In the morning it's the usual routine.
I set up my laptop, lounging on my bed, writing when Murder Mike comes up, and sits down next to me. He casually picks up my MP3 player between us and hands it over to me. Now of course, I wonder what is wrong with this picture as I take the player and find something funny at the bottom of it. I look, and its a much folded Twenty Dollar Bill. Well, well, well...the money that I lent him nearly a month ago has made it's way back home.
Well now I have Starbucks money on me, so away I went.
When I get to Starbucks I read and write. My plan: hang there until about three O'clock when I would head for the SHOUT OUT. Nice plan. But that's the reason why I don't like plans. They're simply a list of things that don't get done. Unbeknownst to me, forces were moving within me, within my digestive tract specifically. A shifting and moving took place, like organs moving around, some settling downwards.
After a gout of flatulence I knew what the problem was. It was time for me to return to the Box in a hurry. I skedaddled and upon reaching the door, I hear a distant "Hey!" To showcase my stupidity when I have to take a shit, I look around. In the distance I see one of the new clients who now sleeps across from me, BK, waving me over frantically. Here's my fucking rule: 1) If I have to take a shit, the whole world comes to a halt, and: 2) When you want something from me, you come running to me; and I promise, when I want something from you, I'll come running to you. I go upstairs and take a shit.
Later I see BK, and this asshat has nothing to say to me. All of his waving and calling me was just some big joke. Lucky for me that I was, and still am, too full of shit to fall for it. It's after three now, so I gear up and head out striking the pavement and entering gray skies and falling rain. It starts slow at first, just a few drops, not even enough to lift an umbrella. But soon the drops start to fall. About the time that I got to the Astor Place Starbucks it was falling in sheets.
I duck inside the establishment to don my ready for service poncho and hit the bricks anew. The rain is literally driving, being carried by a fierce wind, but I continue on undaunted. I am impervious to rain or wind once under that poncho. Even my backpack is covered over by it. It being a true back packing poncho.I reach the SHOUT OUT to find Oz standing under a nearby awning. We fall into easy conversation and wait while our numbers multiply, waiting for the Bartender to arrive and open OTTOs. Soon its D2theL, Oz, James and the feature's family and friends w
aiting and getting soggy. The Bartender arrives late, and lets us in for a fantastic SHOUT OUT. Lawrence does an excellent job, whipping the audience up. It all ends with Oz, James and DD playing music to escort us out.
It was over all too soon. D2theL, my brother and I head down towards Whole Foods Grocery in the falling rain. After putting D2theL on the train we retire for the night, eating warm food for a change, somewhat of a treat for the homeless believe it or not. The night turned late and I had to go. Since I did have two beers at the show it was a must that I return before curfew. I really wasn't sure that I would. But the worrying was all but moot because I arrived on time.
I was soggy in places, and simply wet in others. I sat on my bed, too tired to do anything other than take off my shoes. I stretch out on my bed and float off into space, a comfortable ride that ends with me shivering. I crawl under the covers and drift away again. This time when I awake it's Eight O'clock in the morning. I stare at my watch for a minute. Why so late? Since it's after Eight I head upstairs to get my meds. Upon getting there I find two blockheads in the nurses station, typically useless motherfuckers, in an animate conversation.
I don't have time for this bullshit. Really. I mean, the Nurse is supposed to be in at Eight O'clock to dispense drugs. It's as simple as that. If she's late she has what these numbskulls here call Prepacked drugs, where she had prepacked our meds days before in the eventuality that she might be late. Then one of the Techs can come upstairs and dole out the prescriptions.
But no, the joke is is that these jackasses do not do neither. A complete breakdown of operations. It's stupid, and unpro- fessional, because they take a professional assessment of your medicine taking habits from it. How can you come up with a professional opinion from such unprofessional data collection? That's this place for you, full of shit.
I storm out of the Box and head to the Astor Place Starbucks with what little money that I had left from yesterday for some breakfast, because they stop serving breakfast at exactly Eight Thirty, and Oh No, they'd never be late to do that! When it comes time to stop doing something, they are right on the lazy ass button.
So here I am, stewing in my own juices at Starbucks, watching as Buzzard strolls in, lays his electronics all over a table and plugs them into a nearby outlet. Ohh, so that's what he does here every Sunday morning that I see him here. He takes his seat and stares off into space, his mind falling backwards into his skull, screaming silently. I sense the vacuum his skull makes as the brain is sucked away into the void. His eyes grow dark and vacant as if there is no one behind them. He is gone in his own mind.I feel for him. I know what that feels like.
When LAMICTAL kicks in and you have nothing to focus it on.
That reminds me, I didn't get my LAMICTAL today.
Hobobob
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