A Po-boy's tale of Nawlins Naivete Chapter 3

Naiveté(As told by Lori)
Thursday, 8:30 P.M.

I don’t remember why, but I am driving. My lovely boyfriend is passed out in the backseat and my stupid brother will not shut up. He is talking a mile a minute, because he just snorted about two grams of coke. I have not paid attention to a word that he has said since he asked me to drive. I have no idea how to get to Pittsburgh; I am just driving, hoping, and trying my best to not pay attention to my brother.

“I don’t understand job interviews. They ask you the most ridiculous questions. Today, this girl was interviewing me and she asked me when was the last time I was criticized?” he blabbed.

“uh huh”

“ I don’t know what the fuck to say, it’s a fucking interview for a fucking restaurant!!!ya know?”

“uh huh”

“So, I’m like, this morning. Chick just stares at me. I say, yeah so I was making pancakes for my girlfriend and she was criticizing me because the pancakes were burnt,”

“uh huh”

“But, the funny thing is,” he laughs to himself, “I’m applying for a job as a cook, and I’m telling her how I burnt fucking pancakes, the easiest thing in the world to cook, and I’m telling her how I fucked that up,”

“uh huh,”

“Next question she asks me is, what do I take pride in, without even thinking I just say, my art, I don’t know where it came from I just said it. I don’t do ‘art’. Then she asks me how I deal with stressful situations, I just broke out laughing, I wanted to say I smoke doobies, but instead I just said, I keep everything in perspective.”

“What are you talking about?”

“what?……oh, my job interview,”

“ohhh..did you get the job?”

“I don’t know,”

And he continued to talk about other questions that the girl asked him, and how he managed to screw up yet another job interview. I don’t know how I let Billy talk me into this trip. I would be perfectly content on our breezy porch sipping wine, playing guitar, talking literature, but instead here I am in the middle of nowhere driving my crackhead brother and my lightweight boyfriend to Pittsburgh. It is getting darker and it is starting to drizzle. I am refusing to use the windshield wiper and am enjoying the rain as it drops onto the front windshield. It takes me back to when I was younger and I used to watch the snow fall from the sky. It used to amaze me how each flake seemed perfect and I used to love the way that snow piled and accumulated. This rain seemed to have that same effect. It created almost a rhythm against the glass. Each drop had a purpose and the whole trip seemed surreal. My brothers droning voice, my boyfriend in the back snoring, the cars whizzing by.

I have never really traveled down south. I have been to Disney world, and to Virginia, I have been to New Mexico, and San Diego, but never to New Orleans. I was really excited to see the live music and experience the excitement, but it all seems so far away. I am beginning to doubt if we will ever get there. The highway is dimly lit. I am not driving fast. Cars whiz by from both directions. The highway is also narrow, construction workers are everywhere. The road is windy, and I am starting to bug out a little bit as it seems like every turn I go off road.

Suddenly, Billy wakes up. I love the way he can pass out in mid-sentence, and then wake up and finish his sentence like he never passed out for two hours.

“How far are we?” he asked.

“About an hour and a half,” Danny responded.

“Sweet, you want to stop for some BK,”

“No, I think we should keep driving,” I said.

“Ok, anyone want an adderroll?”

“No,”

“I’ll take one,” my brother exclaimed.

He quickly hopped over the seat, and Danny chopped up two adderrols and they both snorted a few lines. This is not good. I can tell already that they are going to be trouble together. Ever since we got in the car it has been a little competition. First, they guzzled the champagne, then they smoked a blunt, then they snorted coke, now adderroll, it is like I don’t exist and they are just trying to outdo each other. I am the worst driver on the planet, and they don’t care, they’d rather have me drive and do drugs and get fucked up. I am fed up, and I pull the car to the side of the road.

A Po-boy's tale of Nawlins Dinner and a Movie Chapter 2

Dinner and a Movie (as told by Scraps)
Thursday, 8:00 P.M.

I’ve been working this job now for almost two weeks. The hours are laughable. I wake up every morning at 5:30, walk a half an hour to a co-workers house, and then arrive at work around 6:30. I then bust my ass for this douchebag landscaper for roughly eleven hours a day. I only have one half hour break the entire day for lunch, and I usually don’t have time in the morning to make a lunch so I just try to scrounge up whatever I can from the others. I don’t really get paid that much, but all the hours will add up and eventually, I will get a huge paycheck.
But, I’ve about had it with this job, and when I came home Thursday night I came home to Rusty passed out on the couch with a huge plate of french fries and a half of a grinder in front of him. It was a beautiful thing. After hoofing down his food, I woke him up. I don’t think he even noticed.
“How was work man?” He asked.
“It sucked man, I fucking string-trimmed for five hours. When I was finally done my arm wouldn’t stop shaking for like ten minutes. Then I fucking had to shovel rocks into the back of a truck, then drive back to the shop, and shovel the rocks out of the truck.”
“I had a rough day, too.”
“Really? What happened?”
“Jeanie broke up with me,”
“No shit. Sweet, I fucking hated that bitch.”
“Yeah.” He just agreed with me, but I could tell he was upset.
“Lets go get drunk.”
“Hell yeah,”
I like Rusty a lot. He is a standup guy, wouldn’t hurt a fucking fly. But, sometimes that is his problem, you know what I mean? He never really stands up for himself, never does what he really wants to do, always goes with the flow. Jeannie was a bitch. She had him on a fucking leash. Had him all dolled up in pussy banana republic pants and yuppy shoes. She was a looker, and probably a hyena in the sack, but Rusty deserved better.
We went down the street to a dive bar and I ordered two shots of Beam. We took them down and I quickly asked for two more along with two Budweisers. About four shots and three beers deep Rusty started talking about New Orleans.
“You know who fucking called me earlier?” he slurred, “Billy, dude, fucking Billy,”
“No shit, what’s that pussy up to?”
He just laughed.
“That dude is crazy, man.”
“Yeah, remember when his leg caught on fire?”
We both laughed hard, and started reminiscing. It was 4/20 and there were about twenty kids at this ‘spot’ where Billy and all his lame ass hippie friends used to go to smoke weed. Well, Billy was really drunk that night, like he is every night, and he had earlier chopped all of his long ass hair into a mohawk. Accept it wasn’t a real good mohawk. He had originally wanted to shave his entire head but about half way through had already gotten bored of sitting in the chair, so he was like ‘just leave it as a mohawk’ and he had this big patch of hair on the top of his head. I thought it looked rad, but everyone just laughed at him. But, anyway we were at this spot and one of Billy’s pyro friends had made a Sterno candle out of a beer can. Billy, being the moron that he is, thought that if he stomped on the candle the fire would go out. He was just doing it to make his pyro friend mad, but when he stomped on the candle his jeans caught fire, and his leg was on fire. He was hopping around for like 3 minutes and all Rusty and I could do was just fucking laugh, the site of this little mohawked dude with his leg on fire was too much to handle. Then, we tried to stomp it out, we were stomping hard on his leg and the fire wouldn’t go out for another good five minutes. He hung out all night drinking with us. Then the next day, Rusty was delivery driving and he sees this dude with a mohawk limping down the street dribbling a basketball. Billy fucking played basketball with third degree burns on his leg, he was a tough little fucker. That was probably the nastiest scar I’ve ever seen in my life. Billy wouldn’t go to the doctors for it either until like four days after it happened. He tried to bandage it himself and the burn just got worse and worse and eventually infected. I’m surprised they didnt fucking amputate his leg.
“So what did Billy want?”
“He is at his new girlfriends house, you remember that chick from down the shore?
“Ahh yes, how did Billy pull that one off?
“No clue,”
“But, dude they’re coming to Pittsburgh tonight,”
“Tits dude, tits,”
“Yeah man, they are going to New Orleans this weekend,”
“New Orleans?”
“Yeah man, I think I’m gonna go with them,”
“Really?”
“Yeah, dude. I mean, I haven’t done anything fun in fucking forever. All I do is see lame ass movies with Jeannie, go out to dinner, go to expensive fucking bars with people I don’t like. Tell me the last time you went out with Billy and didn’t laugh your ass off?”
“I’m down dude.”
“What about your job?”
“Fuck that man, I hate that shit,”
“Do you have any money?”
“Fuck no,”
“I’ll spot you man, it’ll be the shit,”
“Tits dude, tits.”

A Po-boy's tale of Nawlins Champagne and Cocaine Chapter 1

Champagne and Cocaine (as told by Danny)
Thursday 4:00 p.m.

I woke up this morning, yawning, and still drunk from the night before. I had spent the past two weeks with my parents dog, on the couch. Having recently withdrawn from all of my college classes, I came home to rehab. My rehab consisted of waking up around 11:00 a.m., eating a bowl of Raisin bran, watching TNT’s drama in the daytime, fetching the ball with my dog, calling ex-girlfriends and harassing them, going to stupid classes on European literature, and taking out the trash. I had become a hermit, a recluse, a forgotten soul.
But, when all hope was abandoned. Zoned out on the couch, sporting my flying pig boxer shorts and a tank top, my sister arrived. She looked like a dream. Her hair was sun bleached blonde, her skin auburn, her eyes glowing, she said, “hello”.
“What?” I replied stumbling for words.
“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaanny, how have you been?” she said as she dropped her portfolio of paintings that would make Picasso jealous.
“I’ve been average, average.”
“What? Why aren’t you at college?”
“The institution let me down?”
“Hmm,” she was confused. Here I was, the source of information to her for the last nineteen years, empty. No information, all the potential to be ‘whatever I wanted to be’, but maybe that’s what I am. Alone, on the couch with my flying pig boxers watching the Superstation. Watching episodes of Law and Order back to back, followed by Die Hard marathons and cheesy movies on Comedy Central. I was a waste of space and I enjoyed it. I’d spent the last five years at three different colleges, flunking out of two of them. Stumbling around with course loads too hard or too easy to keep me stimulated. I didn’t know what it was that I wanted to do with my life, so I spent most of my hours partying hard and studying soft. I’m not sure when it started, but I knew I was legally insane and certifiably an alcoholic.
“Yeah, I came home. I was in a rough spot,” I said, trying to come up with an excuse for my lethargic disposition.
“Cool.” she said. I had to smile. She looked like a fucking after-school special superstar..
“Why are you here?” But, before she could answer the door slammed and this lanky looking surfer dude came stumbling down the steps. In his right hand a bottle of champagne, and in his left a cell phone, he was screaming into it like he was in a crowded room.
“Nawlins!!!!Mardi Gras? No man, fuck that, it’s nawlins who gives a shit. Yeah man, I’m here at my girls spot, dude, we’re about to head out to the burgh’ we’ll be there in like 4 maybe 5 (takes a big gulp from the bottle) SICKBIRD!!!!!!!!!whoooooo!!!! hours, killer, get that fat ass off the couch and be prepared for the weekend of your life bitch!!!! COOOOOOOOOOOOkie Crisp!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
My sister smiled. The dude pretty much fell down the stairs. My dog barked, I laughed. I had to admit, he was a cool-looking dude. He still was sporting his beach gear. He had flip-flops on, a red quicksilver bathing suit, a t-shirt that said supported Mushmouth from Fat Albert, a Cadillac hat tilted to the side, and a huge grin on his face. This kid was optimum man, prime.
“Danny, this is Billy, Oh my god, you’ll love him, you know how you always like trip on your feet and do stupid stuff, he does too!!!”
“I do stupid stuff?”
“Yeah, like remember that one time when we were climbing on the tree and you were climbing and you fell and then your underwear got caught on that branch and then you were hanging from the branch and we all laughed at you, oh my god that was hilarious,”
“Shit,”
“Billy does stuff like that too!!!”
“What?” This kid was a complete jerk-off. What the fuck was my sister doing with this stoner piece of shit asshole.
“What’s up, brah,” Cheech replied.
“Nothing much man, what are you kids up to this weekend?” But before they could answer Billy took another huge gulp from the bottle of champagne and then passed it to my sister. She also took a huge sip, Billy then looked at the empty love seat and proceeded to pass out on it.
“We’re going to drive to Pittsburgh, and then to New Orleans,” my sister said with a huge grin.
“Who’s driving?”
“Well, Billy’s going to drive us to Pittsburgh.....”
“What?” I said in disbelief, “This dude is wasted?!”
“He’ll be ok,”
“Let me put on some pants,”

reborn

It wasn’t insomnia. It wasn’t boredom. It wasn’t depression. I just couldn’t sleep, all I could do was stare, stare and nod off occasionally. Caught in what seemed like a dream but later found out was more of a reality. It had been quite a few nights. What was real blended into delusional fantasies, hungover hallucinations, alone in the dark of the Pittsburgh basement I hardly recognized my reflection in the mirror. What had I become? I needed to get out, and I did.

toronto.

TORONTO.

I float effortlessly into space. I see a white light, that appears to be the moon and I glide past it and as I look down the moon gets smaller and smaller as does the planet that it revolves around, our earth. I continue to glide into space, I go straight up, escaping our galaxy completely and enter a different universe. I know I’m moving fast but it doesn’t seem that way at all. Beautiful colors are everywhere and I flip and twirl in space like I was underwater, except I don’t have to hold my breath. Suddenly there is fire, fire everywhere. I can’t stop though I keep floating towards this infinite wall of fire. It is not the bright red that you are thinking of, it is the bright red that you see when you close your eyes as tight as you can. It has those little yellow circles inside the blackish red, and I see this color forever, at least it seems forever. Suddenly though, I come out of this black hole and enter what seems to be a new universe completely. But it is more like a planet, because I see mountains and rivers and oceans and although I am still floating it seems like I am not moving nearly as fast as I was before the red fire. Abruptly, I completely stop midair and fall down to the ground. I fall fast and hard and land in the middle of what seems to be a dance floor. I wonder what happened to the roof as I look up at it on the ground. Maybe it was a portal. I have fallen into a party that reminds me of one of the underground raves that I used to frequent back in Pittsburgh. Except instead of electronic music there is a band on stage that plays a music that sounds like reggae. It seems like there are four hundred or five hundred young kids everywhere. Beautiful girls in skimpy clothing along with hundreds of other kids grooving to this amazing music. I get up and start dancing. As I dance three girls approach me and we have this amazing connection. I look deep into one girls eyes and get lost inside them, forgetting where I am and how I got here. As I dance though I can’t help but wonder if I am dead, and if this is my heaven.
I realize quickly though that this isn’t the case. I am jacked up by two huge men, that appear to be the bouncers, and I am thrown violently down to the ground. One of the men punches me in the face. Then the other one lifts me up by the shirt and then throws me down again, and then kicks me in the stomach.
“How the fuck did you get in here kid?!” the puncher asks.
“I fell.”
“What the fuck?”
“I fell, man. I did.”
They look at each other and then they look at me. Then they start to laugh.
“This dude is out of it man, look at his eyes.” the other guy says to the puncher.
“Yeah, lets get him out of here.”
They turn me over, and put handcuffs on me. They then lift me up and walk me out of the room. As I walk out I wink at the one girl who I was dancing with and she gives me one of those looks like she didn’t know who I was. But she digs me, I can tell.
As they walk me to my destination I act smooth and pretend like I am ‘out of it’. But, before they have time to react I start to run. I run faster then I have ever run before. I run through crowds of people pushing each person I run into aside. I step on two lovebirds making whoopie and I feel bad, but I keep running. Right when I think that I have lost them the puncher appears and I run right into him. My hands still cuffed, I am defenseless as he punches me in the stomach.
“You’re a frisky little bastard aren’t you,”
I can’t answer, I can’t speak. I don’t know what to say I just look at him and smirk.
“Damn dude, whatever you’re on you got to give me some.” he adds as he walks me to my certain doom.
He pushes me into a dark room and I fall to the ground. I hear a couple kids laugh. Then, I hear what sounds like two old women talking.
“These kids today are out of control.”
“Look at this dufus.”
“He looks like he’s been through a war.”
They must think that I don’t hear them. That I am completely oblivious to everything around me and that I am some sort of moron delinquent.
“I fell bitch.” I snarl back at them.
They just laugh.
“You fell? Poor child. Where did you fall from?”
“Earth.”
They start to laugh hysterically at me. Then they whisper to themselves.
“Where am I?” I scream, but they don’t answer. They’ve decided to ignore me.
Because of my handcuffs I can hardly stand up and as I try to stand up some kid pushes me over and starts to laugh. I recognize his laugh, it is the same laugh that I heard when I entered this room, this dungeon. I lie on the ground without moving for several minutes. I am woken up by someone tapping on my shoulder.
“What’s up dude,” a stranger asks.
“Not much man.”
“You want some moly?” he asks.
“Moly?”
“Yeah dude.”
“Hmm.”
“How much.” I ask, pretending to be interested. But I’m not really, because it is very expensive.
“I got a couple lines broken out right here, you look like you need one.”
“Fucking right.”
As I enter this new world of pleasure and overwhelming emotion thousands of thoughts enter my mind. I wonder where it is exactly that I am. Who is this kid offering me free moly? Who are the two old women in the corner? What happened to the roof when I fell? Why do girls always act like they like you until you get arrested? Why did I get arrested? Why do these aliens do moly and groove to reggae music? Why do they all look like me, like humans. It hits me, and I am certain that this world is my world. I am on earth. It must’ve been a bad dream, maybe I slipped into an old acid trip. Or maybe I smoked some wild herb, snorted heroin by accident. Or maybe, just maybe I’m like superman in this new world with special powers but I look like everyone else. I can lead a dual life here and bang Lois. That’s why I could fly, that’s where my speed came from. But what happened to me when that dude punched me in the face, what happened to my super powers then? I look over at my friend and it looks like he too has lost himself inside his mind. I start to laugh, and he looks at me and he laughs back.
“Dude, where the fuck are we?” I ask.
“I don’t know man, I don’t know.”
“Seriously, kid. I’m lost here. I must’ve eaten some weird mushroom or something but I seriously think I’m in a new universe. I am fucking out of control.”
He just laughs at me and says, “that is some good shit.”
“Yeah.”
“What did you get busted for?”
“Busted?”
“Yeah, why’d they put you in here.”
“That’s what I want to know.”
“Haha. You’re a fucking space case dude.”
“Yeah man, I traveled in space. I’m from earth. I’m a human.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Human. I’m from Philadelphia.”
“Sweet. I’m from Toronto.”

11:19 AM eastern time

It is Friday morning. I spent the past week and a half in Maryland/Dewey beach with my brother Jeff, bumming it. I am trying to get this website going so that I have motivation to start getting more out of a lot of random things that I have written over the past few years. Friends, fuckers, and random followers, let me know what you think.

S.E.

A po-boy's tale of Nawlin's (Prologue)

The General and the Gambler (as told by Billy the beach bum)
Sunday, around 11:00 A.M.
The beat up Cadillac I woke up in was familiar, but not too familiar. The white leather backseat wasn’t quite comfortable but in my drunken state, I had no problem sleeping. I sat up and looked around. I had absolutely no clue where I was. I knew whose car I was in, but I didn’t know where she was or where the car was parked. I figured it would all come back to me eventually and decided to walk around and look for a place to grab some breakfast. I knew there would be a gas station or something like that somewhere around here. I dip into my pockets and realize that I have only a one hundred dollar bill. This is not good. I came down to New Orleans with 300 dollars; I must’ve wasted a shitload of money last night. The only thing I could think to do was head to one of the nearby “boats” or as us yankees call them casinos and play a little blackjack.
After chowing down a quick bacon egg and cheese sandwich, I decide to put my 97 dollars to work. I find a bus to the boat and make my way inside the casino. I’m not really used to the casinos down south, I grew up around the Jersey shore, and was playing the tables in Atlantic City at a young age. I had been in this casino yesterday with my friends, but chose not to bet too much (because I didn’t have much). However, now that I have somehow spent two hundred dollars on a mystery, I decide to not play the safe Pai-Gow poker, and instead play some blackjack.
Blackjack, mathematically, has the best odds in the casino to win. However, through experience I have found that although mathematically the odds are good, more often then anticipated you end up a loser. It is a fast game, and you can win fifty dollars just as fast as you can lose it, and everything you gain is what you are willing to lose. In the time that it takes to play one hand of Pai Gow or other poker games, you can play four or five hands of blackjack. But, I’m a gambler, and I really don’t have much to lose, so what the hell.
I made my way to the blackjack table and sat to the left of a man in a decorated army uniform. He was puffing on a cigarette and drinking some sort of mixed drink. It looked like he had over ten thousand dollars in chips sitting in front of him. I was truly going to look like a little sucker punk, and the dealer would not mind letting me win a few hands. I sit down at the table, a twenty five dollar minimum bet table, and decide to just buy two twenty-five dollar chips with confidence. I say hello to the man who looked to be about fifty years of age. He didnt nudge as he bet one thousand dollars and just puffed on his cigarette as I placed my fist twenty-five dollar bet on the table. The dealer then dealt us our cards. The general was dealt a 6 of clubs and a king of spades and I was dealt a jack of hearts and a queen of diamonds. The dealer was showing a 9. We both decided to stay, and when the dealer turned over a ten of diamonds I won and my “friend with the big stacks” lost. Four more hands went by and somehow I managed to win three of the four hands. In five hands I had won seventy-five dollars, and the general had lost five thousand.
He looked at me and then asked, “Do you mind if I play your cards?”
Confused, and somewhat intimidated, I said, “Sure.”
He then put 2500 dollars worth of chips in front of me and said if he won he would give me five hundred dollars. My heart was beating like crazy as the dealer dropped an ace of hearts in front of me. The general smiled. The dealer also had a little smirk on his face. He was a skinny black guy with a gold tooth and kept calling me “Cadillac Jack” because of the hat that I wore with the Cadillac symbol on it. I nearly shit my pants when Darnell, as his nametag read, dropped an ace of clubs next to the ace of hearts. The dealer showed a nine. I looked at the General and he didn’t even think about it as he moved the remainder of his chips over to my side of the table.
“I guess we’re splitting.” I said with a nervous chuckle. I had nothing to lose, I’d already won seventy-five dollars, if I lost I’d still be up fifty, but this crazy general had ten grand lying on my cards. Darnell flipped over an eight of spades, and I didnt even consult or look at the general when I said stay, then my man Darnell dropped a king of clubs over the ace of diamonds, blackjack. Woo hoo!!!, we at least made the five hundred back plus 1.5% for getting blackjack. Then when Darnell flipped over his down card and showed us a 3 of spades and then the 10 of diamonds which meant that he busted...the general and I both jumped out of our seats and high-fived.
“You sure are one lucky son of a bitch he said with a huge smile.” He then handed me ten hundred dollar chips and I suddenly had more money then I have ever had in my possession at one time in my whole life. The general then said, “Get your scrawny ass out of here and buy yourself a hooker.”
Breakfast with Grandmom (As told by Rusty Folsom)
Sunday, around 8:00 A.M
My buddy Scraps has been my best friend for as long as I remember. I don’t know why we are friends, or how or where I met him, or any of the particulars like that, he’s just always been there for me and I’d take a bullet for him. We drove down here to New Orleans with our friend Billy, a crazy beach bum alcoholic, his hippie girlfriend Lori and her older brother Danny. I never did more amphetamines in my life on the twenty-hour drive from Pittsburgh to New Orleans and ended up driving this shithole of a Cadillac for over eighteen hours. Scraps got his nickname because he never has any money to buy food so he usually just eats other peoples leftovers, or scraps. The funny thing about it is that Scraps is a big dude and usually ends up eating more then anyone else even though he never buys or cooks anything.
Last night was our first night here and Scraps and I got lost from the other dumbasses we came down here with when we decided to go to a strip club. All five of us were entirely too wasted to be doing anything other then sleeping, but being the complete morons that we are, we never reserved a hotel room and had no room to stay in. Billy was buying drinks all night and he promised Lori that he would buy her a hotel room for the night and the three of them disappeared soon after. Not ready to end our night, Scraps and I decided to go to the nearest gentlemans club on Bourbon Street. Scraps is probably the worst person to go to a strip club with because he has no money and is usually real loud and obnoxious and calls every girl he sees in the club a “skank” or a “dumb bitch”. As he was insulting some of the girls and getting kicked out of the establishment, I was getting a lap dance in the back room. For some reason whenever I get lapdances I always end up connecting with the stripper in an emotional way instead of a physical way. There is something demeaning about a lap dance, I cant treat women like objects, if a beautiful girl is dancing on me I treat her with respect, no matter how she decides to earn her living. Anyway, once our dance was over this girl followed me to my seat and I bought her a drink. We talked for a few hours (and since I was as drunk as a fifteen year old girl at a frat party) I decided to ask the girl if she wanted to go back to my non-existent hotel room. She excitedly agreed and we walked out of the place hand in hand.
“Daddy, where’s ya’ll staying tonight?” she asked with a smile full of holes.
“Shit. I got no clue. I don’t don’t even think I even got no place to stay baby. Do you know a place I ccould get a room for the night I ask.” I mumble.
“Hmm. Yeah I know a place.”
So, we walked down this main street and I was way too drunk to pay attention to where we were walking. We then entered a very nice hotel and I put the room on my trusty credit card.
We found our room and in the light I noticed that my mistress was about fifty years old. I looked at her wrinkly face, her saggy arms, her veins in her legs and I got up out of the bed went into the bathroom and puked all over the walls, missing the toilet completely. I then came back into the room and said, “I can’t do this, I’m sorry, I’m just too drunk.” She gave me a little smile and we both fell asleep almost instantly after I fell down on the bed.
In the morning I woke up not remembering any of the details of the night before. I looked over to my left and saw a naked old woman lying next to me and impulsively went back into the bathroom and puked again, this time I made the toilet though. I then walked into the room, looked at the old woman, assumed that I probably had herpes or some unknown disease from whatever I did to her the night before, and politely asked her out to breakfast.
We went to a nice bar down the street, and in New Orleans at eight o’clock in the morning bars have thirty-five drunken people in them. We sat down to a nice southern meal.
I found out that my mistress was a grandmom. She had a daughter when she was sixteen years old and then her daughter had a daughter when she was sixteen years old. Nearly puking again when thinking of telling my friends that I paid to have sex with a grandmom, Delores informed me that nothing happened and that my company and breakfast was all the payment she needed. We had a nice conversation about motherhood, life in New Orleans, why she ended up being a stripper, and the assholes that she has to deal with everyday. It was a weird night that I really hadn’t planned on sharing with anyone.
“Smoking a white boy” (As told by ‘Scraps’)
Sunday, around 4:00 A.M
I fucking hate strip clubs. They are the most overrated pieces of shit that I’ve ever been apart of in my short existence. I went to this dumb-ass dive with my fat friend Rusty and started yelling at all the dumb bitches in there. Of course the steroid pumping bouncer punched me in the face and threw me out on the street. I was wasted, had no idea where anyone was, and had no money. Lucky for me though, some black dude with two gold teeth sporting straight camoflauge gear saw me getting kicked out of the club and helped me up from the piss and puke stained bourbon street.
“Whats up buddy, you got a dollar?” he asked.
“Nah, man, I ain’t got shit man.”
“Come on man, just a dollar, I got to get the bus, you know what im saying.”
“Sorry buddy, I lost all my friends, they are the rich ones. I got ten bucks. If you can get us some weed with ten bucks, I’ll give you my ten bucks.”
“Shit yeah killer, just follow me.”
“Sweet man.”
I followed this dude (who I soon found out was named Melvin) through the back streets of New Orleans, or as the locals call it Nawlins. He then told me to give him my ten dollars and wait in the parking lot, while he “get us that shit”. So, there I stood in the middle of the ghetto standing in some abandoned parking lot waiting for some gold toothed stranger to come back from what looked like a crackhouse hoping that he wouldn’t spend my last ten bucks on a hit. I sat there thinking that I was the biggest jackass in the history of jackasses and each second seemed like a minute, each minute seemed like an hour, and after what seemed like two or three days I finally see Melvin bouncing out of the house. He walked, pretty slowly, across the street and said, “What’s up scrapper.” I looked at him and I could tell that he had just smoked some crack. His eyes were bloodshot, his mouth a little white, his teeth grinding a little bit, his whole body shaking.
“You got that weed, man?” I asked, hoping that he would just give me my money back so that I could get the fuck out of this neighborhood.
“Yeah man. You wanna smoke a white boy?”
I wasn’t sure if I heard him right. Was he mocking me? Was he going to shoot me? What the fuck did he mean...smoke a white boy? “Uhh what?” I asked. “Smoke a joint man.” Ohhhh I was completely relieved as I realized a ‘white boy’ would be a joint and I guess a ‘black boy’ would be a blunt. Melvin proceeded to roll his joint faster and more nonchalantly then I’d ever seen or ever will see again. He rolled it up in what seemed like one action, and in the middle of a busy street. We sparked the joint, started to laugh, and as soon as he entered my life it seemed he disappeared and I was all alone in the middle of no where, high as shit (I think we smoked wet).