Simply Wild [pt. 1]

It was an early evening while Kevin and I rolled along La Tejara Boulevard in his 1999 Mitsubishi 3000GT on our way to meet up with some girls. The skies colors moved from yellow to fuchsia because of the radiant sunset that only seemed less than five hundred yards away. Kevin was dressed like it was the first day of school clad in a pair of freshly pressed khakis, a blue and white plaid button up and a classic Dodgers 59/50 with the gold sticker laid flat on the bill. He also had a pair of cubic zirconium ear rings and some Chuck Taylor’s that matched the hat that mad me want to vomit. I had on some black and red basketball shorts and a solid black t-shirt. I had no one to impress, I really wasn’t feeling these bitches, they weren’t my type. Hell, I didn’t even know why I was rolling with Kevin’s white ass in the first place, having me miss the Hawks game just so he could chill with whatever raggedy hoe he was in live with this week. I had on my black on black giants hat and my black Pro Models, our team shoe my junior year in high school.

We had just left his place before we headed out to see Melissa and Allison. Kevin spent the thirty minutes prior to our departure getting high with James and Marcus while I argued with Luis about the killing styles of thrasher and white tipped reef sharks. Luis and I didn’t smoke like the rest of the guys, but that was about the only thing we had in common. When I met him he told me that he was a Bronco’s fan, and right off the bat I didn’t like him, but we were always around each other because we shared three mutual friends. James and I have been friends since the first grade and we met Marcus and Kevin in the tenth grade in a history class. They shared the same sense of humor we had so we all started kicking it at James’ house after school. Luis started showing up one day because those four had English together. I don’t think he’s as funny as the rest of us although he’s definitely my intellectual equal in the group, but he sure as hell is the lamest mother fucker I’ve ever met – which is probably why we all keep him around – it gives us someone to rag on when things get boring.

As we walked out the door Kevin grabbed a small bag of the raunchiest stress I’ve ever smelt and stuffed in his left pocket. I have never and will never understand why these guys can’t live without weed, but then again, they can’t understand why I can’t live without sports. I mean, they all have their teams and are casual fans, but none of them get into it the way I do. I live and die with my favorite teams, it’s always been that way, always will.

As we cruised along in his 3000GT with the windows rolled down Ghostface Killah’s Fishscale blasted through his speakers. Kevin wasn’t really a hip hop head and would have had some terrible radio station on if I hadn’t brought my CD case with me. I nodded my head as I looked out the window while Kevin sang the chorus to one of the songs. “All around the world today, a Kilo is a measure,” Kevin sang with the girl’s voice. “A Kilo is a thousand grams, easy to remember,” he continued. As the verse came in a turned toward him to ask him a few questions that were burning in my head.

“What are you doing messing with these nasty girls, man?” I asked with a disgusted look on my face. “I have no idea what the hell you’re thinking.”

It took a few seconds for my question to register in his mind, then he started to laugh. Fucking marijuana. Kevin was fucked up. His eyes were crimson and he talked about picking up some fries every time we passed a fast food joint, but it wasn’t anything out of the normal. Kevin was fucked up daily. “Man, you know why I’m tryna fuck with them,” he started before becoming consumed in his immature giggling. “And you need to try to get some of this tonight. I don’t know why you’re trippin’ because you know Melissa will let you beat.”

I just shook my head in disgrace and went back to watching all the activity outside of my window and thinking about the essay I was supposed to be writing for Dr. Bramer’s Religious Studies on sacred scriptures of the West. I had originally thought about exploring the idea of how both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament were evil books that have been used to oppress just as many people as people who have found salvation with those words, but I thought it might be a little heavy for my first essay in the class, so now I'm stuck here debating topics next to this high mother fucker more than ready to stuff his face with deep fried, over salted potatoes before potentially picking up some gross STD. I never understood how my friends could just lay down with anyone, I’m scared to death of Chlamydia, but maybe it’s just me. I’ve never laid down with some hoe I wasn’t sure was clean, fuck that. But Kevin was determined, and that’s where he was, traveling down the boulevard determined and hungry.

As Fishscale got deeper in the album Kevin knew less of it because he only listens to it when we’re in the same car and we hardly drive long enough to listen to the whole thing. He turned to me and asked me if I would let Mike Tyson fuck me for $1,000,000. This cat is weird when high, but all of the guys have outlandish conversations like this when together. It’s a guy thing, girls never understand why we would ever talk about this, but we think it’s hilarious. We always talk Luis into saying he’d do it for the smallest amount of cash because he’s poor as fuck and it’s hilarious making fun of him for that shit. As we debated how we’d feel both physically and mentally after being pounded by Iron Mike, we saw flashing red and blue lights and Kevin was forced to pull over, I’d never seen him more paranoid.

Kevin turned onto a side street with less traffic before pulling over, I’m assuming to make it easier for him to pull out after receiving his ticket for whatever the fuck he had done. As we sat there waiting for the officer I told Kevin to hide his weed somewhere or it would be a long night for the two of us. He didn’t listen, or didn’t think he had enough time to stash it somewhere before the officer got there, but he didn’t do shit except adjust his royal blue fitted. I looked over to the mirror on my side of the 3000GT and noticed that the officer was walking up my side of the car – and he started talking to me!

“Sir, can I see you license please,” the officer asked looking directly at me.

“Are you talking to me, sir?” I asked with a bewildered look on my face, utterly confused.

“Don’t play smart with me, son. Who else would I be talking to?” he asked not changing his menacing poker face. “I need to see your license.”

As I reached into my wallet I responded to his ridiculous request. “I just thought that since I’m not the one driving-” he cut me off abruptly, not wanting to hear any of my jive. He just wanted the license. I finally pulled my wallet out of my shorts and presented him with my license.

“Is this your car, son?” the officer asked. I thought to myself for a little before responding. Could this really be happening? What is going to happen when I tell him it isn’t? What’s going to happen when I try to explain that the car belongs to the guy who is driving it?

“No, sir. The car belongs to-” he didn’t even let me finish.

“Please step out of the car, son. Are you carrying any weapons on you?” he asked.

“No sir, I’m not carrying any weapons,” I said as I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the car door. I was beyond confused. Right when I stepped out the officer grabbed me and turned me around and posted me on the car as he searched me. As I was aggressively frisked, I looked back in the car to get a look at Kevin, just to see how he was taking this and he was rolling a blunt!

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was being harassed for no reason, in someone else’s car, after being pulled over for only God knows what – and he was rolling a mother fucking blunt.

[To be continued. I didn’t finish writing this before I had to close the lab, so I’ll try and get it finished tomorrow. Stay tuned!]

Stay Hideous
-PB

(Word count to date: 48,644
41 days and 51,356 words to go)