The Night Sky of San Francisco

Hell Can Wait

Nightskysf — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 11:10:48 GMT

HELL CAN WAIT: PART II

     They left the Good Will store with two large bags of stuff, from rainbow striped pants to a lime green fuzzy coat to a grey 1920s-style fedora, amongst many other equally odd articles of clothing. Surprisingly, these items, which looked ridiculous on the rack, actually suited Janice quite well. About twenty dollars worth of stuff, in total. Janice seemed to think it was a great deal.
     “Alright, where to next?” she chimed, squeezing into the driver’s seat of the truck with the bags of clothes.
     “Well if you could just take me straight to the Golden Gate Bridge, that would be great”, he started. He watched her struggle to shove the clothes behind her seat. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”
     Still shoving at the clothing bags, shirts and accessories spilling out onto the floor, she didn’t seem to be paying attention. She looked at him absent-mindedly, as if she’d forgotten that he was there. “Huh?” She stared at him blankly, replaying the question in her head. “Oh, yea. Yeah, I can drive.”

     They peeled out of the parking spot and sped along Geary, Janice in the driver’s seat, now wearing her new fedora and fuzzy green coat. She made an abrupt and sharp left turn on Polk Street, causing the tires to screech and both of them to slide across the seats. “Janice!” Joe snapped. “Maybe I should drive.”
     “Why?” She sped down Polk, passed a red light, and turned right on Market.
     “Because you’re going the wrong way!” He wondered if she even remembered that they were headed for the bridge.
     “Oh… where are we going again?” Her face twisted into an expression of puzzlement, though her confusion didn’t slow her down. She continued on Market, passing a string of bars, bums, and seedy strip clubs. The traffic light ahead went from yellow to red, and the truck squealed to a stop.
     Joe had been holding his breath, and finally exhaled. “The Golden Gate Bridge, remember? That’s where I was headed before you kidnapped me.”
     Janice giggled, “I didn’t kidnap you. And I thought you said Golden Gate Park.” The light was green now, but the truck didn’t move. Janice was looking at Joe, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her small face sandwiched between that hat and ridiculous coat.
     “This would have been the wrong way to get to Golden Gate Park too”, he smiled.
     “No it isn’t”, she protested. “I can get there from here, Haight Street is up ahead.”
     Joe looked behind them to make sure there was nobody waiting. There wasn’t. He turned back to Janice. “Well you’re taking the long way, then.” The light turned red.
     “I don’t mind taking the long way”, she shrugged. “I get to see more before I get there.” Joe found this to be an interesting concept. “So the bridge, then?”
     “Yes, please.” Joe spoke softly and politely. The light turned green again, and they finally moved forward.
     “Gee, that was a long light, huh?” Janice commented. Joe smiled to himself, but didn’t say anything. “So why are you going to the bridge this late, anyway? It’s almost midnight, the only people who go to the bridge without a car at this hour are suicide jumpers.” Joe’s heart jumped in his chest and he felt a lump in his throat. She’d figured him out. “Hey, that’s Ruff!” she squealed, pointing at a homeless-looking man on the sidewalk. “We have to stop!”
     “What? Why?” Joe snapped. He didn’t express any further protest when Janice swerved the truck to a screeching stop at the curb. He was just relieved that she had abandoned the suspicion of suicide.
     She was already out of the truck by the time Joe’s hand reached the door handle. By the time he stepped out, she was wrapped in a bear hug with the man she called ‘Ruff’. The man was black, thought Joe guessed that weeks of dirt and grime made him look even darker than he really was. Long dreadlocks dangled over his over-sized navy blue coat. He wore army boots, tattered brown pants, and had a few missing teeth. He looked fifty, though he might have been as young as thirty. “Jan-Jan!” he bellowed, still squeezing her and swinging their bodies from side to side. “You look fabulous!” His voice was hoarse, and deep.
     “You do, too!” she squealed, and it seemed that she was being completely sincere. They finally parted, and looked at each other amorously. “This is my friend Josiah”, she finally said, gesturing to Joe.
     Ruff looked at Joe and smiled warmly, as if they were old friends. He extended his hand. “Well hello, Josiah”, he almost sang. His smile revealed two missing teeth, several more brown and rotting.
     Joe shook his hand. “I go by Joe.”
     Ruff held onto Joe’s hand with both of his. “Don’t be ridiculous. A wonderful name like Josiah, and you want to go by Joe?” He took a step closer to Joe. “You know what Josiah means, don’t you?”
     “Ah!” Janice screeched. She had fallen down and was now sitting on the ground, her legs sprawled out in front of her. To Joe, she looked like a small child playing dress-up, sitting on the ground in her hat and fuzzy coat.
     “What happened?” Joe asked, puzzled as to how she could’ve fallen without him noticing.
     Ruff was already helping her up. “Here you go, sweetie”, he cooed, lifting her by her under-arms.
     Janice stood and brushed herself off, paying extra attention to the cleanliness of her second-hand coat. “Sorry, I got dizzy”, she chuckled, smiling goofily. “Those pills you gave me are finally wearing off, Ruff.”
     Ruff’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, you did those tonight? How’d they treat you?”
     Janice’s smile spread wider. “It was amazing!” She jumped up, her arms extended upward. “Seriously the best high I’ve ever had.”
     “Well that’s good, that’s good!” Ruff’s eyes were wide, his hands very expressive. “They don’t agree with everyone, you know.”
     “Well they agree with me!” she chirped childishly.
     Ruff looked at Joe. “Would the two of you like some more? I have six pills on me.”
     “No thanks”, Joe responded impulsively.
     “I’d love some Ruff, but I just spent all my cash”, Janice said regretfully, tugging at her coat.
     “Oh, I see. I do love that coat on you, by the way”, he grinned. “Well… do you have anything to trade?”
     She looked up, thinking back to that morning. “Oh, I do have some weed I could part with. I have almost an eighth on me.”
     “That’ll do”, was his eager response. “I’ll give you two pills for it.”
     Janice smiled. “Ooh, good!” She looked at Joe. “There will be enough for both of us!”
     “Janice”, Joe spoke quietly, through gritted teeth. “I thought we were going to the bridge.”
     Her eyes widened. “Ooh, that’s a great idea!” She looked at Ruff. “Ruff, want to go to the Golden Gate Bridge with us and do the pills there? It has such a beautiful view, and the city lights would look so amazing!”
     Joe’s eyes were wide, and furious. “No, Janice, I—“
     “That sounds perfect”, Ruff interrupted.

     The old brown truck sped up Van Ness Avenue, rattling and clinking with every bump and turn, as if it were on the verge breaking down. Joe sat in the middle of the seat, sandwiched between Janice and Ruff. Ruff smelled awful, like old garbage and urine, and Joe tried to hold his breath. Janice didn’t seem to notice, though her coat didn’t smell much better. The light ahead turned yellow, and the vehicle screeched to a halt.
     “You could’ve made that light”, Joe pointed out.
     Janice shrugged. “I’m in no rush.”
     “Maybe we should take these now”, Ruff said. He was holding a zip-lock baggie, containing several greenish-white powder-filled capsules.
     “None for me, thanks.” Joe tried to sound polite.
     Janice looked at him. “What? I thought we were going to do them together.” The disappointment was evident in her face. The light turned green, but Janice was still looking at Joe.
     Joe sighed. “I told you Janice, I have to be somewhere.”
     “Yeah, the Golden Gate Bridge. That’s where we’re going.” She was serious now, more serious than he ever would have expected to see her. The light turned yellow, and then red again.
     “I wasn’t going to the bridge to get high”, he explained.
     “Yeah I know, you were going to jump.” She spoke matter-of-factly. Joe’s stomach churned. He took a gulp of air. Janice was watching him intently. “What?” She was very serious now.
     “How…” Joe’s voice was shaky. “How do you know that?”
     Janice shrugged. “Why else would you be so eager to get to the bridge in the middle of the night?”
     “Maybe I’m meeting someone there”, Joe argued.
     “But you’re not.” Janice turned back to the road, and the light turned green. She drove ahead, slower than before.
     “You want to jump the bridge?” Ruff asked.
     Joe looked at him, embarrassed. “Yes.”
     “Well, then”, Ruff started. He had a pill in the palm of his hand, and extended it to Joe. “You’ve got nothing to lose.”
     Joe looked at Janice, who seemed to be ignoring him now and was actually paying attention to the road. He turned back to Ruff, and looked down at the pill in his outstretched hand. It definitely looked home-made. A large, clear capsule filled with some off-white powder and grayish-green bits. “What is it?” Joe asked, still staring at the pill.
     “It’s truth”, Ruff said.
     Joe carefully took the pill between his thumb and index finger and reluctantly placed it at the back of his tongue. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, flinching as the dry lump made its way down his throat. Because, after all, why not? What had he to lose? Nothing of course, because as of the moment he decided to put an end to himself, his life became dispensable. And with that decision came a great freedom that hadn’t occurred to Joe until now. The freedom to do anything and everything, still reserving the option of nothingness. Because in this life, there are worse things than death, but none quite so liberating.

     Joe saw the world through unclouded eyes, and yes, it was truth. He saw the tide roll in below, and the white foam of the waves made faces in the sea, and Joe knew then that that’s what hell really is. Becoming a lost face in the vast sea, only getting to see the sky every few thousand years when the right wave rolls in. He saw the faces, he saw the colors of oxygen, and yes, he saw the voices of millions of people, balancing on the air and slowly evaporating. Like water. The lost voices and faces of those who fell into the sea and never again saw the surface.
     “What do you see?” Janice asked him, staring out at the city lights.
     “I see truth”, Joe replied, somehow enlightened.
     Ruff smiled. “Didn’t I tell you?”
     The three of them sat side-by-side at the ledge of the bridge, and yes, it seemed much higher from there. Janice sat in the center, Joe on her left and Ruff on her right. The pills had kicked in no more than an hour ago, and until now, they had all been silent.
     “That’s where I found you.” Joe pointed down at a spot of sand in the distance, and could almost see the shape of Janice’s body still indented in the sand.
     Janice smiled. “The world looks so much bigger from up here. If you look far enough in the distance, you can see where the planit curved downward. Like we’re sitting on top of a snow globe, looking down on a society of people who think they’re real.” Her eyes were glazed over.
     “They don’t realize they’re just dolls behind glass”, Joe added. He looked at the city in the distance, and examined the buildings. The structures danced and waved, like ribbons in the wind. Joe wondered if one of those dancing buildings contained a happy ten-year-old boy who would jump off the Golden Gate Bridge in sixteen years. If Joe could talk to that ten-year-old version of himself, is there anything he could say to prevent such a premature and tragic end? Any warning, advice, a bit of information about his doomed future? He guessed not.
     Ruff took a deep breath. “When we see the truth, this world becomes a very complex place. Certainly not a place for amateurs.”
     Janice was in a trance now. “Amateurs. That’s all any of us are. We don’t live long enough to become anything else.” Her voice was low and monotonous, a big contrast to her usual giggling and squealing.
     “I like that”, Joe said, contemplating the phrase.
     “It was said by Charlie Chaplin”, Janice replied. Joe looked at her as she watched the water below. She continued to surprise him, and Joe now pictured her as a little girl, with that same black hair and green coat, sitting cross-legged on a living room floor, watching Charlie Chaplin movies. He grinned at the thought, and looked back out at the distant city. Suddenly, he felt enormous. He had become a giant, bigger than the city or the sea. He laughed out loud at the idea that he’d ever thought he could’ve killed himself by jumping off the bridge, for now he was sure that if he did jump, he would land on his feet, the water only going up to his knees. He felt he could still touch the bottom of the bridge with his feet planted firmly on the ocean floor.
     “What’s so funny?” Ruff asked.
     Joe sighed. “I’m just an amateur”, he said with a snicker. Janice looked at him and smiled.
     “Well, Josiah”, Ruff started, taking a deep breath. “Aren’t you going to jump now?”
     Joe’s eyes went wide. “Now?”
     “You’re already behind schedule, aren’t you?” He spoke casually. “Now is a better time than ever, being as high as you are.” Ruff looked serious. “Both literally and metaphorically”, he added with a smile.
     “Yeah, you’re already here”, Janice whispered in monotone. “You might as well.”
     But Joe was still a giant. “I don’t think it will work”, he sighed. “I’m too big now.”
     Ruff laughed, a big hearty laugh. “Is that so?” He chuckled some more.

TO BE CONTINUED...

The Blackout

Nightskysf — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 11:17:28 GMT

THE BLACKOUT
A Poem

The shadows are dancing
The sun is not setting, but sinking
Below the ground, it floats
Floats on the sea of the fallen stars
Our lost moon has broken
And so, we are left with a darkness
Darker than night, we're lost
Lanterns illuminate darkened paths
Horses wander the fields
Boys calling "Marco" with open eyes
"Polos" yelled from nearby
We're living within a thick shadow
Calmed by these silent nights
Our silent nights await shining knights
Knights armored in sunlight.

~Sky

Only A Dream

Nightskysf — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 11:15:32 GMT

ONLY A DREAM
A Poem

Colors are dull on a day like today
Voices buzzing a monotonous tone
With bitter tastes on the back of your tongue
The scent of mold in the dank morning air
All feelings internal, the world's a dream

It's only a dream
Compared to the dreams you dream as you sleep
The colors are dull
Compared to the rainbow you've fallen from
Sounds are just noises
But sounds were once songs and silence was crisp
Tasting bitterness
Instead of a sweetness, cleaner than ice
The scents are all foul
Compared to those smells you loved as a child
Your nerves are all dead
After feeling the breeze of a dream
A touch from your past
The reality of an illusion

It's only a dream
This world we're in
Compared to the dreams you dream as you sleep
You are still dreaming
Feelings internal
Compared to the dreams you dream as you sleep
It's only a dream

~Sky

The Performer

Nightskysf — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 11:13:37 GMT

THE PERFORMER
A Poem

Who am I tonight, if not the same person I was today?
Who are these people that surround me, if not the supporting cast of my staged life?
Am I as alone as I feel, on this darkened stage, the eyes of the audience looking the other way?
I am a performer, this is certain.
I'm living my life for the entertainment of others, of those looking the other way.
Awaiting acceptance, recognition, and the approval of those far less happy than I.
I play to their frowning faces, and try to show them the part of me that understands their pain.
Their pleading eyes beg me to reflect their subconscious thoughts and feelings back to them, but they are looking the other way.
I am asked to know these people, and to be them.
To feel feelings which I do not possess.
And so I must look outside of myself, into these pleading eyes, and absorb every secret that they contain.
I play their secrets back to them, as no to expose them to all the others.
Their eyes shift and look my way, and the stage lights brighten.
They become lost in me, because they see themselves in every breath I take.
They think I am speaking to just them. All of them.
They pity me, here on this lit stage, only because they pity themselves.
They want me to show them who they are.
I am a performer, this is certain.
With the faces of all the world, except for my own.
I have no face, and I have no name.
Therefore, I must be a performer.

~Sky

Hell Can Wait

Nightskysf — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 15:37:02 GMT

HELL CAN WAIT: PART I

      He walked alone, observing the setting sun over the rising tide, the city lights reflecting on the water as sparkling lines of yellows, greens, and white. The sand was cluttered with rocks, shells, and seaweed. He dropped his smoking cigarette butt to the sand, beside a large jagged boulder, and lit another Camel Red to further pollute the purity of that evening.
     The bridge seemed so far away, twinkling with tiny lights in the distance; but he was in no hurry, for he knew he would get there far too soon. The bridge didn't look very high either, not from here. But he knew that would all change once he looked down from the edge.
     He could have chased a bottle of muscle-relaxers with a bottle of vodka, or let his car run in the closed garage until he fell asleep. Why he chose the bridge, he did not know. He felt no special connection to the bridge, certainly not as much of a connection as he had to his car, or to vodka. As a matter of fact, he'd always thought of jumpers as people literally dying for attention, making one last public cry for help. People who wanted to be missed and talked about, and pitied. As if it would matter once it was all over. He didn't want attention. He hoped that his body would be lost to the sea, never to be found. He didn't expect pity from anyone, for who would even notice that he was gone? The world was disappearing from him, not the other way around. He had disappeared a long time ago. Life just wasn't that big of a deal anymore. It was like a fad, which had gone out of style. He didn't even pity himself. He was just done.
     In the distance, the silhouette of a slim figure was nearing him. An evening jogger, he assumed. He would give a smile and a friendly nod, and they wouldn't suspect a thing. Just out for an evening walk by the beach, for a bit of fresh air. The jogger reached him, an attractive older woman. He smiled, and gave a friendly nod. She smiled back quickly, out of breath, and passed.
     It occurred to him that something as simple as death may very well be a portal into something much more complex. He had always envisioned death as an endless, dreamless sleep... eternal rest. An easy assumption to make, he decided, since mere mortals only see the resting bodies of the dead, never the "other side". For the first time, he wondered about hell. He wondered if hell was like life on Earth, without an escape, without the option of death. Or, if there was death, it would only keep bringing him back here. Perhaps death was like falling, forever. He may very well jump from the bridge and never hit the water. Just keep falling forever, that constant sense of panic and overwhelming sickness in the pit of his stomach. Dying, he decided, couldn't be as scary as living. And if there was a hell, then that was certainly where he was bound for. Somehow, the endless possibilities of where he could end up after that jump excited him.

     Meeting Janice Cannon was not on his itinerary for the night, certainly not. But their meeting was unavoidable, and as he would later learn, inevitable. She had been laying on the beach when he found her, letting the tide roll in and soak the backs of her clothes. She was barefoot, and wearing only a t-shirt and jeans. The night was very cold and windy. The water must have been even colder.
     Had he seen her from a distance, he might have avoided her at all costs. No room for diversions, none at all, for he had a strategically planned appointment with death. The fact is that he had literally tripped over her, mistaking her for a pile of driftwood out of the corner of his eye, at which point, any attempt at avoiding her would have been futile. His mind was elsewhere, as far elsewhere as one's mind could get when facing one's own mortality.
     Her eyes were open, and at first, she appeared to be dead. Despite the cold and the wind, she wasn't shivering or blinking... yet she had color in her cheeks. The tide rolled in beneath her, a thin layer of water soaking her long black hair. His heart skipped in his chest, and his first thought was how horrible it was that this young and beautiful girl, no older than twenty-one, was dead on the beach like a hooked and abandoned fish. He then had to remind himself of his own reason for being there, and had to remind himself to envy her in her peaceful place. Then her eyes moved.
     "Jesus, are you okay?" he screamed over the rolling waves. Her eyes widened, and she looked up at him but didn't speak. "Can I help you up?" he continued, extending his hand. She smiled ever so slightly, and another wave rolled in, the water pushing her tangled hair in all directions. The crescent moon reflected in the water beneath her, and when the water rolled back, the moon remained in her eyes. She reached out with a thin pale arm and took his hand. He pulled her to her feet with much difficulty, despite her small frame. She was like Silly Puddy, or a boneless chicken who refused to stand straight. He was forced to wrap his arms around her and bring her to her feet, and it wasn't until she was in his arms that she started to shiver. "Are you alright?" he whispered in her ear.
     She looked into his eyes and smiled hazily. "I'm so high right now", she giggled.
     He laughed. What else could he do? "Well that's nice", he said. He tried to release her, but she stumbled. He caught her, looking around frantically for someone who could help. He spotted a truck in the distance, parked in the dirt lot by the road. "Is that your truck, over there?" he asked, turning her body to face the lot.
     "Yes!" she screamed, throwing her arms out in a celebratory fashion. If he hadn't still been holding her, she would have fallen face-first into the wet sand. "Yes, let's go!"
     She was stronger than she looked, even in her current state, traipsing across the sand, pulling him behind her by the wrist. He wanted to pull away and tell her that he didn't have time, that he had to be somewhere. He feared that if he pulled his wrist from her grasp, she might fall over. And letting her drive in this condition, that would be simply insane. But what did he care if she drove into a tree and killed herself? Isn't that what he was here for? But did his contempt for his own life permit him to judge the value of hers?
     "Come on!" she yelled. "Keep up! We're so close!" She began to run, not loosening her grip on his wrist. He ran closely behind her, and looked back at the bridge as it got further and further away.
     He would lay her down in the truck, he decided, and tell her to take a nap. He'd hide the keys in the glove compartment so she couldn't drive until she was sober enough to find them. Then he would continue to the bridge.
     They arrived at the old Dodge truck, looking abandoned with its chalky, chipped brown paint. "Where are your keys?" he asked, panting for air.
     She felt at her wet pockets, and patted her sides and stomach, as if she would have actually been keeping her keys under her t-shirt. Nothing, of course.
     He peered into the truck through the passenger window and saw a ring of keys on the seat. "Is that them, there?" he asked. Without awaiting a response, he tried the door which didn't budge. "I think it's locked."
     She pushed past him, and looked through the window. "Hey, my keys!"
     "Yes, but I think the doors are locked."
     "It's not locked", she smiled. She pulled on the door handle hard, and pushed up against the truck with her foot. The door creaked, and he heard something click. She gave it one last hearty tug, and the door swung open, flinging her back. She fell down, flat onto her back, and started laughing. "Did you see that?" she laughed even harder.
     He smiled, and let out a chuckle. "Yes, I saw. Do you need help up?"
     She shook her head, and started to stand up. He took the keys off of her seat, just two silver keys on a "Haight & Ashbury" keychain. Somehow, this didn't surprise him.
     She pushed past him, and climbed into the passenger's seat. "I think you should drive", she said seriously, looking up into his eyes.
     He sighed. "I think you should stay here and take a nap. Then, when you've got your head straight, you can drive yourself home."
     "What? Home? I can't go home!" She whined like an eight-year-old girl.
     "Look, just go to sleep, and you can go wherever you need to go in the morning. I have somewhere to be." He was getting impatient.
     "And where is that?"
     Hell, he thought. I need to jump off the bridge so I can go to hell. "Just somewhere."
     "What, and this somewhere is so important that there's no way it can wait? It's night time, what's the rush?"
     He had no suitable answer for her. As a matter of fact, he had no suitable answer for himself. "Well... I guess hell can wait", he mumbled, walking around to the driver's seat.
     "My name's Janice, by the way", she smiled as he got into the truck.
     "Hi, Janice."

     Janice's directions were taking them in circles, going up and down the steep hills of San Francisco.
     "Ooh, take a left here!" she screamed.
     "We can't turn left here, it's a one-way street. And we just came from that direction!" He tried to sound angry, though it occurred to him that he didn't actually mind driving circles around this crazy city once he'd accepted the fact that that he didn't absolutely need to jump the bridge right away. As Janice had said, what's the rush? "Can you please just tell me where we're going?"
     "First... the corner of Hyde and Geary!"
     "Well I wish you would've told me that earlier, I know exactly where that is." He took a right onto Hyde Street, and hoped the old truck could make it up the steep hill ahead.
     "There are so many voices outside!"
     He looked at her, confused, and she was looking right back at him with excited wide eyes and a dropped jaw. "What?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to know.
     "Do you see all of those voices out there?" She was staring out the window now, not blinking, watching the trees and buildings pass as if they were the most fascinating view she'd ever beheld. "Just floating around... the voices of millions of people, balancing on the air and slowly evaporating. Like water." She zoned out, he could see it.
     "What exactly are you on?" he questioned, hoping he wouldn't have to take her to a hospital.
     She looked at him. "What's your name?"
     "Me?" They reached the top of the hill, and were now heading down hill towards downtown. "My name is Joe."
     "Joe", Janice whispered to herself. "Can I call you Joseph?"
     "No."
     "Why not?"
     "Because my name isn't short for Joseph."
     "What's it short for?" she asked with a genuine interest.
     "Josiah."
     "Josiah. Are you Hebrew?" She suddenly seemed very forthright.
     "No."
     "What does your name mean?" She spoke quickly now, her words no longer jumbled or interrupted by giggles. This was one train of thought she wouldn't lose.
     "I don't know what it means, it's just a name."
     "I know what it means."
     "What?"
     "This is it, stop here!" she squealed. She was pointing to the right anxiously, bouncing up and down in her seat.
     Joe swerved right onto Geary, and parked at the curb. He looked out the passenger window, and saw that they were in front of a Good Will store. Janice was already getting out of the truck. "You coming?" she asked, staring at him with big green eyes, her tangled black hair still frizzy and damp.
    "Why not?" he sighed, shoving the driver's side door open.

     The place was a zoo of all of San Francisco's rejects, thumbing through "five dollars and below" racks and rummaging through underwear bins. He wondered how desperate one would have to be to buy their underwear from the Good Will store. The place smelled of dust and old sweat, much like his great uncle Rudolph's house in the summer time. It was stuffy and hot, too humid to possibly still be San Francisco. Nobody was talking, and nobody was smiling.
     Janice was already by the jeans at the other end of the store, a pile of clothes draped over her arm. She was bobbing her head to a beat, to non-existent music, none other than hard rock, judging by her gestures. Joe made his way to her cautiously, avoiding contact with the surrounding people and the piles of smelly clothes along the way.
     "So you brought me here to go shopping?" He had intended to sound irritated, but couldn't help but smile. Her tangled hair was frizzing out in all directions, her head still bobbing intensely to some inaudible beat. And the clothes in her arms must have been donated by a traveling circus of some kind, as he half-expected to see a bright red clown nose fall from the pile in her arms.
     She seemed to be ignoring him, humming now, her head bobbing becoming head bashing. She was shuffling through jeans, checking sizes and prices.
     "Okay well I think I'm going to go. Will you be okay to drive yourself home when you're done?" He didn't say it like a question, nor did he await a response. He turned to walk out.
     "You don't want me to try these on for you?" she called after him.
     He turned to face her. She was looking at him with the expression of a disappointed child. "I have to go. I..." his voice trailed off, and he stared at the ceiling as he searched himself for a proper excuse. "I have somewhere to be."
     "Oh", she sighed. "Well if you wait just a bit, then I can drive you. It will still be faster than walking. And I won't be long, I promise!" She was wide-eyed and fidgeting, her head tilted to one side and still bobbing to a lost beat. Whatever drugs she'd been on were wearing off, and he guessed that whatever odd behavior she still displayed was just pure, unaltered insanity.
     His first reflex would have been to say no... but he realized that he hadn't any money on him for a cab. He didn't think he'd be needing his wallet to jump off of the Golden Gate Bridge, not unless those bastards tried to make him pay the bridge toll. This thought made him laugh out loud.

TO BE CONTINUED...