Tuesday, January 1, 2013

The Politics Of Drinking

I'm not really sure what this is, but haven't written here in awhile so why not? It's the strange story of a shameful man that may or may not be me. Either way I'm serializing it like I'm F. Scott Fitzgerald in Collier's Magazine so check back every now and then...


ONE

It was dark out. That’s as close I could come to telling the time when the bus arrived in Reno. It had been 5 days non-stop from New Jersey. I washed my hands a face in depot bathrooms. I changed my shirt twice, but my jeans, socks and underwear were all the same.  Considering the other passengers smelling bad was an advantage.  A guy got in in Ames, Iowa with a swastika tattooed on his neck. He sat down, introduced himself and since my name was once confused for being Jewish I told him I was “Liam O’Brien”, excused myself for the bathroom and sat in the last seat at the back. By Colorado no one would come near me.

My legs had apparently atrophied after 5 days. I took a seat in the station and stretched them out. A guy who looked like Biggie Smalls tried to sell me a watch probably because I was the only white guy around. He looked me up and down, caught a whiff and gave up the ghost before I could respond.

I had a borrowed carry-on bag with a couple days of clothes and toiletries on the plastic seat next to me. The rest of my clothes had been in a 30 gallon Hefty bag. Outside of Toledo a driver thought it was garbage and tossed it in a dumpster.
Nonetheless I’d beaten the doubters and made it to Reno. How I was gonna make it in Reno I had no friggin’ idea.