DREAM: I'm confronted with an older guy in his 60's. I take notice to his car, which, according to him is a 1993 Toyota Camry Wagon, a rare model that looks distinctively different than my Camry Wagon, a model that in waking life I don't think exists, at least not the way this one looks. It's a sharp blue teal, an appealing color to me. I ask him how much it would cost to re-paint my car. He responds with some made up word, "chast". It's understood to mean a grand. He further explains that certain colors I will have to get permits for and may cost more. I was only inquiring but for some reason he thinks I want him to paint the car. It won't be done till the next day. While I'm waiting I play a video game on this phone I borrowed from somebody. It's a unique version of NBA Jam for Sega. It's on full screen mode in my mind—watching the two-dimensional basketball players move around with the ball on a street court scene rather than a gym. I guess street ball style too. There's only a few seconds left before the buzzer. I shoot from half court for the win. I think I miss the shot. My vision strays from the video game screen and to the people around me. Anthony and Kelley are sitting next to me. It's understood they had a son together, a little boy. He's acting whiney. Anthony gets impatient with the boy's peskiness and shouts something mean, showing his lack of control. The boy responds, "Will you at least get me a towel?" Anthony shuffles through some bags and pulls out a thick burgundy colored towel.
11:06 a.m. alarm goes off. Snooze. 11:11 a.m. I wake up. She’s lying there all cozy and sweet begging with her wagging arms for me to embrace her. I like her better in the morning.
Breakfast: Egg and Cheese Burrito from Sonic. Peach. Orange Juice. Zinc.
All day shift at China Wok.
Putting the bags together waiting for orders to come through—reading Adbusters.
Zana walks into the restaurant, my beautiful friend that I always see along the streets. Dirty blonde hair, cross around her neck, and a genuine smile across her face. I invite her to ride with me on a few deliveries. She describes that blessed day, not dreadful day, when she got into a car accident and was in a coma for a long time, which she takes a liking to calling it “the gorgeous slumber”.
“I asked our Lord for something big…to change me.”
She says she knew that same day that it would happen. Listening to her I don’t hear the British accent as much. Maybe it’s only an act for strangers although it is something “the Lord” told her to do. She has a beautiful soul and puts off such a sincere desire to connect with people on a compassionate level. There’s something different about her. Maybe she’s enlightened.
Taking a Chase Point order. We pull up just in time to see Rachel getting out of a car. Apparently, they know each other. As we drive away Zana says, “I love her. I really like her freckles. She’s cute.”
I get an order for Ohio Avenue near 1623 and near where Zana lives. So I drop her off. Before she exits we exchange a lovely hug. She surprises me with a kiss on the cheek. In no way did it feel romantic or awkward—something natural—a blessing kiss. I assume she does this to most everyone.
Lunch: Margot Spread Sandwich with Sweet Brown Rice Bread. Honey Green Tea. Salt n Vinegar Chips.
Delivering an order to the trailer park near the oceanfront. A husky black man answers the door with a confused look on his face.
Me: "Did you guys order?"
His face transforms into macho excitement, "Fuck yeah!"
The teenage son giggles.
Car Talk with Art. He's here helping us with the dinner rush, or lack thereof.
As I sit here chowing down on watermelon I recall one possible reason I love this particular fruit so much. When I was younger and I would tag along with my mom in the Michael's arts and crafts store, I remember finding those green floral foam blocks you use for artificial flowers. I loved pressing my fingers into them. The sponginess of it always fascinated me. Watermelon has that same texture and it's what I would imagine those green foam blocks should taste like.
An advertising company that wants to paint your home like a billboard and they'll pay your mortgage: http://www.adzookie.com/paintmyhouse.php
"If money is flowing to advertising instead of to musicians, journalists, and artists, then a society is more concerned with manipulation than truth or beauty." - Jaron Lanier
A very slow night for Chinese food.
Dinner: Spicy Salmon. Rice with Onions and Red Peppers. Broccoli.
At the storage unit rehearsing bass lines with Cj. It’s an admirable thing he’s doing trying to learn songs from scratch for the show this Saturday. It’s last minute. But we’re making pretty good progress.
Back home. Anthony and Skippy are persistently bothering Kevin while he’s sleeping—attempting to dip his hand in warm water—piling up as many junk as they can find to serve as a booby trap when he opens the door in the morning.
Eating a bowl of Frosted Shredded Wheat Cereal.
Watching Four Boxes [2009].
Sleep 5 a.m.
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