electrical discharge

I pulled into the dimly lit parking lot. The same parking lot Josephina and I used to lay low at, sitting, waiting, anticipating any sort of suburb(an end) excitement. Nothing as usual. So as innocent seventeens we blasted the heaven sent egotistical melodies that built and prided us..

Five years passed and my boots still fit the steps my poetry slammed and riot rammed all stars once filled. Central Park, and by this time i knew upon meeting American Spirit there would be no ice cream involved, none that involved dairy anyway. I anxiously wandered into the park, thinking he could pop out of nowhere, reveal himself, secretly hoping those noises I was hearing (or perhaps imagining) were his attempt of frightening me. Steel benches enclosing diamonds of their own warmly led my soles toward Him. "Guide Me!" I belted. Within seconds and through a puff of his self-rolled smokes emerged the shadow of He who I would Love. Sporting that same bandana i fell for and his style I hadn't yet known was his style but still assumed it was 'good style.' Laughter and language assuming attraction led us in circles and we had to find a way out of this beautiful sarcastic park. Through the Darklands we were sidewalking, and the glorious black sky of once glummed fluff and goo opened its perplexed web, flashing slight illuminations of navy, silver and midnite, it prompted us to go. willing and ready, we entered.

Poppy lent me the car if it was back by 7 a.m. "Of course Dad!"

Everywhere and nowhere to go leading the way I steered and screeched and scared the poor boy, there was a reason my license had been suspended twice and I probably had a few warrants out in our neighboring Western states. "You can only be a crazy driver if you're a good driver. I could be a 'good,' safe driver if I wanted, but where's the fun in that?" Buckled and belted he wrenched his side bar (of course I drove extra wild, that was the type of ride we were both looking for, right?) and attempted to spell out directions to an old Pointe we now cherish within our childhood memories. Ok so of course he was a typical man, pretended like he knew where he was going, and I actually think he really did think he knew where he was going, but after 45 minutes of fuel frittering i decided this had to stop. He led me to an on-ramp but "OH shit! this is wrong!" stop the car. back it up. I woulda risked it but it was too much too fast, not too furious. Finally we found our way and sat and listened to each other's stories and connected more than i had with any one of interest in a long time. The silent, vacant flats set an eerie setting, reminding us both of that opening scene in Zodiac (when the pair of lovers preparing to get down and dirty take a harsh beating of bulletts); my sick intrigue with serial killers constantly creeps, picking, creating scenarios in my susceptible little head. Better said than I could, 'we had a successions of bursts of recognition in each other, each one trumped by the next.' From the booze ban in high school replaced by positioning pranks on others, this connection was unreal. Funniest movies ever, he asked. "ok, Houseguest, White Chicks, right now ummm Superbad."

"ok ok, but have you seen Tropic Thunder?" -Because he is who he is, American Spirit, loves this. The satire, the wit, Fucking Robert Downey Jr. as an Australian black man. The war that defined us. Killed us. United and tied and supposedly untied the hate and segregation and racism but i say it just knotted it tighter- "No, and I didn't really care to. I have this weird obsession with Vietnam and I think those funny guys are laughing at my era and I don't appreciate it."
"It's hilarious you gotta see it."

Any excuse for more time spent and I called the movie store, pulling my usual over the phone flirt 'i get what i want and you're helping me get there' attitude. Stoned out of his mind employee answers and I demand he let me rent after hours, "I NEED TROPIC THUNDER!!" I yell, half desperate half cracked out sounding, "MY PARENTS KICKED ME OUT OF THE HOUSE AND I JUST NEED THIS TO SAVE MY LIFE!!! PLEEAAAASSEEE!!! whats your name? I'm on my way."
"Sorry girl, we're closed, you're just gonna have to put those pipe dreams down, My name's Jesse Fernandez."
So of course I go on for a half hour, lying and crying and truly praying he'll give in and give me get this excuse for bonding and cuddling and all other essentials in movie watching.
"LISTEN JESS! I NEED THIS FILM AND I'M COMIN DOWN THERE! Transforming to a sexier tone, "Which way would you like me, front or back door?"
Baffled, "Uhh, if you come right now, where you goin' watch it?"
"With you in the store, honey. I've already gotta key"
"No you don't, and youre not coming." He then went into something perverted and sounded a little high himself, and definitely had to snap outta something when Poppy's car slowly neared the glass wall that separated us. I got out while American Spirit (so Jesse wouldn't be jealous I had a hot dude in the car) played the dumb brother, making spastic hand gestures and quick kicks, while I slithered past the windows, yanked on the door and pulled out my bling bling pure gold necklace, with a skeleton key hanging from it. Still on the phone, "Jesse, it's me. Open up baby."
"Holy shit, you really came. Uh, uh, I can't... wait whose that guy in the car? We're closed!"

After another half hour of trying to convince J Dogg to give us what we needed, and failing but not failing each other, we went back to the quarters that bred Mr. Spirit himself.