The Working Bee

I drove out to the suburbs to visit my friend Lou. I tend to get depressed when I go out there. We usually drink a few beers and I’ll sleep it off before coming home. I woke up at five in the morning and thought it a good idea to come home early. The sun was rising and the birds were singing.  I was looking forward to a nice leisurely drive on the five freeway. I had my top down on my convertible. I was going to cruise back. I got on the freeway and everything turned manic in an instance. There were cars everywhere traveling at a high rate of speed. I felt like torpedoes were shooting at me from all directions. I was the neutron and there were protons flying all around me. This is no way to live.

            I was driving in the slow line. I was being tailgated by a hyped up worker bee. He was right on my bumper, as if there were no other lines to pass me with. Even the semi trucks were speeding. I was holding on tight to my steering wheel, thinking this is crazy. What’s the damn rush? It’s five in the morning. The sun is coming up. The birds are singing. Lets ease on into it and have a good time. 

Found Bill

            I found out what happened to Bill the smog guru. I went to his shop once more before asking my friend Jessie Sweet to contact Norman a mutual friend of Jessie’s and Bill’s, to ask if he had heard of anything about him. Norman is in the music business, or was, I’m not sure.

            Sure enough, the smog guru is in the hospital with gastro intestinal problems. He had a removal of parts and a resection of others. Norman asked Bill if he could visit him in the hospital, but Bill declined. The smog guru is a private man, even in ill health. 

            I received a text from Bill in response to my “Are you alive?” text. It read, “barely, should be out early next week.”

            I sent him a text back, “did you see the pearly gates?”

            He sent back, “grizzly details to follow.”

Bill

            Bill the smog guru has gone missing. I stopped by his shop a couple of times, and there’s no one around. I called his cell phone and my call went straight to voicemail. His mailbox is full. I have a bad feeling. He wouldn’t leave his place on a whim and he’s not the vacation type of guy. I’m thinking maybe he’s sick and in the hospital or even worse. I sent him a text message, “Are you alive?” He didn’t text back. I hope he’s okay. 

Car Show

            I’m playing bass at car show on Saturday. I need the money to support my studio habit. It’s for a Chevy car club out in the desert. The band has been asked not to play the song Mustang Sally. It’s offensive in some way. It’s funny to me. We could change the words to Corvette Connie. Corvette Connie, guess you better slow your Corvette down, Corvette Connie!

            What ever it takes. If there were money in poetry I’d be reading my poems.  

Viva Cantina

            I had a gig at Viva Cantina last night. I had never played there before. The place butts up against the Los Angeles Equestrian Center. There were horses parked in the back and the smell of manure was prevalent. At times I thought I was in Texas. There were kids wearing cowboy hats, and men walking through the bar with spurs on their boots. The wait staff was nice and the restaurant fed us well. I was paid more than expected. All and all it was an interesting night. 

A Doozy

            I met a woman yesterday at a local café. She was an attractive woman. I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone, so I was a little surprised when I found myself talking to her.

Somehow through the course of our conversation she told me that a friend in her inner circle confided that he was hired to kill her. I didn’t ask why. I played it off as everyday conversation. It wasn’t any of my business, or was it what I wanted to hear while making friends. I started looking over my shoulder. That’s all I need I thought.

            I said good-bye to the woman as soon as the opportunity presented itself. As first impressions go, that was a doozy.   

Not Once, But Twice

            Can a man die twice? Richard Dawson the famed host of Family Feud did in my mind. The first time he died was in the nineties, I thought I read about his death in the obituaries. I stored it away in my memory bank and was convinced he was dead. He hadn’t made any public appearances, or was he visible to me in anyway, so imagine my surprise when I read he died the second time. How can that be? I thought he was already dead? It turns out he wasn’t. Reality is a tricky thing my friends, and in this instance death came not once, but twice.