“I don’t support violent music. Music is supposed to be fun and uplifting; it shouldn’t make people want to hurt each other on the concert floor. Daniel Johns must have been doing drugs and hating life or something when he wrote that,” Said one “fan” who then turned away from my interview with a “Jesus doesn’t love gays” protest sign, regrouping with his hate gang. Well the joke is on him because Spawn Again is a song protesting animal cruelty and Jesus loves everyone.
After the song ends I put on my Chuck T’s and decide to drive over to a near by pub where I'll meet up with a long time friend. The sky is full of dark clouds but the temperature is warm as hell. I take off my thick winter coat to adjust. Frankly, judging the weather through a window is not the best method. I pull into the lot and park my Tacoma beside his Land Rover and hop out to catch a middle-aged white woman staring at me.
“Is something wrong?” I ask. Running late for a KKK meeting perhaps?
“I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect a 5’2” Asian boy to hop out of a 4X4 Double Cab V6 Tacoma.” She replied, a little embarrassed for getting call out. Really? Well I didn’t expect the senior home to let old ladies like you out in public alone!
“Believe it honey.”
Already on his first beer and deeply concentrated on the hockey game on the flat screen, Thomas pats my back as I take my seat. “Don’t mind my silence for 15 minute ok Thomas? I just got something I really need to write,” I warned. His nod translated to, “The hockey game is on. Honestly, I don’t care about you right now.” Fair enough. Every time I see Thomas I’m reminded of that tragic day when my mother discovered that Thomas was a local drug dealer.
“I don’t want you to hang out with Thomas ever again!” she demanded, while chopping onions in the kitchen. Even though, just yesterday she was telling me how good of a friend he was.
“You don’t know him mother! He’s a good guy and - -“ I tried to defend him, tears in my eyes….due to the onions of course.
“Good guy my ass! Police officers are good guys. The main guy from Die Hard is a good guy! A drug dealer is not a good guy!”
“Police?! Tell that to Rodney King!” I screamed before running out the front door never to return…..for a couple of hours. “Tell that to Rodney King!!!”
The waitress arrives to take my order as I type away on my iPhone. A gorgeous blonde named Bambi. Bambi. She’s probably working some strip joint later to support her abusive biker boyfriend who’s probably cheating on her with some tramp as we speak. “I’ll have a Guiness please.”
“Guiness? Didn’t take you for a beer drinker.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Nevermind,” she dodges, “That’s a long text you’re writing there.”
“It’s not a text. It’s an article.”
“First Guiness and now you’re a writer?” She laughs and walks away.
I give Thomas a look of disbelief. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t worry about it man,” he comforts. “I think some of your blogs are great.”
“Some?”
“Yeah, I don’t like the ones where you make up stories that are totally over the top just so you can make a point. Blogs aren’t supposed to be fairy tales in my opinion.”
I’m annoyed. “Hey, what’s your new girlfriend’s name again?”
“Keeley, why?”
“Yeah she sounds like a slut.” I snapped. “My blogs are awesome, ok?!”
The End
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