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Trials and Tribulations of Oscar Villar


Oscar Villar

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2018 by Oscar Villar

All Rights Reserved.

This book is dedicated to my mother, Araceli Vazquez Lauritzen. Her love and strength gave me the inspiration to pull it together and write this book.

Table of Contents

The Arch

Leaving Los Angeles


Barry More and Other Monkey Business

The George Kasparian Sofa Calamity

Soul Traveling

The Jester’s Court Apartment Building

The Sex Club Scandal

Black Cap College

The Obama’s

You Use, You Lose


Urban Net Introgospal

Ray of Light

The Night I Kissed Morrissey

Small Claims Court

The Breakfast Club: Molly Ringwald and Ally Sheedy

Keys That Fell From The Sky

The Cure And I

Sandra Scoppettone, Thank You!

The Joyce Hotel


Oh My God!

When God Smacked Me Right Between The Eyes!

Lyon France

The Last Days of Winter

The Longest Year Ever!!!

What A Difference A Day Makes

Trying To Get This Right

Found Car Keys and Wallet

The Day A Fly Became My Friend.

My Letter to BCC: Making Amends

Cold Showers and Lonely Nights

Giving My Money Away

And I Dreamt of Oprah Winfrey..

A Letter To My Sweetheart

Gerard O’Brien

Andy Anderson on My Bedroom Wall

In Dreams

In Retrospect

Barry More 9 Months Later

Film Noir

The National, Mr. November 2017

Putting My Back Into It

Judge Blackheart Revisited

Getting One Year Clean and Sober

God And Other Thoughts

The Essence of Christianity

The Blessed Mary

A Bedtime Prayer for the 21st Century

The Real Truth Behind The Forbidden Tree

Fruits and Vegetables Are Very Much Like People

JFK and Bobby Kennedy

My Moment With a Tiny Finch Bird


62 Impala

Story of 3 Roses

The Insanity of Addiction Analogy

The Misfits Tattoo

Caterpillar Cocoon Butterfly

A Poet’s Opinion of the Alcoholic

A Prayer for Anytime

Fruit Fairy Dream

Missing Los Angeles



Zoey and I


Jailhouse Memories

God Not Guns



When I was 14 years old, I lived with my family in Point Loma. It's a fairly affluent neighborhood in San Diego. We lived right on the border to Ocean Beach. We just moved from Austin Tx. and had left all we knew behind us. We wanted to live the California dream. Mild weather and sunny beaches. Six of us in a one bedroom apartment (you do the math) near the very end of Point Loma Blvd. where it crosses Sunset Cliffs Blvd. It was right across Ocean Beach Wash and Dry laundromat. As a young man coming of age, I attended Correia Jr. High as a 9th grader. You can imagine my frustration and disappointment when they still had 9th grade attach to Jr. High. I was so looking forward to attending Point Loma High School with my Polo shirts and Levis jeans I manage to buy when I worked in my parents restaurant back in Austin. I had to wait one more year for that privilege and I never really appreciate being the oldest in a school with all these prepubescent kids. I had my eye set on more older, manlier men and in general more mature people. I could learn from them and they tended to like me as well. I won't bore you with school stuff but I will tell you that I did have some great times jumping into that Pacific Ocean waters. There was a place called The Arch where kids of all ages could wait till the ocean swells and then you could jump from a land arch right directly into the swell giving you enough depth so you wouldn't have hit bottom. The Arch was approximately 25' to 30' feet tall. It was a lot of fun and you had to have guts to do it. It wasn't that it was so dangerous that people would get hurt, it was just that there was no guarantee that you wouldn't get pushed through the other side of the arch. It funneled into a small hole through the back side. There was also the chance that you could get taken out with the swell. So you waited until the swell peaked right near the edge underneath you and then you jumped in. And as the swell drew back you had to ride part of it back to the bottom of the arch where you would have to climb up out of the water and make your way around and stand back in line. The lower landing was a bit tricky with dug out small concave grips while the part closes to the water was covered with slippery moss. The rest of it was packed earth. It was done in a trusted manner. For the most part the kids were polite about it. Nobody wanted to get hurt and certainly nobody wanted anybody to drown. The biggest fear obviously. Sometimes kids would wait at the bottom to make sure the last kid that jumped down could make it back to the lower landing. We were there to have fun and not cause trouble and while there were helicopters that patrol the area, we were on our own as far as lifeguarding was concern. The brave kids took it on.

One day during a thunderstorm I walked down to the end of Point Loma Blvd. To the right of me was a home with a small backyard and a wall of rocks that protected it from the fierce ocean. To the left of me was an apartment building. And directly in front of me were cement stairs with rusty metal tube handrails that lead to a small isolated beach. Depending on the time of year and current patterns, the beach was full of sand or full of huge rocks. Oh sure the rocks would be there year round; the sand would be like “snowbird” so-to-speak leaving during the winter and coming back in the summer covering all but the very tips of the rocks. This was the winter and very little sand was left on this isolated beach. I could see the 8 feet waves crashing on the big rocks during this rainy and dark stormy day. The huge rocks seem to come from nowhere as if there was some kind of invisible mountain nearby poured its loose boulders unto the ocean shores. The storm waves reached the first 6 steps near the drop off at the bottom of the stairs. In fact, you could say they were being engulfed by waves but by the time they reach the stairs, their momentum had dissipated somewhat.

The mass of the wave had already been pounded into the many rocks that laid out on the beach. I would get the very top of the wave which had enough force to hit me hard. I had to test my theory out. I decide to walk down those stairs and sit a couple of steps from the bottom. I waited for a break in the waves and just sat with my elbows wrapped around both metal handrails and waited for the waves to come get me. My clothes were already wet from the rain so it didn’t make difference if they got wet from the ocean. I sat there for about about a half hour as waves crashed into the rocks and then crashed into me, splashing and shooting left and right and all over the place. Kind of chaotic, loud, and a bit dicey but I figure if I could body surf and jump off The Arch, how much different could this be. It was amazing. It's like I was letting the rage of the sea hit me but I was standing my ground. Of course there was some sand and seaweed involve as most storms kick up the sand and toss it around with everything else it can grab and throw. Nobody was around me and I told no one of this. If I had gotten swallow up that afternoon, it would have be a great mystery to those who wonder where my whereabouts were. When I felt I had enough of this thunderous experience, I waited for calmer waves and ran back up to safer grounds. During that whole time, I never felt like I was slipping away but the thought did cross my mind that I was indeed a thrill seeker and a odd duck for sure to engage in such activity. As Grace Jones sings, “Scary but fun!!


It's about 2am and I'm walking one street over from Santa Monica Blvd. I just finished partying with a guy I met in Craigslist and I was still high. As I made my way to the main blvd. I saw a guy walk out of a 1920 small bongalow that seem filled the Los Angeles landscape. There must of be thousands still erect and rented out. This one had a single bulb out on its porch with a waist high chain link fence around it. The property was dimly lit but I could make out scattered objects that laid out in the front yard. The yard itself was lacking any vegetation, just dusty hard flattened dirt. This man wore a white tank top or as they affectionately call them, wife beaters and khaki pants. I could hear the screen door slam shut as he started to walk out into the porch and down the short flights of stairs that led to the yard. He started to scream, “Fuck the Mexicans! Fuck them all! They can kiss my Columbian ass!” I thought, Oh My God! I have to get out of Los Angeles. When the Latinos are turning on each other, it's time to move. I got my answer that night as to what to do with myself. I just got out of Los Angeles county jail less than a couple of weeks prior to this. I was in there for about a month for vandalizing my apartment and apartment building. An issue with my slumlord mix with chismosas neighbors and my drug use got me in deep shit. I was slump in life. My passion for my business was fading fast for many reasons. I guess I was just burnt out. After 10 years of Linear Lifestyle then Modernhause, I knew in the back of my mind I needed to find myself again. It wasn't so obvious at first. But when I found myself homeless in Los Angeles, I just knew I had to move away. I git rid of my business by selling my furniture to several dealers and then donating my personal collection to a Van Nuys thrift store. Gold label early model “Bubble” lamps and solid maple caned headboard “Thin Edge” Modernica bed got picked up by my friend who ran the thrift store the day prior. I didn't want to deal with “stuff” anymore. I had made up my mind I was going to move to the North West. At the time I thought Seattle would be my home. I had sold my collection of design books and most of my furniture and took that money and traveled to Seattle to visit my cousin Sarah. Of course I spend every penny and by the time I came back to Van Nuys to get rid of my personal stuff, I was broke. I had about 20 books left that I sold to an architectural book store in Santa Monica and some money I got from the thrift store. I went back to pick up some items. My book, Art; An Approach which contained a signature from Edward Killingsworth was small enough to bring along with a torn page from Modernism Rediscovered that had some Julius Shulman autographs. My LaGardo Tackett Christmas mobile came as well as did a tiny teak monkey, a bronze African horse no more than 8” inches tall and a 1953 abstract tile framed in linen and walnut. Things I couldn't part with and small enough to put in my duffle bag. I also manage to grab a box containing my collection of watches that included Massimo Viginelli and Sponge Bob collection(s) from Burger King. With this and a small backpack of clothes I took the blue train line from Van Nuys to downtown Los Angeles. I walked through the grimy and shady area of L. A. and was so glad to get out of there. When I got to the Greyhound station and made my way to the ticket counter, I found out I only had enough money to get me to Portland Oregon. Damn, what was I going to go? I just decided right there and then that I would go for it and make my way to Portland. I would have to find some way to get to Seattle. I told myself, “Let's do this God thing” as if I instantly had a close relationship with God. At this point I had to have faith that all would be fine. A journey of self; of blind faith. I had to take it one day at a time and I knew it wasn't going to easy but I was up for the challenge. In a way, I had no choice. It's like the forces were pulling me north. I thought of it as traveling; you just go and do it. Staying positive and relying on the kindness of strangers. A kind of Jack Kerouac meets Tennessee Williams idea.

I settled in the bus seat and away it went. It left Los Angeles on time and I could see the drifters and undesirables hanging outside the station and on the street near the terminal as the bus pulled away. I was glad to leave this dusty and dirty scene. Once we were on the road, I leaned my head against the window while telephone wire poles and the landscape rushed by me in a blur of movement and light. With a heavy sigh, I thought about my cats. I had given 2 of them, Carrot Top and Spooky, to a cat shelter near Van Nuys Blvd. There they showed me the large cages that they would stay while they waited adoptions. I had to give them money for their services and was glad for there help. I needed to sign a release form otherwise they would get euthanize. It seem like a dark world. You know, putting animals to sleep. The word itself is dark. I hated to leave my babies behind and after 7 years of taking care of the “twins”, that’s what I called them, I had no choice. They were an orange and sliver tabby cats but I couldn’t possibly have taken them with me on this journey I was about to embark upon.

I was numbed from the thought of it. I know I had done the best I could and thought nothing is forever and I did get to take of them all those years. In a way, I was fostering those cats I told myself to ease the grief. I had to leave it up to God. I had no control. This idea that God was somehow not only looking after me but after my cats came when one night right before I left Van Nuys. I was torn about what I should do with my third cat Sabrina. She was a black cat and was my oldest. I had gotten her from someone that found her on a rooftop. He claimed that she was thrown up there and left to die. She was a small little thing but smart as a whip. She was loyal right from the start and resented the idea that I would share my time with other cats. So she found solitude on the outside world. This then became her domaine. So when I was walking back from Van Nuys blvd, several days later after releasing the twins to the shelter, I asked God in a indirect way, what I should do with her? I knew she would go crazy if I left her in a cage. This couldn’t work for her and besides, I know what happens to black cats in shelters. Not much, they are the least desirable which is a shame because from my experience, black cats are the most interesting and smartest. As I walked through the neighborhood that late evening, in what seem like a lifeless night, I was surprise to see the answer to my question. All of a sudden, there were blacks cats coming out of the darkness and into the light of the street lamps. With curious eyes, they had decided to come out of the bushes or walk down from a darkened porch to see me pass by. As if I was some kind of parade or spectacle. This brought a sense of amazement since most of the times these nocturnal creatures are shy to expose themselves. But in this late and quiet night, with the only noise coming from my shoes hitting cement, they stood there gazing at me and slowing turing their heads, keeping their eyes on me as I walked past them. A total of about 6 black cats in 4 blocks came to greet me in a distance. Surely this was a sign from God. Had God called these cats as a message for me? A message that these black cats, which are sadly abandoned most of the time, really understand their place in this earth. Theirs were one of survival. And it hit me as I kept walking, as more and more black cats came out of the woodwork, that the solution was already there. Sabrina was already an outdoor cat and really didn’t need my help out here to live. I would see her laying out on the neighbor’s yard tanning herself and when I would approach her, she would take off. Oh it wasn’t because I would mistreat her. She would come to me on her own time and on her own terms. And if I wanted her to stay, I knew the rule. I had to get rid off the other cats. There would only be enough room for her and her alone. I would leave food for her near my apartment door but find it still full the next day. Sometimes two days would pass without even a kibble eaten. One day I took a walk around the neighborhood and I could see several cats jumping up over a fence and into a yard. I was curious of course about this gang of cats that decided to descend on this particular corner house. So I stood on my toes trying to see over this tall fence and I could see this lady, yeah cat lady for sure, feeding a herd of cats that seem to congregate on the cement in the backyard. I wondered if Sabrina would partake in such a social gathering. Even fighting for food, this scene didn’t seem her style. She was a snob by all means. I think that she picked out her favorite spots when it came to a meal, but this chaos might do in a moment of desperation. She for sure would have it in her to push her way right to the food bowl and guard herself. Well, I just decided to leave her right were she loves it the most. Right there on the neighbor’s yard where she sunbathed all day and found food at night, this was her home, her territory, her domain. And that night as I walked home with peering eyes at me, I knew the answer to my question.

I decided to stay with my friend Kevin while I visited Portland. I had called him sometime before and planned to come up and visit him whenever I was in Portland. He offered room in his apartment and I would take him up on his offer. I had driven through Portland in my Miata not long before I decided to move to the NW. And I remember it being like a city built inside a forest. Lots of trees. I could spend time with Kevin and perhaps I could meet The Dandy Warhols. After my visit, I would have to make my way up to Seattle somehow. Didn't know how but I wasn't going to worry about that yet. Fate had me going to Portland and that is where I would ultimately stay. The bus ride up was quiet but there was small delay in Chico. The bus broke down and a replacement bus wouldn't be there for a several hours. I found time to see the antique store and thrift stores in the downtown area. I went to the public swimming hole and ate some Persian dinner. The new bus finally came in and before I knew it I was in Portland. Kevin was glad to see me; we met in a 12 step meeting group in Orange County and we still stayed in touch through Facebook. He was part of the program here in Portland and we went to a meeting the next day after my arrival. It was in a basement in a church in the SE side. I walked in the empty room while everybody was still outside smoking and chatting. The room was small and tight. What caught my eye was the rows of plastic vintage chairs. These chairs reminded me of Robin and Lucienne Day design and are classic school finds.

A kaleidoscope of bright colors against a brown and neutral room. I snapped a photo and stayed for the meeting. It would be one of the best photos of thousand of photos of Portland that I would take over the next four years.

I manage to meet a guy at this meeting who showed me around town. Skidmore Fountain and the Willamette river walk. Voodoo donuts and Pioneer square. Your regular tourist attractions. He was polite and a good way to get a day pass tour guide for free. The next day I woke up ready for a new adventure. I found The Dandy Warhols music studio address and made my way through a maze of warehouses and streets that were all too new for me. But I was persistent and finally found the tinted glass building and presided to knock on the door. No answer. Knocked on other windows and peeked through the curtains that hang from the inside. No one. Knocked harder then I see the door opening. Courtney Taylor Taylor is standing at the door frame with his head slightly propped forward. “Courtney Taylor?” I ask. He replied with a yes and asked me to come in. Inside the waiting room lobby I shook his hand. He asks me if I was media and I told him I'm just a huge fan. Got all their albums and about a handful of cd singles. Seen them about 4 times live. He could see the joy in my eyes.

“How did you get the address?” he asks me. I found it on the Internet. He ask me to promise not to let it out. Kind of a secret between fan and rock star. Without hesitation he asked me if I would like to tour the music studio. Absolutely and without a doubt. One of the reasons I moved to Portland was the fact that the Dandy Warhols live here. I was happy as a clam just to meet him, one on one. So to tour the studio where the music magic is somehow born was a special treat and privilege. The room with the mixer was occupied with about five guys. They looked like the members Foster The People but the meeting was so quick I couldn't catch the name(s). I said my hellos before Courtney whisked me to the main large room. It was so large, it seem like an airplane hanger. Lots and lots of guitars, bass guitars, keyboards and drums were lined up and scattered throughout. Amplifiers were also stacked and scattered about. The place was clean and well maintained for a rock group pad. Vintage sofas and tables made little vignettes in a large open space feel like I had just stepped into The Factory: Andy Warhol's own Odditorium. The room was so large and with so many precious pieces that I didn't dare ask to tour it. A stop by the door was just fine with me and was all that Courtney allowed me to view. No problem, didn't want to make a foe with one of my music heroes. There was other small rooms I could see but I got the gist of it. As he turned to escort me back out, I asked to him if I could snap a photo of the two of us. It was fine and he gave me his best side with his easy model looks. I stood short and goofy next to this rock star but I didn't mind. I had one chance to get the photo right because I knew my 5 minutes of fame with him was coming to and end.

My iPhone didn't fail me as I could see right away I got the both of us and the “Odditorium” sign behind us. We walked back out to the front lobby and we said our goodbyes. He thank me for the visit and I told him it wasn't anything I soon forget. Outside again, I was all ecstatic about my time with Courtney Taylor Taylor and how with persistence and passion I manage to get what I want. It was a good sign of Portland. People are friendly and reachable.


At this time, I was right about broke. By the end of the week I was starting to stink like old fish. I started to wear out my stay with Kevin. Even though I gave him the abstract tile art work as payback for his hospitality, it just wasn't enough. I ate his food and slept on his sofa. He started to ask me to leave because he thought his neighbor might tell the apartment manager that he has someone living with him; breaking the rules of the lease. I then broke the news that I had no money and was told that the downtown homeless shelters were the best place for me. I knew I wasn't quite ready for the shelters. I had to give my cousin Sarah a shot. Perhaps she could put me up for a while. But with no money, how would I make it up to Seattle? So I decided to put an ad in Craigslist. It would read like this, “I need a ride to Seattle. I have no money but I'm a lot of fun and very intelligent. World traveler and love life. Handsome 45 year old man. I would like to leave today, Sept., 16. 2013.” I left my cell number and knew it would be a long shot finding someone that would not only read it but fit the criteria. Luckily God was on my side and I got an answer no sooner than later. A woman was driving up to the Seattle area and was willing to pick me up near Union Station. She was leaving late in the day and I needed be ready by 4pm. We would beat rush hour traffic by a hair even in Portland. I was a bit worried as I waited for her in front of the Greyhound station. I thought she might change her mind. Only because, well to be frank, this Greyhound like most Greyhound doesn't always attract the classiest people. And there always seems to be a group of shady charters lingering outside these stations. I thought she might see this scene and floor the gas pedal right past me. But when she came driving up, I could see she was all smiles. I think she could see I was for the most part, clean cut and friendly. We had talked earlier about the trip and from my voice and description of myself, I didn't let her down. I could tell she was relieve that I wasn't some nut job or some junkie. I was true to my word. Beverly was her name. She was pretty and as bright as fresh flower. She drove a mid size sedan that was well kept and comfortable. She spoke eloquently and we hit it off right away. We started talking as soon as we drove off and never stop until she let me off near the Sea/Tac airport where she pulled of the highway to the nearest gas /food station. The conversation topics? Everything from traveling to relationships to language therapy, her profession. It was kind of unreal because before we knew it, we were there. She was going to visit her husband in near by Seattle and so I wished her well in her own personal journey. It was dark by the time I got to the airport but I didn't stay there. I manage to make my way downtown and settle in at a homeless shelter. I would end up there for a couple of days while I sight see. I wasn't sure what direction I wanted my life to go. I thought at the time I would be a fireman. I would start by taking CPR classes. I had tried out for a police job in Long Beach Ca., and even though I pass the brutal physical exam, I fell short a couple of right answers on the written exam. I thought perhaps it was the memory page, ironically enough or was it the fill-in-the-blank part. None-the-less my mid life crises and / or life change started back when I lived in Westminster Ca. I continued my photography right out of my iPhone. Alexander Calder stabile and Henry Moore sculpture were on my list. I kind of just meandered thought out the city but never too far from downtown where the shelters were. Like a pigeon on the street, I manage to fly back where the best eating place where. I looked in the paper for jobs and I saw this as for and audition. An audition for a reality show. Why not, I thought. So I made my way to a hotel situated in the downtown area. Good, not too far from food. It was held in a small meeting room. Chairs were lined up facing a table turned desk. A young woman with a laptop computer was manning it or in this case womaning it. She very professional and was sending groups of 4 to sign legal papers. These papers dealt with confidentiality. Apparently this reality show wasn't base on anything real. A complete fake of a show. Once we swore to secrecy, (I had my fingers cross like Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka) we were then taken in a group of 4 to an upstairs room. It was really a suite with an adjacent room.

This young guy with a zealous voice led the auditions. He sat us down on a sofa and offer us bottle water. Some small crappy camera on a collapsing portable stand was the only equipment they had. He laid out the scene. Drama in a restaurant setting. How original I thought but I went with it. Waiter dealing with angry customer. And waiters dealing with angry cooks. Poor waiters, always the blunt of the two. The camera rolled for two actors who did a C job. I didn't fair so well. I was asked to be the angry person. In real life I try to avoid confrontations if possible and I can tell you I was very uncomfortable yelling to a complete stranger. Didn't sit right even if it was pretend. At the end he asked a hot guy to stay while he dismisses the rest of us. I could only think of the adjacent room with a bed as the casting couch. As I was leaving I imagine the two in some porn that for sure I couldn't be wrong. I never heard back from them and I'm not sure if the show even took off the ground. My friend Rick (we met while they read us the legal jargon) and I laugh about it now.

The National was playing a concert in Seattle on Sept 19, 2013 and the idea of meeting Matt Berninger before the concert struck my fancy. I thought if I could get him as he stepped out of the tour bus and before he entered the concert hall, I could then ask him for an autograph and picture. In that split moment betweens doors, I wanted to seize my chance and give him the bronze horse I had been carrying around. This would also be a chance for me to ask him if he had an extra concert ticket to spare. It was a long shot but I had nothing to loose. Unfortunately it didn't work out quite that way. Once the security guard that was stationed near the door got wind that I was lingering, he asked me to leave. And not just ten feet radius, but to the end of the block. I couldn't make a deal with him and after what happen in the Los Angeles show just a couple of weeks prior, I didn't want start any trouble. What kind of trouble did I get into in Los Angeles? Well if you've seen The National live, you know that Matt Beringer comes down from stage and walks through the crowd. Usually near the end of the concert. Making sure the microphone cord is long enough to get at least 30 feet from the stage, he wanders through fans who touch him but never pulled on his mic. At least that the usual rule of thumb. As he climb down to the floor level of this sold out concert, I immediately got out of my seat which sat in the second level to the right about 15 rows back. As most concert venues have, this one too had that little walkway between levels that allows people to leave for bathrooms, food, or just for good. I walked down to this walkway and I could see Matt on the very right side not more then 30 feet away from me. The mic cord was pull to capacity; you could actually see it stretched above the crowd. He was standing in the farthest right narrow walkway that led people from my section to the front seats. He was singing Mr. November., which he half sing and half screams. Very punk and performance art roll into one. I knew if I could just pass the guards that monitor the isle , I could just hug him and perhaps give him a kiss. I bolted quick but not quick enough as a young Latina woman guard took hold of my arm. She was tough and wouldn't let me through. She blocked my every move like a football defensive player. Matt could see my struggle as he pulled the mic as far as he could while he looked me straight on. I could see his determination as much as he could see mine. But before you I knew it, a guy with two friend sideswiped him. The one blonde guy, stocky and fairly good looking, took his face in mid song and kissed his lips. I was so jealous. That exactly what I wanted to do and some other guy stole my moment. Matt didn't seem to be to upset. With the help from a roadie, Matt started to move left through the crowd. There's always a roadie pulling and swinging the mic cord during this moment. As soon as he was halfway through the crowd towards the center isle, I bolted again and was hoping I would have better luck over there, on the center isle. I didn't mind sloppy seconds. But as it turns out, this guard was tougher then the first one. This guard grabbed a hold of my shirt so I struck her hand off me to make my run. She started screaming that I had hit her but in reality I could see the scratch marks she left me with her long nails. She dugged deep. As it turns out, she was the sister of the first guard. The first guard made her way over to assist her sister. Like a tag team, I was now dealing with two tough Latin woman as close to cholas as I would want to ever get. (That idea changed when I saw the film “Mi Vida Loca” a wonderful movie about Chicanas growing up in Echo Park, Los Angeles). I could see one of them radio for backup so I decided to back off myself. Matt was already walking back to the stage and my chance slipped me by. The best thing for me to do was to get back to my seat and avoid any more scenes. Boy what happened next was nothing more than sheer poetry in a WWW event. I had return to my seat when three male ushers / guards walked up to my seat and asked me to leave the concert. I refuse of course. And a struggle began. They claim I hit the second usher. At first they stood over me, then they pulled me out of my seat while I tried to fight them off. Then they picked me up, each holding a limb and carried me to the food stands where they stood me up and escorted me, holding both arms. A march of defiant that led me right outside one of the entrances. One of the guards wanted to keep a hold of me outside of the venue and call the police, but the others said it was enough that I was outside of the venue. I agreed that they needn’t call the police. I would behave and leave the premises. I didn't mind so much. By this time were on their last song; “Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks”. A signature last song for them. I had seen them 3 times prior to this show so I knew I wasn't going to miss much. The crowd would sing along and at the end they would bow and say their goodbyes. People were already leaving the concert and if you've ever been at The Greek Theater you know it's a congestive nightmare. So that was my mess in Los Angles with The National. So what happen next in Seattle?

I decided to place another ad on Craigslist. This one involved sex and drugs. I guess in my mind, the idea that I wouldn’t get what I wanted drove me to use during this time. I met up with a 50+ year old man in a SUV with leather covered seats. We met at some coffee shop he regularly frequented. He bought a cookie and a drink as some sort of decoy and I met him at the bathroom and got high in one of the stalls. We smoke meth from a glass pipe and when we left, he drove around downtown Seattle looking for a place to pull his shorts down and get some head. It was a funny way to sightsee Seattle but he was too paranoid that people would see us. He didn't have tinted windows. Alley ways and dead end street near the Space Needle weren't safe enough for us to exercise our stupidity, but before our time was up he did manage to get about a minute of head from me. After an hour of driving around he gave up. Something about getting back to his spouse. He dropped me off near Capitol Hill and I found a wi-fi hotspot to continue my quest. I was seated on the bottom of a cement staircase that lead to a parking garage. To the left of me near the curb were some high school kids peppered with some older kids. They were seated on the sidewalk with the usual cloth blanket to seat on, bags of food, music box, and signs claiming to need money. I thought, homeless teens. They were kind of rowdy bunch that exuded excessive noise. I wasn't having much luck with Craigslist so I decide to leave the stair but before I left, a white BMW SUV glistening with chrome and shiny rubber tires pulled up along the curb right next to the group of teens. I couldn't believe when the doors open up and the teens just jumped in. I looked over at the driver and saw a woman in her mid forties with brown shoulder light hair. She looked fit from from my perspective. She was wasn't shock or angry. It was if she was picking her kids up from the mall or after school. Weird that a mom with money would be ok with the fact that her children are sitting on a dirty cement sidewalk, parading like homeless teens and pan-handling strangers for money. Doesn't she even know the kind of danger it puts her children in? Disturbing. And what's more disturbing was the mess they left. These kids came from affluent families yet the pile of garbage they left behind was shocking. No respect or regards for the civilize culture we try to make of this world. And what even more shocking is that the mom didn't give a shit either. She never asked them to clean up their mess. The kids climbed in, doors slammed shut, and away they went leaving a flurry of garbage. After that mess. I decide that I might find better luck in gay bars and went to a couple.

Now I normally wouldn't hit the bars but with my patient thinning on Craigslist, I was game to take a chance. Went to one and ended up talking to an old gentleman outside the bar. After a short while of small talk I got to the point and told him I wanted to get high and have sex. No luck here either. Darn I thought, my addict mind was disappointed and I walked down the street where I met up with a young man. He a was Pacific Islander and he was a bit drunk. College guy and horny. He took a shine to me and I to him. Like an angel of the morning thing. I was looking for a one night stand but I couldn't afford a hotel nor could we travel back to his pad. Something about his roommate not knowing he gay. Typical at his age. So we decide to go into a sex club. He's drunk enough where he's having trouble putting his thought together. So I help him. The front desk man is leery of letting him in and I assure him he would be fine. We would go in as a couple but when it came time to pay for our entrance fee, he was ready to ditch me and go in alone. I pulled him aside and told him they weren't going to let him in alone. So he pulled out another bill from his wallet and paid for the both of us. I was a bit tiffed off that after an hour of courting me to have sex and getting an ok from the doorman, he would weasel himself in and break his work. We had sloppy sex and then he left the room with all his crap all on the floor. Completely irresponsible and without asking me to care of his things, he just slipped out of the room. I couldn't just let stranger into the room so I couldn't play around. I was not cool with this but i figure he paid to get me in and so i stuck around the room. So after a while I picked up his stuff and went through his wallet and pulled $40 dollars. I had never done that before but I felt that I earned it as a watchdog for his clothes and other items, payment for baby sitting him most of the night. It would be enough to get another room in another club; I was desperate and after so many incidents where i was the victim of robbery, the tables would turn my way. When he came back, he had lost his keys. Drama! He was all panicked and gather his stuff and left. I did the same cause I knew the room time was near the end. I made my way down Capitol Hill near downtown. There was another sex club and as most, it had very little when it came to any architectural merit. Boxy and black with tinted windows. I got a small room and was still a bit high and horny from the hits of dope I took earlier that afternoon. It was a bit slow at first until I met a handsome bearded man. He like my tricks and was so happy to be with me. I felt the same and after a while asked me if I wanted to go into his rented room where his partner was sleeping. They had the largest room in the place and I think I had the smallest. So with eager eyes, i followed him back to his pad where his boyfriend was sleeping on the bed. He asked me if I wanted to get high. “Do you like speed?” Yes!! I would love some and he woke up his partner who seemed like the more dominant of the two. I believe he told me his boyfriend was a dealer. He asked him before he took the bag out and the anticipation was great. His boyfriend was just as hot as he was. Both bearded handsome hot men. He assured him that I was good in bed and so with that guarantee, his partner agree to share his bag. They ask me how much I wanted and I really didn’t know. You see, I never got into the whole technical aspect of it all. People would talk of grams, quarters, ounce, teener, and eight-balls but to me I looked at it in this way. I have $40 and much could I get for it. I guess I felt if I knew the ups and downs of it all, I was too close to being a full time user. I left that for the experts, unfortunately because of my ignorance, I got ripped off more times then I care to remember. These guys seem to be veterans of this scene and my accounts seem cool and legit. I mean I wasn’t paying for it so even a small hit would do me fine. They mentioned some kind of amount and one of them pulled out a syringe needle. Well, I could say that my heart raced a little faster because it was scary, I had only used a needle once before and I knew that rush would come when and only when you use needles. I agree to the amount but was told that they use that same amount and it would be in my best interest to have a slightly smaller amount. This came after I told them I wasn’t a daily user and at the most a couple of time a month. So they got the 3 needles ready and they shot me up with all the medical items that went with it. DAMN!! The rush spun my head and I had to lay down on the bed before I passed out. I mean I was sitting on the edge of the bed but when the speed rushed to my brain, I prayed that I wouldn’t die in a sex club in Seattle. I could just imagine the grief I would put my family through if they found out that i passed away in such a manner. My heart raced a million miles an hour and the guys asked me if I was ok. I nodded without saying a word as I laid on the mattress. My head a blur. When I got over the initial rush, I was so fucking horny I was unzipping the dealers pant’s. I just wanted to suck cock so bad. The dealer agree I was really a good cock sucker and I have admit, when I do something, I do it well and with passion. Why do something if you’re not into it. He came and then the other guy came and that was it for these guys. They started to pack up and leave so I thank them and with my dizzy head made my way back to my room. I was so high, that it was hard for me to even see what the numbers were on the door of the rooms. One number split into two like a 3-D movie. I had to shut and open my eyes to focus on the numbers. Eventually I found my room and sat in it for about a minute making sure everything was hidden before I open the door and waited for guy to cruise by. I must of sucked off 5 guys after my rendez-vous with the first two studs. I never heard a complaint and each guy thank me between the moans and the compliments. The 6th guy was kind of an asshole. He actually got pissed off because I didn’t have a hard-on. I just thought, come on, you know the score. I didn’t ask you into my room to get my dick sucked. I believe word got around that I was taking care of business and not leaving much of anything for those others in the club. This last jerk must of said something to the club manager because the manager came and asked me to leave the club. Honesty, I’ve been in sex clubs around Southern California and I’ve never been in any trouble in these clubs so when the club manager ask me to leave, I procrastinated. I procrastinated because quite honestly I didn’t have a place to go. I didn’t even know what time it was and with my head spinning like a top, I gathered my things extremely slowly. And to my dismay, the next knock the door was from 2 police officers. The first one was so fucking hot. Tall, fair skinned with dark hair and classic “V” shape body, he asked me to please gather my things a bit faster. I was in slow motion from the drug. I looked up to see that the other officer was a woman and she stood on the right of him and on the left was that jerk that “snitched” on me. He had his arms crossed and from the looks of him, you could tell that his asshole was tight from judgement and hypocrisy. So much so that you couldn’t even put a pin up there. A Harper Valley hypocrite if there ever was one and Mrs. Kravitz rolled into one uptight homosexual. I left without much fanfare. As I stood outside the club, I could see that there was a line of patrons waiting their turn to get lucky. Poor slobs! The stallion of an officer told me, “If I see you here again tonight, I’ll arrest you.” I assure him he wouldn’t and with that I made my way up to Capitol Hill and back down the hill. My body was alive and buzzing. I felt like I could do anything. My destination was Bellevue, Washington. That’s where my cousin lived. I had this crazy notion that I would just spring it on her. I hadn’t talk to her during my time in Portland nor while I was here. Oh sure I had been up in the Seattle area several weeks earlier and visited her then but I never mentioned anything of what was really happing in my life. I had manage to spend all the money I made from selling my large collection of furniture design books during that trip in hotel rooms and dinners at the Space Needle. But that was was then and this was now.

I had to break my bad news to her, but at the time, I just was living minute by minute. Completely in the here and now. So I walked along Lakeside Ave. making my way to I-90. I walked under its underpass and climbed my way on the right side of the freeway. I actually walked the whole way on the emergency lane with traffic heading my direction and didn’t even know it. It was a very cold and windy walk but I enjoy doing something I’ve never done before. The water was so dark and choppy. I would stop to look once in awhile and I would turn to see the homes that lit up the Seattle hillside. There was no time for fooling around in what seems like a whole new earth. An earth that was mostly made of water. And on this earth was this bridge that seemed to go on forever. A thin narrow crust of a bridge floating right on the water. It felt so vulnerable and fragile on this cold and isolated world.

My walk was uneventful but I did find a smart phone that had been damage. I picked it up thinking that I would give it to the police station as some kind of evidence that they might of overlooked or needed in some kind of kidnapping or worst yet murder. This broken phone could be the missing piece that could solve an unsolved murder. Perhaps the last video or photograph of the victim. The phone had a pink casing. So I put it in one of my bags. When i finally reached the end of this 5,811 feet of floating bridge I was greeted by a security guard in his vehicle. This lame duck started to flash his light on me and ask me for my id. So I gave it to him. Questions about why and where I’m going had to be answered. Then the Mercer police came up to him and kind of calmed him down. It wasn’t his business to be patrolling this area was what I gather as the police took him aside and question him. They came back to be with the ID and ask me the same questions. Then one of the two police officers, told me that I had walk on the wrong side. He pointed to the left side of the bridge where there was an actual pedestrian pathway. I was kind of speechless and i apologize for not even realizing it. I was new to the area and completely miss that sign. He understood and was quite polite about it. No harm done. It wasn’t like I was running through the traffic lanes. I continued my focus of getting to Bellevue and dismissed this as a small and harmless hiccup. The night was still young and the darkness of the park laid ahead of me. I-90 apparently had a trail that ran aside it. As I entered this forest of trees, I could see the two police vehicles slowly following me. I thought nothing of it and I just assume they were overly cautious; making sure they didn’t make a mistake by letting me go. I could hear the security guard say, “Damn, he just disappear into the darkness.” Their patrol car lights weaving in and out from the trees. I was in the thick of it now, so my eyes took in shadow of people hanging out in the tennis courts and open fields. Young men running and chasing each other in a game of football in the darkness as well a couples kissing under the dimly lighted night. Perhaps even a college pledge or prank. I could hear laughter and voices and continued this brisk walk through the trail that eventually would take me to a mini mall. As soon as I appeared from the trail’s darkness and into a more open space, I was greeted by the same officer that had told me I walked on the wrong side of the bridge. His blonde hair and warm smile took me by surprise this time cause it wasn’t so much about finding my intentions, but about helping me get where I wanted to go. I just need to get to a food store to get some water and restroom. He pointed to a supermarket Quality Food Center but I felt he wanted more. I kind of thought he was attracted to me but I didn’t want to mistaken his kindness for an enticement of attraction. I thank him again and got what I wanted. In a sense I was in a foreign country traveling my way with each new minute an act of blind faith. The path led me right to Bellevue Way which is where I headed north knowing that my cousin lived near the downtown area of Bellevue. As I got closer to her apartment, I decided to call her and let her know that I was in Bellevue and if I could stay with her until I could figure out what to do. She was not having it. She apologize and told me that her room was too small for the both of us. The house rules were one occupant to each room. She had no remedy for my illness. This was strictly my problem.

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