On passing you on the highway exactly an hour ago

To Whom It May Concern,

There's space between the really important things in our lives. Between the seconds, the breaths, and the tears. We don't notice it, we don't think of it, at least I didn't use to. Now it is all I think about. Every left turn shows a right. Every laugh holds a tear. And every heart-beat is separated by a non-beat. These gaps that we don't think about sometimes hold hands and turn themselves into days weeks and months of space. Focusing on these little things will drive me crazy, errr, crazier. And I think you might think this is a little abstract, but this is just a foundation.

I've been out of town for the last few days. You knew about that. I'll be around for a few more hours then its back out into oblivion. I hear you've been asking about that. I've been stumbling through airports and social situations that we used to plan together. Your name comes up in casual conversations in beds, bars and brothels. People ask how you are, or how you've been, or where you are, or where you are going; but I've seen these eyes and looks before. They are asking about me. I'm not a narcissist. But they want to know the edge is further from me then it seems. Don't pat yourself on the back though. They've asked these questions before and if I was a betting man I'd say they'll ask again. And I am. And they will.

I sleep on less couches lately. But I can still find one when I need to, and they still feel like home.

I digress.

I saw you today, we passed each other on the road. I was headed North, yourself South. It reminded me of the spaces. For three short seconds I watched you living, 40 miles an hour in the opposite direction. My car smelled like cigarettes as the wind pushed the last remaining thoughts of shitty slave wage labor out of the window. I couldn't tell what was on your mind. But I know it wasn't me. And that's good.

I keep seeing people get married. I watched a couple get married on the beach yesterday from behind some glass. Then they came upstairs and I served them and their guests drinks. A lot. Everyone was happy. There were people from all over the world. It was raining cats and fucking dogs outside. There was a moment, just a second, where I was pouring shots for the family, and the music was real loud, and most people were dancing and I realized that I was in one of the spaces.

Clarity sometimes comes at the expense of others.

Apartment 108

Randy is 28. He lives in apartment 108. His building is small, enough. The other residents only know his name from the mailboxes out front. His is the only one with both a first and last name. The tag is also not centered like the rest of the tags. The color is worn. It has been like that for 10 months.

Every Thursday Randy takes a late lunch. He walks around the corner from his office to his favorite pupuseria. It not his favorite for the food, the food was fine. It is his favorite because it is the closest place by his office to get the new issue of L.A.WEEKLY. He brings back whatever random thing he orders to his office and opens the L.A. WEEKLY. He goes straight to the personal ads and spends the rest of his time at work on the phone with various agencies, working out the specifics of his reservations. It is the same every week.

Friday night he gets home at 6:05. Every week, 6:05. He takes two side streets and rolls one stop sign to pull into his space at the same time. Randy carries his lunch bag and avoids contact with any neighbors that might be out.

Thursday is the only day he doesn’t bring his lunch to work.

6:25, his phone rings. “Randy?” “Yeah, let me buzz you in”.

There are two quick knocks on apartment 108. Randy lets the young women in. Her hair is long, a couple of inches below her bra strap, or where it would be, and dark. Usually he likes it longer, but this will work. He locks the door behind her, which startles the woman, but she sees the money sitting on the coffee table. Her quick counts makes out a few bills adding up to 275 dollars, a little more than what was agreed, and that makes her slightly more comfortable.

Randy leads her to the bedroom. The bed is made, the floor is clean, there are a couple framed posters hanging on the wall and one picture on the nightstand, Randy and a women with dark hair.

The conversation is short and specific. “I must have music playing”, “Your hands must be here”, “Please be quiet” and “Please don’t smile”. She follows every order, though typically that is not her specialty.

Randy pushes play on tape deck. The first song starts slow. Kick drum, then cymbals, then some bass. Funky, but not funky enough. Randy stands behind the women and spends a very short time exploring her body. The songs keep playing, he doesn’t say a word, and neither does she. Each song is getting louder, each song is picking up pace, but Randy’s mood does not change. The seventh song, she’s been counting, slows dramatically. This doesn’t affect him at all. The last song fades out and Randy gets off of the bed. He slides open closet door, puts on a yellow robe, and gives the women a twenty-dollar bill. “The rest is on the coffee table in the living room. Thank you.”

The woman says nothing. She gets off of the bed and starts to put her clothes on. She looks at Randy, but he is in the bathroom and has just turned the shower on. She finishes getting dressed and grabs her money as she leaves apartment 108.

Randy takes off his yellow robe and steps into the shower. He faces the showerhead and puts his head down, letting the water stream down his face. He holds his hands around his eyes, making a scuba mask, the way she showed him that day in the hills. A few tears mix with the water. He turns around and tries to finish his shower. He can’t. It has been 10 months.

The rapid onset of age and what I know about it

In a day or so a friend of mine starts his last year before 30. Another friend just started 30. I know a kid who is going to be 6 in a month. I think it is 6, I'm not sure. I can think of someone's birthday for every month except for October. There is this one guy, but I haven't seen him in years, he doesn't count. Age seems to be catching up fast. I still feel about 22. I know a lot more than I did at 22, about everything, but, inside, I'm still 22. Just to catch you up, here's 22 for me:

• November 16th, 2004 to November 15th, 2005.
• I was finishing my time at Bed Bath and Beyond, and starting my time at Pepper's.
• I was not single, then I was, then I wasn't.
• I lived in 2 different houses.
• I opened a savings account.

There is other stuff that happened, but that is what comes of the top of my head now. What is it that "they" say sometimes? The more things change, the more they stay the same? I can see that. I rememer having a conversation with my dad on his couch, telling him I was going to get married, I was going back to school, and I was moving.

See?

Details are not important. But it happened. The conversation, at least.

Oh yeah, age. My body makes funny noises now when I move at night. I don't rebound as fast as I used to. I know more things, but am forgetting how to interact with people, especially people I love. I give up sooner, even without giving up. I worry about things I didn't used to, but none of those things are houses, kids, careers or success. I have less friends, but they mean more.

So where am I? Canoga Park? Yea. In love? Yes. Sleeping on the couch? Sometimes. Lonely? Sad? Bored? Cold? Excited? Lost? Emotional? Old? Happy? Check, check and check, infinity!

There is no impending doom. There are bad days, but more good days. There are lost nights, but more found days. I like to think I have it figured out, a least part of it, but I say the worng thing, or let the wrong thing hurt me, or let the right thing keep me occupied, and then I realize it is all gone.

It is hard, most days, but it is worth it, and it feels good.

Too happy? Too sad? I don't know.

I've been thinking of friends I've lost, and what my friends have lost, and what I need, and what I miss, and the holes aren't as big as they used to be, but I don't know how to tell anyone.

So, here's this: Thank you. For the snowy walks, for the glimmer you gave to a friends eye, for the tears we had, for the laughs we will have, and for every day to come.

We will get it right, I promise.

I found some lost minutes

and filled them with shots of Jack Daniels and nice shirts. Must get started dancing. Pictures tomorrow. Maybe.

whiskey is soon again my friend

Things had gotten bad around these parts. I had started to have recurring disagreements with a friend of mine. Whiskey. He didn't want to stay inside anymore. He wanted to go out and mingle with the lawn, or the concrete, or the asphalt, or the sand, or the water.

Basically, Whiskey was making me puke.

But not the last few days. We have reunited and continue to enjoy eachother's company.

The last time we fought was sunday. And it wasn't even about us, it was about the Bears playing football like a crew of assholes, well, at least one of them was being an asshole.

Things should be fine this sunday, things should turn around (my friends and family hope so, I'm sure).