119 Little Lion Man

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“Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.” --- J. R. R. Tolkien.

BEFORE PILLOW TIME

When you are in Clovis, which is snuggled in the wealthy northeast offskirts of Fuckno, you have four options if you want to leave, which are these:


You can head west, and then drive along the northern part of Fuckno, through streets that lead to the pre-planned, gated communities of the isolated rich folks.

You can head north or east, and either way, you will be traveling toward the desert’s dusty dunes.

You can head south and by-pass most of Fuckno’s sordid filth and despair by skirting its dirty petticoat, ending up in the “Sunnyside” lower east section, where old money has always lived, perhaps always will. They do not gate themselves in. They invented the Neighborhood Watch Program. They will know your shit.

Or, you can remain in Clovis, and make a nice life for yourself serving the wealthy folks who have a good life style and they frown down upon Fuckno with accurate but not arrogant smugness.

They are correct.

I opted to head south. One day soon, my friend Joey, the Little Lion Man, would live there in Sunnyside. His mom was currently being courted by a good business man who owned a chimney-cleaning service, and once they married, she would work his books, while he amassed an empire of clients who needed to have their fireplaces cleaned each year, in the fucking desert.

Wait, fireplaces in the desert?

Who would need that?

Why, rich people who had the air conditioning running all the time, and they lit up their fireplaces to illustrate their wealth at their dinner parties and such.

They had money to burn, so to speak. The Reaganomics of the 80’s was trickling down to the chimney sweeps, in the dusty bowl of Fuckno, Califorthemuckymucks. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Never the two shall meet.


My intention was to avoid angry drivers by heading south, and then take a stab at the heart of Fuckno, where Joey lived in a small apartment with his sisters and mom, on Belmont Avenue.

During the past summer, he and me and Katheena, (when she was my lady), well, we would hang poolside with ice cold brewskies and bask in the golden warmth of the only thing that has ever held any meaning or significance for me in that high desert valley hell hole.

The Sun.


Like you, I am affected by the Sun. Grey clouds hanging overhead for more than two days in a row will make me ugly.

Well, more ugly than I am, that is.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Joey’s face smiled when he opened the door; me standing under his outside light.

“Weeee-ill. You look like you been to the---“

“Joseph, can I get a drink of water?”


You must always properly hydrate yourself in the desert. You can drown in the dust.

He pulled me in, patting my dusty back.


+++++++++++++++++++++


We sat poolside in lounge chairs, with glasses of Pepsi and ice, and he shook his head.

“Dude. Why did you do that to all their food?”

“I dunno, man. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with me.”

It was true, but Joey had a clue.


“I been missing Nolei. You missing Lorelei. No doubt.”


I stared at the green lights under the pool water, which refracted up and out on our faces with liquid black lines that wavered across.

“Fuck.” I sipped from my glass. I looked up into the night sky, and although the light pollution from the city occluded my view of the stars above, I searched for a jet stream, something to show me that the sky was full of people who would not crash, who would not be lost, who would go on with their lives in an eastern land where it snowed.

There was hope in the east. Sometimes, people will land on their feet.


Joey set his glass down and stood up. “Weeeee-ill. Let’s go see Katheena. She knows something about this.”


Damn. Such a long-assed day already, and I was beaten down like a dog in the dirt. All dusty, tear-streaked face and all.

“No. Not tonight. I need to get me some pillow time.”

Joey shrugged. “OK, man. But tomorrow. We will go check her out tomorrow.”


I didn’t know why it was so important for him to see that bitch right then.

But I would. You will too. Next time.

You have forgotten that Katheena and Lorelei talked with each other, as women often do. Even women who may have first been at odds.

I’ll never pretend to understand how their brains operate.


Nope.


But sometimes, I’m thankful that they do not think in the manner that I do.


Sometimes, they may have some answers.


Huh.


+++++++++++++++++=

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