I'm in my friend Flash's pad in Flatbush. It's at least a hundred, a hundred-and-twenty in here. I'm sitting on the rattiest chair I've ever seen; the wicker back is unravelling, and the cover seems to have eroded off of half the thin, hard cushion, revealing a brown, wiry tangle that looks like something rotten. There is a slightly cloying odor in the air, one I associate with cats. Maybe it's the deodorant they put in kitty litter. I'm allergic to cats.
I slept horribly last night. It was sweltering, and the only fan in the place was in Flash's room (Flash claims to dislike air conditioning and, for the record, microwaves, and so owns neither). He 'd gone to bed pretty much the instant we came back from dinner (after first stopping at his friends' place for a quick beer and an episode of the always unhilarious "Reno 911). Apparently, he likes to go to sleep listening to the BBC World Service, and was eager to hear their take on the big AFL/CIO/Teamsters split. I tried to read for a while, but the raucous reveling of the youthful negroes on the street below made it hard to focus. On our way out last night, we saw someone getting arrested. On the way back, we were forced by the police to go back the way we'd came and go around the block the long was, as they'd closed off the street, apparently in response to a rumble of some sort. I don't know who was involved, but the rhythmic snapping we could hear coming from the far side of the intersection suggests that Sharks, Jets, or the gangs from the "Beat It" video were present. Ha ha, but of course that was a little joke. It's very,very hot in here. When I expressed my feeling that, based on the high level of police activity I'd seen in the course of my twenty minutes spent walking through Flatbush, the neighborhood might be deemed "sketchy," I was accused by two separate people of being racist and being afraid of black people. Which is ridiculous. Everyone else is at least twice as racist and I am, and I've never, for an instant, been afraid of a single black person in all of my life. I just happen to be afraid of black neighborhoods, is all. And, you know, just... poor people, in general, are... very, very bad.
To be honest, I didn't really sleep horribly--at least, I didn't wake up in the middle of the night or anything. It was not until about 6:30, when flies began to alight upon my sticky, greasy flesh that my sleep became disturbed. When I eventually gave up the fight around 8:30 and got out of bed, I felt like my body was coated in a thick layer of grime. Sadly, Flash does not have a shower. I mean, he HAS a shower, it just doesn't work, and he's content enough with taking baths to approach the super about it. Me, I'm not so content with taking baths, unless I have the flu or something, and then I'll always want to rinse the soap residue of off my tanned, toned, rippling physique. I guess it doesn't matter, anyway, but it's so fucking disgusting out today, I'd have needed another shower by noon, anyway.
Hmm... I think I'll go piss on Flash's magical Buddhist shrine. Fucking hippies. Welfare mothers, ruining this country. Special interest groups. Crack babies. Bring back prayer in school and public hangings. Founding Fathers didn't need no Constitution to tell 'em what to do. I would gladly send a million of our boys overseas to defend the flag. And I'm referring to an actual, literal flag. G. Gordon Liddy is right about a lot of things, and love him or hate him, the man's a true patriot. So, who's up for Applebee's!
Oh, and I not only understand how all of those people have died from the heat, I'm beginning to envy them.
