took an Australian girl to the airport


eighteen, nineteen, who knows. she was impressed by everything i did and said.

and the whole night was like that it seemed.

i only like to do one or two long rides on weekend nights for a few reasons.

mostly my hands and arms but as soon as i dropped her off i got another ping.

then im driving across town to koreatown heading home and i get another

this one was a traveling salesman from milwaukee. we hit it off too.

micktalk talk talk.

to the airport marriot. fine.

then as im fixin to get on the 105 i get pinged again! what madness is this?

monday night?!?!

headed to inglewood. close to the forum. dark street.

its a black girl and her aunt and her mom. big suitcases.

big suitcases make me think they meant to get an Uber XL and not an Uber Plus.

XLs are mini vans. perfect for luggage.

well we put one of the suitcases in the passenger seat and the women squeeze in the back.

as soon as we are in i say

ok the most important question of the day: what sorta music would you like to hear?

they laugh and say what i have on is fine.

i hit go on the app and it says we’re going to LAX, no duh.

so i say, ok are we going somewhere fun?

almost in unison they say JAMACIA!

so i say oh well lets hear some reggae mon!

and we listen to reggae and talk about weed and sitting by a pool

and soul food and jerk chicken

and tacos

when it was over they tipped me $5 and i turned off the app

took the 105 to the 110 to the 101

and sang bob marley all the way to hollywood.

picasso was never called an asshole

picassowhen youre young you never worry about your health, your retirement fund, or obama spying on your skype chats

but when you get older that kink in your back lingers, your hands have to be treated with kid gloves

and you have to watch out getting out of the couch too quickly or you’ll throw something out.

it’s no way to live and makes you feel like youre gonna die.

heres the things i wanna do and know before i publish my last post:

did i really live. did i really love.

did all the unique stories that i could tell get told.

will the good Lord be happy that i walked and talked and rocked around this beautiful crust.

or was all of this a terrible waste.

picasso worked and worked and everything in his workshop was beautiful AND looked like picassos.

there was a time when the things i wrote looked like ee or bukowski or william carlos williams

and then the motors started humming and not only was it all about the busblog but ppl started imitating



but was i saying anything? was i telling the good news of the Lord? was i shining a light on LA in a different way than everyone else who has come here and lived?

before i croak theres a lot more secret stories that i feel uncomfortable telling even on this blog that i want to tell because they were important to me.

i always thought id start at 50 years old because thats when bukowski did it but sadly working for the xbi has made it so rough on my body i have no idea if i’ll make it to 50.

so i need to start writing those things down sooner than later or else who else will write them?

those are the things i worry about on a monday morning when the hot water heater is busted and i look forward to a cold shower on a summer day in 2015.

glad im alive and fixing to be super aware of errything.