The latest book I’ve read from the L.A Library, dealt considerably with alcohol, and pot as crutches used by the protagonist. Curious to get a grip on what the protagonist of the novel endured, and thanks in part to my overtly stressful week, I decided to try some.
I met the person who offered to share the peace pipe, who happens to be a very nice personal trainer. Not to say that I’ve never tried it, but it was so long, long ago, it was as if I had never had any.
When we met, he asked me if I was afraid of dogs. I replied that I actually love dogs. “Good” he said, as he opened the door and two wolves jumped on me. These are large mixed breeds, and instantly I braced myself. I was not afraid; I intuitively knew we were kin, and I communicated this in thought and manner.
The white female, with one ice-blue and one brown eye, stood on her hind legs to place her paws on my arm as if to welcome me. She was noble and regal, as we maintained direct eye contact. She seems a replica of the wolf in the picture which hangs on the wall next to my bed. This symbolic of my feral side which I must nurture to be balanced.
The male with a brown and black felt, instantly dived his nostrils into the crotch of my jeans. Did he sense I was in heat? I wondered. I thought what a simple and straightforward way to meet. How great it would be to simply sniff out strangers, to get a whiff of their true intentions, essence, and compatibility based on naked, razor sharp instinct.
I only tried it about three times, considering that I would need to drive home that night. The effect was immediate, as I felt myself collapsing into the cushion of the chair, as if to become part of it, so deep and that much deeper into myself I folded, as pliant as a leaf.
To make conversation I asked the personal trainer how much he charged per session, to which he responded with an estimate. He told me that I have a beautiful face, and that he could get me in great shape in about six months.
By this time my instincts were as sharp as a dull, plastic knife. I could not tell if he meant it, or if it was merely a sales tactic he commonly used to recruit new clients. Sinking further into the chair and into myself, I concluded that both assumptions merited credit.
Still, his offer is tempting since left to my own devices, I run the risk of being inconsistent. When pressed on by a strict taskmaster, I tend to produce. At least the is how it was with my teachers and professors. The more formidable and challenging they were, the more I strived to excel.
After a while, it was time for me to go. The trainer asked me if I was O.K, to which I automatically answered, that of course I was fine.
It was past ten o’clock; I knew I was not fit to drive. I walked to the main avenue to find an eatery that was open all night to read a book and get something to eat.
I made my way to Bob’s Big Boy, and took my time to eat something and to read. At midnight, the restaurant closed.
The multiple cups of coffee had not helped enough. I was still not fit to drive. As I walked down the well lit Wilshire Blvd., I saw a homeless man sleeping under the arch of a store front of Miracle Mile. I stood nearby endlessly waiting for the light to turn green thinking how ironic that was. I also contemplated what my options were at that moment.
To be continued….
