Tuesday, April 12, 2005

sm@ll cr@fts

... i think we're alone now, i can't see anyone around

the small radio speaker blares: attention coastal communities there is a small craft warning issued for san pedro and all surrounding marinas. the water is calm but there is an air of danger spotting 1 kilometer off the port of LA and coming in fast. water spouts have also been seen in several locations. all small craft are advised to stay in the port and hunker down for a brief flurry of danger and angry elements. the message begins to repeat.

i could have sworn i just saw a coyote run through the alley. its that kind of night. permanent summer is almost back and the sea is changing its demeaner. its needs something. it needs to make a statement and the city wants to hear what it has to say. the city being the cruel and nosey type.

the screams of the gantry cranes wakes me up from a dead sleep. the inky black night outside my window is only broken by the lights from the boats out in the marina near the port. mt attention turns to a broken window nextdoor and the silouettes of two people agrueing while trying not to be loud about it. on hits the other and i couldnt care less. i need to get out of here.

my shoes go on fast as i grab my keys and hit the road. its just before two so i grab some whiskey on the way out of town. the air is dry and hot and the baby tumbles weeds are beginning to take root on the sides of the road for next years death roll. sonic reducer by the dead boys is on the radio and is broken by another announcement.

attention all coastal communities there is still a small craft warning in effect for all vessels and quiet peace. take cover and stay indoors. danger is in the air. stay tuned for any further announcements.

the mist from the crack of the beer is a refreshing change from the dry air shooting in from the sun roof. i can smell a hint of skunk in the air as i drive. it smells like hate. 75 mph and counting.

i dont smoke but i wish i did because i feel like a smoke. the ocean is on my left and im moving north on the backside of the peninsula. no stores no cops and no witnesses in case anything goes wrong. alot of people dump bodies or commit suicide out here. it seems appropriate because all the uber-rich houses are out here. they need to see what they drive us to do.

the new trump golf course is to my left. its still under construction. back when i was younger it was a place for punk kids to light bon fires and drink beer on public land. now its gated off and all the rich kids are the only ones who can get in there and use it to date rape thier rich little friends. better clothes on crappier people. i can see two kids molesting a half concious girl. not much new for this place. you'd think theyd do that at home in the rec room with all thier friends and a camera but these kids are the 'new stuipid.' 85 mph and counting.

another coyote darts out of the darkness and in front of my car and i feel a thump. a big thump. are you kidding me? the blood and fur obscure my headlight but threre is no body to be found and i couldnt care less. another death in new utopia. the sea doesnt care and the city feels even less. with my new tribal paint job im off. 95 mph and counting.

i am sure i'll run out of gas soon and i'm not even home yet. the circle of the new cruelty is almost complete and the six pack is almost gone. i still feel weird but fuck it. danger is still in the air and i bet i can find it. i need a gun and some beer.