Getting Directions from Folks on the Street
1. A young Mother of four, just leaving Colucci’s Ammo and Video, bags of cigarettes and moon pies in hand.
Driver: Excuse me, could you direct me to the City Museum of Art?
Smoking Mom: Museum of Art? That’s on Monroe. That’s the last place I saw little Bradley Earnhardt-Mathers’ father alive. Ain’t that right Brad? Yeah. He don’t talk, he just twitches some on account of his unorthodox silent water birth. Lousy Scientology. So, let’s see, today is Friday, right? I’d take a right up here and catch Pine over to St Lawrence Ave. Usually I’d have you take a Left onto Pine and directly thru Preble St, but the resource center gives out free sugar cookies to the Methadone Clinic today and it can get sketchy for well-to-do folks such as yourself. If you’ve never seen a three- day sober junkie teased with sugar, then it’s best you stay clear. Went down that road myself, just last year. I got addicted to pain killers and when the pharmacy wouldn’t refill my prescriptions no more, I moved on to shooting’ up ol’ vitamin H. A month later, I found myself naked in my sister’s trailer, drinking Thunderbird from a baseball trophy and screwin’ my cousin’s husband. Finally the cops had to bring me in on account of me hidin’ my kids in a Walmart warehouse for a week. I guess I figured they’d be fed and clothed at the very least. Now I’m clean and back workin’ at the “Suds and Duds” on 3rd. I make change and serve the drinks. It’s good money and the judge says as long as I work at least 18 hrs a week, I can have my kids.
Say, that’s an awful big car. I bet you could fit us all in for a ride to the Krispy Kreme on yer way to your art…
2. A hunched over old man, newspaper, a four-footed hospital cane and warts.
Driver: Excuse me, could you direct me to the City Museum of Art?
Man: Used to be a department store. They had a lunch counter that served the best damn corned beef hash I’ve ever had–with real mayonnaise and good, thick bread. Not like those fancy designer breads you get nowadays, with the nuts and the candy or whatever. I remember the regular waitress was Mabel. She had fire red hair, legs up to her neck and an iron constitution. We dated for a spell until she turned up at my door with an over-stuffed suitcase and an even more over stuffed belly, if you catch my meaning. Broke it off, then and there. I’ve never had the need, nor the time for the small folk. Too loud and needy–always want something–candy, money… cancer medicine. I sure miss those corned beef sandwiches, though. Well, in ’61 they closed the lunch counter and in ’64 the store. I went back a week or so before the counter shut down and it wasn’t the same. Half the stools were broken and a greasy film coated the china and silver. The corned beef was tough and the bread thin and moldy. Mabel was long gone by then. I’ve met and had carnal relations with other women since then, of course. But, Mabel… Mabel was special. I sure would like a corned beef and a good rogering from old Miss Mabel right now.
Now, what was your question, again, son?
3. A visibly insane homeless man, resembling Jesus, had he never gone back to heaven.
Insane Jesus: Museum? Oh, it’s quite easy, really. Your best bet is to stay right on this street through two lights. At the third light, you’ll see my friend Gary the unicorn eating pop-tarts and peanut butter. Take a right. After about 1/8 of mile, just after the street lamps turn to gumdrops and the road becomes a snake, you’ll see a large brick building. Take another right. Pass the cinnamon toast tree on your left and look for the iridescent lawn chair grouping, just kiddy corner to the portal to Hell. Get in the left hand lane and take a left at Satan’s armchair. If you pass the Jiffy lube, you’ve gone too far. You’ll stay on that road for three miles-– and two tours of duty– when you’ll see the museum on your left. Be sure to take in the Dali exhibit. It’s simply electric ridicularity.
Would you mind sparing a few dollars so I can feed little Benny? He’s the only personality who hasn’t eaten today.
Driver: Excuse me, could you direct me to the City Museum of Art?
Smoking Mom: Museum of Art? That’s on Monroe. That’s the last place I saw little Bradley Earnhardt-Mathers’ father alive. Ain’t that right Brad? Yeah. He don’t talk, he just twitches some on account of his unorthodox silent water birth. Lousy Scientology. So, let’s see, today is Friday, right? I’d take a right up here and catch Pine over to St Lawrence Ave. Usually I’d have you take a Left onto Pine and directly thru Preble St, but the resource center gives out free sugar cookies to the Methadone Clinic today and it can get sketchy for well-to-do folks such as yourself. If you’ve never seen a three- day sober junkie teased with sugar, then it’s best you stay clear. Went down that road myself, just last year. I got addicted to pain killers and when the pharmacy wouldn’t refill my prescriptions no more, I moved on to shooting’ up ol’ vitamin H. A month later, I found myself naked in my sister’s trailer, drinking Thunderbird from a baseball trophy and screwin’ my cousin’s husband. Finally the cops had to bring me in on account of me hidin’ my kids in a Walmart warehouse for a week. I guess I figured they’d be fed and clothed at the very least. Now I’m clean and back workin’ at the “Suds and Duds” on 3rd. I make change and serve the drinks. It’s good money and the judge says as long as I work at least 18 hrs a week, I can have my kids.
Say, that’s an awful big car. I bet you could fit us all in for a ride to the Krispy Kreme on yer way to your art…
2. A hunched over old man, newspaper, a four-footed hospital cane and warts.
Driver: Excuse me, could you direct me to the City Museum of Art?
Man: Used to be a department store. They had a lunch counter that served the best damn corned beef hash I’ve ever had–with real mayonnaise and good, thick bread. Not like those fancy designer breads you get nowadays, with the nuts and the candy or whatever. I remember the regular waitress was Mabel. She had fire red hair, legs up to her neck and an iron constitution. We dated for a spell until she turned up at my door with an over-stuffed suitcase and an even more over stuffed belly, if you catch my meaning. Broke it off, then and there. I’ve never had the need, nor the time for the small folk. Too loud and needy–always want something–candy, money… cancer medicine. I sure miss those corned beef sandwiches, though. Well, in ’61 they closed the lunch counter and in ’64 the store. I went back a week or so before the counter shut down and it wasn’t the same. Half the stools were broken and a greasy film coated the china and silver. The corned beef was tough and the bread thin and moldy. Mabel was long gone by then. I’ve met and had carnal relations with other women since then, of course. But, Mabel… Mabel was special. I sure would like a corned beef and a good rogering from old Miss Mabel right now.
Now, what was your question, again, son?
3. A visibly insane homeless man, resembling Jesus, had he never gone back to heaven.
Insane Jesus: Museum? Oh, it’s quite easy, really. Your best bet is to stay right on this street through two lights. At the third light, you’ll see my friend Gary the unicorn eating pop-tarts and peanut butter. Take a right. After about 1/8 of mile, just after the street lamps turn to gumdrops and the road becomes a snake, you’ll see a large brick building. Take another right. Pass the cinnamon toast tree on your left and look for the iridescent lawn chair grouping, just kiddy corner to the portal to Hell. Get in the left hand lane and take a left at Satan’s armchair. If you pass the Jiffy lube, you’ve gone too far. You’ll stay on that road for three miles-– and two tours of duty– when you’ll see the museum on your left. Be sure to take in the Dali exhibit. It’s simply electric ridicularity.
Would you mind sparing a few dollars so I can feed little Benny? He’s the only personality who hasn’t eaten today.