'96 VW Jetta
Every day another miraculous resurrection, it starts, I'm amazed, but not nearly as amazed as I am when it goes...
20 below outside, 19 below in the car, the snow never melts inside, never enough antifreeze to stop me from freezing, but it''s quicker than walking...
It's been over 2 months since my last prospecting adventure, 2 torturous months trapped in Calgary, the car, it isn't going to make it, I know this, every trip to work that I arrive safely and in a single piece, that's another miracle, soooo many miracles, my cars' a veritable Jesus on wheels....
The noise, even louder than before, deafening, it's like a Jet engine or 747 taking off right over your head, at intersections people check the car out, think that I've customized it this way, pimped my ride, I'm a street racer, hot-rod enthusiast, nahhh, it's just the car, lacking an entire exhaust system, muffler, look at it, really, who would spend money to customize this?
It's depleted on every fluid, antifreeze twice a day, oil, gas, I complain to the other waiters at work, if they win the lottery they'll get me my jeep, "Still..." warn's A*****, "you might have to put gas in the next car too you know..."...I know, I know, I just don't want to be over-committed to this, with every trip quite likely, almost certainly it's last I don't want to risk losing a full tank of gas in the bargain...I have to watch the gauges like a pilot, exhaust, fumes, the restaurant is about the outer limit of it's reach, the temperature starts to climb when I reach the first shoulder of the hill, every red light thereafter is a torturous wait, watching the temperature fluctuate, Will it make it? Will it not?...
It's done, done, done, 4 liters of antifreeze a day, more antifreeze than gasoline, I've been using water, it's too much, this hand-mixing of the artisnal antifreeze, guessing at the temperature, I don't want to crack the engine block, maybe it's already cracked, there are the sounds for sure, the rattles from every direction as I drive, engine rods, ball joints, the junk in the trunk, shocks that jar and jolt over every protruding manhole, idiot lights all ablaze, bare tires make the hill down an easy thing, but by the time I start heading up the next hill the fumes in the cockpit are overwhelming, exhaust pours in through the passenger floor, the fumes of burning antifreeze and oil, every cylinder and head gasket straining against the pressure, looking over the storm clouds billowing over the hood, I gotta drive faster if I'm gonna escape, the temperature warning gauge is climbing, the windshield wipers won't clear the smoke...I'm a WWI pilot going down in flames, "I'm the Red Baron!" I scream, but no one can hear me over the galloping of the engine...
...If it'd just survive until the daughter arrives and gets her learners license we could wreck it together, tenacious, this shuddering, smoldering, wreck of a car, i have to grudgingly admire it, it's served me well, no Volvo for sure, but it's done it's best, the daughter and I, we'll lay it to rest, give it a proper funeral and explosion before resigning ourselves to the bus...
- Details
- Category: Miscellany
Living in a Pub
(quick nap before going for drink with A*****. The dream anticipates the drink)
Meeting A***** for a drink, picking him up in the North of the city where he lives, his building, inside, an inner courtyard, like a shopping mall, we're up some levels, at some distance a bunch of people dressed in kinky attire, obviously there's an event somewhere, I was unaware of any sort of nightlife in the North of the city...
We follow them, down an avenue to a pub in an old building, outside, kink festivities, inside, an old-English styled pub, and a Czech styled diner, antiseptic lighting and tables...A***** leaves me, enters the diner, talks to some woman by the door, they leave together, her bum crinkled and bursting through her knickers, she's an old whore, but I'm too polite to say...her friends are sitting on bar stools facing the door, I enter, ignore them, pretend to not see A***** leaving with his whore...
Alone, outside, dimming light, the kink festivities seem to be wrapping up, now Rebecca, old co-worker from ****'s drops by, we go inside, apparently, in the pub, this is my living space, comfortable, the pub is closed 10:00 PM to morning, that suits me fine. I find a few odd furnishings, this is new to me as well, but I accept it, there are fixtures poking through the floor, this used to be Rebecca's place to live, she's here to collect a few things...and tells me how to make the most of my space, the open layout, it leaves not much room for privacy, there are other people that live here as well...
Joking with her boyfriend, surprisingly slight and small, I pick him up over my shoulders, take him upstairs to hang him over the balcony, scare him a little, there's a green room, a big comfy chair in the center, a rather unsavory black and white guy, they tell me there's no way I'm sitting in that chair...
I leave it for now, I don't need to hang him over the balcony, and I know I'll be catching up to those two clowns and extracting my revenge later...
- Details
- Category: Dreams
"Where's G*** ?"
The regulars all ask, and I try to explain..."The owner...and him...they decided it was time for him to go out into the world...the owner said to him...'here., my son,..take my Maserati...I filled it with gas for you...take my credit card...spend the money as you see fit...I have written the Pope, and received this dispensation for you...return whenever you are able or so inclined..."
Me and A*****, we are both weeping wishing it was us, leaving the family hearth to go into the world and find our fortunes...
The customers, wisely, laughing, they know, don't care, they know the story, they've seen or heard it time and time again...still they'll come back, the suffering and death of fools is their dinner...
- Details
- Category: Conversations
Dumpster
One of our regular customers, a Yosemite-Sam type character, retired millionaire philanthropist, long grey hair and mustache, is telling us about how he was walking through his neighborhood downtown when a homeless man popped his head out of a dumpster, took one look at him and said "Keep Away, This one's mine...". Which would have been my clue that it was time to get a haircut, but when you're rich you don't care...
- Details
- Category: People
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