goad on the road ... day 1
Around 10PM last night, I got some news that was potentially so good it felt like I'd taken a shot of speed in my ass. Packed my bags, hurtled downtown, bought a Greyhound ticket, and rode "The Dog" up to Seattle with a busful of mule-faced mutants.
Stood in the chilly Seattle pre-dawn for a bus to the airport along with an interracial homeless coalition. A mullet-headed Mexican was dipping nachos into an open can of tuna and inviting everyone to have a taste. An old skittish black woman was handing out Jehovah's Witness tracts. She asked a clownish little old white man if he liked tracts, and he pulled up his sleeves and said, "Look—I got tracks right here."
On the airport-bound bus, I overheard a black guy in work clothes say, "Ain't nothing wrong with dreaming." I agree, as long as you keep your eyes open. Later, a surly brutha thrashed the living shit out of the old trackmarked white man while everyone sat and watched. The busdriver finally stopped and dispassionately told him to knock it off. I wasn't going to get involved—not in a three-strikes state.
Arrived in LA around noon and a cabdriver zoomed me through the Flat Sunny Beast up to Silverlake. Up in the hills I survey the orange-roofed houses and conclude that Los Angeles can be a pretty place when you know you'll be leaving in two days.
There's a party tonight at Parfrey's Magic Castle. I'll know tomorrow whether the incantations worked.
