It’s 7 PM, dusk. I often find dusk to be slightly eerie and witchy. That twilight period where it’s transforming from day to night; light to darkness. It’s like reality is up for grabs or something during those in-between moments of twilight.
Anyways, for lack of anything better to do I go to People’s Park to hang out with Hate Man. I buy a cigarette from Hate for 50 cents (Virginia Slims, naturally), light it up, and survey the scene. This hulking guy I call the Walrus — because he always wears 4 pairs of pants, 3 of which are always inexplicably hanging around his ankles — is sitting on a log across from Hate Man. I smell something odd in the air. Look around to see if somebody is smoking some weird drug. It’s the Walrus. He’s flicking his cigarette lighter across the back of his head, setting bits of his hair on fire. That acrid smell of burnt hair. Dude’s a little peculiar.
Another wingnut is pacing back and forth aimlessly, pointing his hands as if he’s holding a rifle, aiming them at the people in the park as he pretends to shoot people dead. Everybody needs a hobby, I guess. Another nut is staggering around in circles, talking to himself. Cackling wildly. I think to myself: Why did they do away with mental asylums. It seems like such a valid concept.
“Oh fuck a fight just broke out,” I said to Hate Man. Across the way on the other end of the park this black guy and this black woman are facing off against each other, shouting and cursing. The woman lands several solid punches to the guy’s head (excellent boxing form). Then she picks up a big rock or a stick. The guy is backing away with his palms up. “They’re a couple,” said Hate Man. “I think they’re married. She hits him all the time. And if he hits her back she calls the cops on him and has him arrested.”
“PUSH FOR A CIGARETTE, HATE MAN!” shouts the Walrus. He suddenly jumps up from the log, starts moving towards Hate Man, but loses his balance, tripping on the pants around his ankles, almost falls down, hops and staggers and bounces to keep from going all the way down, before he retains his equilibrium. At least for the moment.
I put out my cigarette in the dirt. Wondering what the hell I’m doing here amidst all of this. Worse possibility, I belong here.
I get up in search of a quieter place to drink my 40 of OE.