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November 17, 2004
Last Night I Slept with Trouble
Some people will try to make you believe that I spent all of last night chatting up strangers in a bar. This is not true. A good part of my night was spent sleeping in a bed.
Finally a bed.
After about a month or so I finally slipped between the sheets and set my head upon a pillow atop a real bed, thus concluding my longest bedless stint to date.
This however was not my most uncomfortable bedless stint by any means. There was the time I had to spend a couple weeks sleeping on the floor, and the time I, under the influence of Kerouac and cashlessness, spent a few weeks sleeping in the back of my beat up Toyota Corrola in Mississippi.
I started out cooking beans in a campfire by the beach then retiring to my car parked in the parking lot at the Bucaneer State Park on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. In the sweltering heat. Getting eaten alive by mosquitos.
That is until I got kicked out by the park rangers. They threatened arrest and I moved to a nearby state park.
Well, I went to the park and found it was really a campground and I'd have to pay to enter. That would defeat the point, so I continued down the (gravel) county highway and turned into the first dark road into the woods and went to sleep.
I went to classes during the day, after returning to Bucaneer to take a "shower" in the sink in public bathroom. At night I would read books reinforcing my new lifestyle until the light dwindled.
That's when I would stuff myself into the cramped back seat and sleep constantly worrying that a crazed local with property rights would wake me by tapping a shotgun on my window.
That lasted about a week. Then I realized this whole sleeping on the streets stuff was nonsense. I needed a real shower. One where I could get totally naked without fear that some stranger would walk in and get me arrested for public nudity.
Honestly, what was I thinking?
Last night after leaving the bar, where I did chat up some strangers for a few hours, before sleeping in a luxurious Bed I went out looking for trouble.
Seems I can never find it when I look for it, it finds me when it wants to spend time together.
Like the night before Thanksgiving a couple years back when I hung out with my brother and my cousin in Madison, Wisconsin. After proving to our cousin that we could indeed over-indulge we decided to get some food: Burritos as big as our heads at La Bamba, a popular closing time destination.
We met a guy with "LOVE" and "HAT" tattooed on his fingers. My brother called him a pussy for not getting "HATE" tattooed on his hand. The stranger removed a large pinky ring and offered to show the tattoo to him up close. He declined, apologized, and then called the guy a pussy for not tattooing his hands himself. I eased him out the door.
On the street a car full of guys began cat calling toward my cousin. My brother told them they were being very rude.
Somehow things happened and I ended up dropping my pants, jumping up and landing my bare ass on their hood.
That's when they stepped on the gas and gave me a ride down the street, only to cut it short, slamming on the brakes, sending me flying, when the owner of the car, Mr LOVE & HAT, sauntered out of the restaurant.
The car emptied and everyone wanted to kick my ass, which at this point was re-covered. Somewhere in the crowd was trouble, but I wasn't looking for it.
I ran without looking back.
Posted by calculatoronfire at November 17, 2004 09:18 PM