We had to hold people off as the months speed underneath us. Word was getting out much quicker than we thought. The events drew more people and with it started to become something regular. Oh man, these characters are tough. Maybe I should just stick with developing them instead of just fumbling through the damn story already. It’s beyond painful. Underneath the window today while I was having a cup of coffee on the fire escape trying to talk to the sky about what’s going on, a man on a bike rode by focussed on everything in front of him. I tried my hardest to take that as a sign of one of the characters in the book, but there is no story for them to ride out to. I guess I should just reach into my own past of San Francisco and pull something from there. All of my fiction springs from that reality anyhow.
Just writing through it. Putting down the words in hopes that the story is going to appear. I really should have been writing about Mongolia this whole time – why are you making me think about San Francisco. Those times were perfect until the betrayal. We didn’t mean any harm – well, we meant harm but not in any final state of things. No, I don’t want all of this blood and horror in my stories. That’s not the life I want to remember. I don’t know what the others have told you – the events we had, everyone signed a consent from before we started up stating that whatever happened was not the fault of the host. I’m not sure if any court would have believed us right there –
This is getting a little too fantastic. I need someone to bring it down a little bit. I have no idea. There are times at work when I get it or on the train when it hits me and then I have to just put on the headphones and ride through it and hope that time passes in the right way. To tell this story. I told you about my man who woke up one day with a Tattoo that said “Fuck the Police” across his neck, right? That was the real shame.
See, this guy was a straight A student – a nerd beyond what you may have thought. Not like that Erkle kind, but a real book hound who just buried himself in those pages. He was on the track you know. The one who was going to become a leader. He liked to party though when he was done. In SF, everyone partied in some way. Anyhow, after his mid terms – sophomore year of high school – he walked up to the this party in the Filmore that all of his boys were hosting. It was live. Too $hort was an anthem for everything back then – you couldn’t go anywhere in the bay in the early 90s without hearing that guy or hearing some other guys trying to be that guy. You don’t mind that I’m drifting a little telling you this, do you?
Anyhow, this guy rolled to the party just gleaming. Straight As in all of his honor classes and a nice girl at his side – he was about to really do what America is set up for – jump a class. That’s the hardest thing to do right? See, if you’re in the same class, and I’m not talking about school here I’m talking about social setting. I’m talking about the group of people you surround yourself with and share experiences with. Like, you know, if you’re sitting around and everyone is talking about the same summer vacation spots they visited when they were in high school – then you know, if you just went down to the wharf while everyone is talking about Hawaii – it’s tough to relate for you and for them. Even those rich folks don’t want to feel bad about the money they have, so they keep you out of that circle. That’s why jumping a class is tough, but sweet, because eventually, you yourself get to go to Hawaii and see it with those fresh eyes.
So this kid, he was on the way. It was a big celebration night because two years of straight As in High School, especially the sophomore and junior years (let’s go back and change that on the rewrites), means that you have your pick of schools and that jump in class is right there. Now, thing is, when you’re about to jump a class, that means you’re leaving a bunch of people behind, and most people don’t like to be left behind. It’s tough because you know about your own shortcoming when you looking at a reflection of yourself using your friends as a mirror. Never a smart thing to do. Anyhow, this kid – no, i”m not going to tell you his name – this kid was getting his drink on and enjoying himself. Everyone drank Mickey’s – and some of his boys put some dust on a joint and handed it to him. Now – he smoked, it was the Bay – we all smoked, but still, getting dusted is something else. He got so high he was begging for someone to bring him down, so his boys gave him two valium and he passed out. When he was out, they took him into the bathroom and called up This tall dude who looked like a god damn vampire – skinny as hell let me tell you. Dude walked in with a doctor’s bag and set up in the bathroom. In there for about 3 hours. It was crazy. You could hear the ink pouring into his neck. Damn fool was too fucked up to notice.
When he came to the next day, though a bit bloodied, he could see his reflection in the mirror. The words “Fuck the Police” were written forever across his neck in giant letters. He just kept quiet and bowed his head. His boys busted out laughing then grabbed him tight.
“We just wanted you to remember where you came from and how we think here when you go off to that other world,” one of them said. “People are going to know you.”
Well then, you’re a cop, right? You know what you would do if you rolled by some kid in the Fillmore with Fuck the Police written across his neck. You wouldn’t pay much attention to the books he was carrying or how he was talking – what he was saying, right? Well, not too many of your fellow officers did either. Kid got more of his share of beat downs, so as his senior year of high school wore on, he didn’t much feel like jumping any more, he just fell back down towards his home, away from the American dream, and into the records you keep in those books back there.
What else do you want to talk about?