Streetlights

Goddess, They Hadn’t Even Built The TOPS Now That I Look Back On It.

No, No I don’t want to proselytize the good word of sanity today, I really don’t at all. Let’s go a slightly different direction, shall we?

Oh yeah, I am in a good mood, no matter what this may make you think. Like, a really good mood.

There is a portion of my life I have always given to other people. I volunteered a lot, yes me, stop laughing, when I was younger. I would go the Tour De Cure for the American Diabetes Association every year and set up all the tables and general lift the heavy thing work. Yes, my former mother-in-law was in charge so I wasn’t exactly volunteering, but I still did the things and after my fifteen or so hours on the beach, in the sun, in August, in Western New York, I would be sunburned like the proverbial motherfucker and I would go home to my first wife and smoke a lot of things that are currently legal in some states and then go to sleep until the following weekday, however many days away that happened to be at the time.

The last time I did this, I was long divorced the final time, but I was still a hopeless devotee of her mother, a woman I care for very deeply to this very day. it isn’t her fault her daughter fell off the tree into another fucking orchard.

I digress.

Tim and I were sitting up smoking legal cigarette things on the porch in Hamlin with my mother at three in the morning. Why? That assfuck who rented us that apartment never told us the power was so fucked that plugging in AC would instantly kill the breaker, which he made us pay for. It may have been ninety degrees outside, but there was at least a little breeze to move the humidity away a little bit.

We saw the car come around the corner and knew shit was real pretty quick. No lights, damn near coasted across the intersection when he turned and I yelled for my mom to get her ass in the house about three seconds after I saw the door open and the glint of metal flash in the weak-ass streetlights. Now, I knew that in the delightfully small village of Hamlin, New York, a drive-by was unlikely, so I figured it was a scare thing, which it was. However, for better or worse what they didn’t know about Brother Bear was that he had seen a fair share of guns in his day and while I was concerned, I wasn’t precisely terrified by any stretch. Like any good animal of the Goddess, I stood up and made myself look as big as possible to show that I wasn’t intimidated and all the macho bravado that goes along with that.

As much as I would love to follow that up with a thrilling West Side Story, under-the-highway, brawl scene between the Jets and the Sharks, alas that is the end of this sordid tale. They sped off and we never did figure out the why of it all.

Why did I tell you that?

So, a few hours later, the earlier discussed Tour De Cure took place and I was there with my people and we did the things we had given our words to do, albeit maybe with a little more adrenaline than in previous years. We would look every now and again to see if we saw anything, but no, nothing ever came of the car and all that.

We got home that night, Corona (pardon the current trigger word) were poured fast and loose and the night ended and the world went about its business.

So, here is the punchline.

To all of you who seem to think that trying to make me feel guilty or any other emotion, about protecting my mental health was a selfish thing that I should be ashamed of.

Remember, I have seen fucking guns in the dark before motherfuckers, you’re nothing new.

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