"Looking at this thing makes my neck hurt" Bonerface said, looking up
the top of the Watertower he was standing under with his friends, a loose
conferderation of high school buddies, musicians and other semi-employed types
who were now in their early forties, years from their graduation date and year
boo predictions, standing under a Watertower in the middle of a public park, a
spot that had become a hang out for no other reason other than convience to
homes and jobs , basic, bonehead familiarity, and the fact that few of these
guys ever gave up the idea of being on some kind of cutting edge where street
credibility was everything. Middle aged men with nothing else to do but wait out
the duration of their drug of choice before they could go home, or to work,
which ever they individually remembered they were in line for.
Bonerface rubbed is neck and took a long toke of a joint
of skunk weed that was being passed around. Ferg took the joint as he
looked up as well, studying the underside of this huge Watertower, a large vat
supported by six supporting legs that were as wide as small houses on chopped up
lots of land. An ache developed in his neck, and staring at the criss-cross
pattern of beams, joists and joints in a murky , rain-drenched dark made Ferg
feel profoundly powerless in the center of his stomach. The earth seemed to move
away from his feet;gravity seemed suspended. He passed the joint along without
taking a hit and looked at Bonerface, who was now playing an invisible guitar.
Fingers scurried along unseen frets, notes plucked out the air with a sound that
came up from under the street, the mission of the muse to make this park
Bonerface sang something to ease the
pain in his neck
GREUndelliddlybomp!bomp!Bomp! wheeddly wadiddddddddddddididididididididily
WHAmzitridddddddddley wheedlyWHammylidlle dlalotta BOMP BOMP!!!"
"Nice power chords" said Grelb, a friend who actually finished a
year of college who made a half a living selling record reviews to dozens of
adult magazines , titty mags and fast beats, he liked to joke, "nice runs and
scat shattering sonics there, and the chords come nicely placed,
"BOMBgoddamnedBOMP, and that opens up the rest of the night, the stars above to
a terrifying extreme of get down…"
Bonerface shrugged , sang
more riffs, this time something that resembled Hendrix , if Hendrix played
"Good for the pain the neck" said Ferg.
"Whatever" said Grelb" because you know one of these days one of
us is gonna get married, get a real job, or just die from so much hanging around
doing nothing but living on little else but minimum wage and alcohol, and wher
will that leave the rest of us, under this Watertower…."
the willies outta me" said Ferg, "You move on, I guess, you see better movies.
Better yet, you become a movie yourself. You may still die at the end, but at
least it's a death that means something, hokey though the moral may be…"
"You shoulda been a film critic" said Grelb, "you have a way of
filling the air with sentences that evaporate quickly after sounding so pleasant
after you said them…"
said Grelb, producing a bottle from the picnic table where the small felllowship
did their weekend drinking. He handed it to Ferg.
"My neck still
hurts" said Bonerface,"I mean shit, that thing is tall…"
need to stop looking up like that" Ferg muttered, "we been coming here since we
graduated, off and on, and you still have to stare up at this thing the minute
you take your first punch offa bomber?"
"My neck hurts".
"I'm gonna be sick" said Grelb.
"Pussy" said Ferg, " call
yourself a son of Irish pride? Go ahead , be sick…"
"Cut some slack, her,
Ferg" said Bonerface, "it's not as if you haven't been the one broadcasting
their lunch recently."
Ferg rubbed his jaw, reached into his pocked and
fished out a smashed back of Camels. He took one out of the creased pack ,
jabbed it between his lips and lit it with the last dry match he had, cupping
the flame as it seared the cigarette tip. The burning end glowed in the dark,
highlighting the counters and lines of his palms. The smoke felt good as it
seared his throat. A good burn, he thought, burn away this bullshit.