmony keep on lowering IQ’s and making money. God bless the revolution, Marx would be oh so proud. The following is not exactly what I wanted to deliver but more will follow. Life goes on until it doesn’t.
–Scene 6.
He walks out of Sing Sing’s–worried. It’s probably 941 for all we know and Andre is in the deepest shit he’s been since that one time that he got arrested for protesting the war. Yes, deep is the river his horse must trot through. Andre is glad that his car is still where he left it. This city makes him extra suspicious. He presses the button on his car key, and *shoom* the thing is ready for forward or rear operations. Andre jumps right in and fires up the engine. Stutter, cough and we are off. Radio, cigarettes and window, check, safety belt, check, doors locked, check. Andre is also ready for operations. The current operation has him driving down the same road that he turned right on for about two miles, then getting on the I 673E and then getting back on the the way to work reentering, shamefaced if need be, the freeway he so carelessly abandoned.
Andre is looking back, his right hand resting on the back side of the passenger headrest going through that back-up motion. Having gone through this motion, Andre dodges some passers-by that he barely even notices and re-enters the raging river in a hurry, leaving some of yester-year’s papers and street trash airborne as he jets out. His unconscious mind, whatever that thing is, is about to push him into agreeing with some sweeping statements vis a vis Dom’s Soap when Andre’s better judgment tunes the radio to that station that’s all about killing people.
“Boom, boom, boom.”- goes the rowdy boy Bass, and Andre quickly lowers the volume.
Maybe now is the time for me to reveal something that I’ve been holding back up until this point. If my conscience would permit me, I’ll share with you the developments on L street. Perpendicular distance to L street is two miles north along our present bearing. The street Andre is on will lead him right on it, unless he does something stupid like turn left and take that shortcut he doesn’t yet know about. But then again, why would I tell you about L street if he did some thing like that? Maybe I should just talk about major economic developments in Poland 1910-1914 instead. Maybe the pope gets his kicks wearing a yarmulke at official functions. Don’t ask me, I don’t know. What I do know is that L street is hotter than usual. L street is usually hot enough to vaporize steel on a lunar night, but today, something has happened and hell itself is absolute zero in comparison. OK, so maybe I lie sometimes. But for this here second maybe you should believe take my word for it and accept that its not just the regulars out there this morning. In fact the regular cats have fled the corners and a strange quiet sweeps across the land. Something smells crooked. Water that is about to boil also shows signs of the impending change, bubbles start to rise as if from nowhere, the steam starts to rise and everything is getting primed for the change, but when it occurs it occurs all at once. The rats are hiding in their holes, the birds are flying low, the stray dogs are whimpering and looking for shelter, even the dope fiends have chosen other streets in search of product.
–
