"a nameless transient hotel"
|
may 13
"By whom," you might say. Well... then, let me tell you it was Dep.
Henry Trujillo and he was in a rage. "Get dressed," he said, "we've got
to talk." So I pull my pants on and when I reach for my shoes he tells
me to forget 'em. Hurry. So he marches me downstairs, out of the module
via the guard booth door -(4 guards sirt there with perplexed expressions,
none matching the one I'm sporting.)
Henry tells me to sit down. Then he slams the 2 doors of the multipurpose
room shut. After a preamble about how fair he's always been to me, he says,
"I was on your website last night, and what you wrote about me isn't true...
you could lose me my job." etc etc. FRANTIC. "Capables de tout!" (Apt to
do anything!) Finally I got to understand that he's refering o a posting
a few months back wherein I was writing about how he HAPPENED to be the
ONE who haned me a note stating that one of the guys I fought with in Douglas
County had been sentenced to such and such years in D.O.C. In short, Trujillo
was only doing what some SGT. probably told his to do - to give me this
VICTIM NOTIFICATION INFORMATION. But last night, even though he had it
rioght there in front of him on the screen, he misread it to ASSUME that
I'd written some LIE whereine I depicted him secretly handing me ANY OLD
INFORMATION I WANT about people going to prison.
And so- my eels- if you go back to late January or maybe February and
find this posting, you'll see how EASY it is to understand it's meaning.
And by the same token, you'll se how HARD it is to MISUNDERSTAND it. But
Henry CHOSE to misunderstand it and bash me out of my sleep. And this on
the VERY day when I have exactly 2 months left. Or do I? Anyone could DECIDE
to wreck it so I do a leetle bit longer. Now WHERE is the sense in that?
It's prophetic and pathetic to have this mountain mode of eine molehill
by a badge-wearer JUST at this time.
Where was I.... onwards .... clicketa clacketa... onwards ....breathe
in ....breathe out ....okay ...I see it now... I stayed at the Pioneer
Hotel a day or two stalling in Seattle. Then I waddle to the cheaper area
of town and stayed a few lost days more in a nameless transient hotel there.
The one socialish contact I forced into my sphere is a haircut done
by an Eskimo in practically a shack. Beer stylized by 7eleven. Food: McDonalds.
Other than this - NOTHING. Nothing at all.
Face goes paler and more distrustable and nervous by the minute.
It snowed, heavy and wet, but I had no business outside anyway.
Finally, I left that pearch. I checked outta the room and carried my
bag across town. At the FEEEEELTHY Greyhound station (one of the WORST
I've EVER seen) I bought my ticket to VANCOUVER. I had a couple hours to
kill. One thing I did was rummage for stamps + envelopes. I mailed the
keys to my S.F. apt to my friend Randy in the Haight district there. He
absorbed what he could carry later... leaving bhind a large green painting
claiming I could live "As a head on a table." I bought a few extra packs
of Marlboros and killed time in the bus station's Burger King. And then
it was time. No more trains. I boarded a bus heading for Canada - and it's
wheels - you know what they did ...they ...they went ROUND AND ROUND.
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