“Last night I dreamt I’d forgotten my name, cause I had sold my soul, but awoke just the same.”
Empire State of Mind
“The city of sin is a pity on a whim, good girls gone bad the cities filled with them.”
Drop That Thang
“Hey, there’s a lot of ho’s at the party, but you’re the only one I’m really lookin’ at shawty.”
the Devil you Know 1.62
Let Me In Trailer
Originally titled Let the Right One In, this is a remake of an independent Swedish film I pimped a year or so ago. The American version appears to be a near shot for shot copy. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’d like the themes of the book explored more, but I’m not sure how that’d sit with a mainstream American audience. So the big question remains, will the filmakers have the balls to include the vagina scene?
the Devil you Know 1.61
The Words I Read June 2010:
The Halo Effect…and Eight Other Business Delusions that Deceive Managers—Phil Rosenzwieg
Give Me Up Again
“You gave me that smile and I gave in, and you knew that I would time and time again.”
Magnificent Desolation
Heather left work at 10, but she told her parents and boyfriend she didn’t leave until 11. This gave us at least 45 minutes. She’d exit the restaurant, her red uniform smelling of grease and sugar, the autumn night rising to meet her, and I’d be waiting, parked along the back fence in my Delta 88. I hated that car, but as with most things I no longer possess, I’ve gained an appreciation for it. I’d love to drive that beast down McGalliard again, blast my Pioneer Super Tuner, run my finger along the fabric of the back seat, and reflect upon the sweet perversions that took place there. It’s a shame how the moments are lost while we’re in them.
Heather often spoke of reuniting, when she had the breath to speak. I answered vaguely on those nights, neither confirming nor denying my desire to date her. There were many Heathers, and many vague answers, and many nights such as these. Could I be anything else, but a nefarious teenager? Aren’t we all scoundrels at that age? Our motivations slaves to the carnal. Yet even scoundrels maintain a constant, and mine was surely Goose. I convinced myself that all these late night rendezvous might be forsaken if she sat next to me. It has always been as such, my longing for the things that are beyond my reach.
Danny Curtis, for a short while, was the evening manager at One Accord. He was inches away from being a midget, drove a Geo Metro, hated P.I.D. because he felt they glorified themselves rather than the Lord, but most importantly he was Goose’s uncle, and, I’d assumed, my friend. Goose’s parents never supported our courtship, but I felt Danny might mend the tensions. One night I asked him to speak to his sister. Danny assured me he’d talk to her. He was a man of his word. He talked to her. Unfortunately, his suggestion was to keep Goose as far away from me as possible. I was furious when I learned of that betrayal. I wanted to tear him apart, tear myself apart. I wanted to scream aloud, and I might’ve, but no one would’ve heard.
Quixote worked there. Charlie’s son Mike worked there. The congenial negro who opens the door for me at Taco Bell worked there. It was owned by Adrienne McKnight’s father, a girl I was madly in love with in Kindergarten. Of course, she only had eyes for Quixote.
I took dates there.
I ate Christian breakfasts there.
Delgado and I dined at the restaurant countless times. The staff knew us by name. Sam hooked us up. We wore those little red flags out.
I miss it. My memories are those of ghosts, fragile as a whisper. Young Heather. Young Goose. Those faceless, nameless dates, those phantom lips. Betrayals and prayers and innocent hopes that shall never pass this way again. My friend Delgado, as we once were, laughing and strong; athletic, the previous weekend’s keg on our lips. Oral tales that grew from straws into mythologies that carried us into college, now only hinted at, mostly forgotten. The days ahead stretch faster, and those behind grow dimmer. I’d forgotten most of it until I saw the picture, and then it all rushed back. Was fresh, for at least a moment. Yes. I miss it. I miss the excitement of new love, even though I had no concept of it at the time. The daily heartbreaks. I miss old friends, and taco salads with extra dressing, all you can eat spaghetti, late night rendezvous. I miss Young Sam and Young Heather and Young Goose. Northside Assembly of God. I even miss Danny. But above all else, I miss those goddamned sopapillas.
