1. Thursday, October 3, 2002

    i want to feel sunlight on my face. 

    see the dust cloud disappear without a trace.

    i was stuck in right field steaming. i had missed one xbi softball game due to my vacation and i was no longer batting leadoff playing shortstop, i was in right field batting ninth. our team had gotten serious. they’d brought on some fratboys and brothas and they had forgotten about the kid.

    they said that when he was pitching his 56 consecutive shutout innings orel hershiser sang hymns to himself , and even though i was a born again too, fuck hymns. i was whispering motorhead, maiden, priest, sabbath, metalica, and nwa 100 miles and runnin.

    good luck, brothas.

    theres a lot of time to think when you’re playing right field in a softball game where all the macho guys try to pull it over the impossible left field wall. sex love death money


    i thought about how the bank job before my vacation went down perfectly. so good the bank didn’t even want to talk about it.

    much better than the early days when we’d pull that shit off at night in the wee hours. drilling under the streets with diamond tipped jackhammers in the day time and finishing the job at midnight straightup leaving behind a note that said ha ha bankrobbers were here next to a glass half empty of milk and a plate of warm cookies.


    what fingerprints?

    i thought about the lady from the church who cornered me at the busstop before the game. hollywood and highland busstop at 8:20pm you meet all kinds and this one wanted me to take a survey and i said okay until i saw the name of the controversial sci fi author all over the page and i said, oh, no thanks.

    she said, what?

    i said, i know about you guys, i live up the street.

    she said, where?

    i said, over by your big building.

    she said, oh, by the church in los feliz.

    i said yeah. she was sharp as could be. great salesperson. no fear. i loved it.

    she said, that doesn’t mean you cant just answer some questions. its about a magazine. ideas for the titles of a magazine.


    she was talking to the right man.

    she showed me six names. they were all terrible.

    she asked, which one would you like best for a magazine.

    i tried hard but i couldn’t find one.

    i said, no offense, but none of them.

    she said, tell me what each of these names means to you.

    i told her. they were all generic.

    i said, this one makes me think of books. this one makes me think of the French. this one makes me think of Old People.

    i wanted to say, none of them tells me, We Can’t Brainwash You.

    she asked me my first name, age, income.

    i said, Sonny, 21, agent.

    she said, movie agent?

    i said, undercover agent.

    she laughed. then she stopped laughing. she knew hollywood and highland just like i did.

    she said, i live next to the church too.

    she said, ive seen lots of she paused


    coming to your door.

    she wanted to say girls. i knew what she meant.

    at first i thought she was judging me. then i saw she was curious.

    do you have a favorite?

    i said, i like the ones who are being nice to me.

    and i sang to myself, i want to run, i want to hide…

    then, magically, the bus came.

    and i finally understood what some non christians probably feared about me when i would talk about the bible.

    they were afraid that i might just be right.