The Bitch has got Jesus in her Holster

There’s snow on the way, but right now it’s 62 degrees and calm. Whenever we have unseasonal weather the level of my fear rises. It seems that something unjust and unsettling is on the way.

When I got home today there were three hoodlums in the parking lot in front of our place fixing a car. An undersized one-year-old girl was wandering around. She looked into the pocket of the driver’s side door and one of the hoodlums told her to get out of there and leave the rubbers alone. They also had their dog out, the big pit bull that belongs to the drug dealer next door. These were his friends; I recognized one of them as the guy who we swung our headlights around one time after being out drinking to find him pissing on the side of our house. He didn’t even look up. He just zipped up and walked into our neighbor’s door. It was the perfect response, one of a practiced villain. By not acknowledging us he made us question what we had seen. Surely anyone with any sense who’s just been nabbed pissing on a house will panic in humiliation and fear. But he just zipped up and walked away. For just enough time, I doubted what I had seen. Once I realized that I had been right all along, it was too late to go pounding on the door. After all, I had been drinking, and the three guys fixing the car in the parking lot were all short-haired fat blonde teenagers. It could have been anyone. There even might have been twice as many as that in their apartment had I challenged his public urination.

The dogs were hopping around. Partly because they had to relieve themselves and party because they knew that the dying and slow pitbull was out there. But I wasn’t as stupid as those dogs. I knew that theyd still be eaten alive if they challenged that beast. I had to keep my wits about me if any of us were to make it out of this place alive, including them.

I calmed them down long enough for me to get comfortable – remove my belt, put away my wallet and keys, take off my watch and shoes. I heard the dog go inside next door and started getting them ready to go – the bigger dog had to be leashed or she’d run around the neighborhood for two hours. Just then I heard a commotion outside. It was the next neighbor down. She was a short and fat middle aged woman who lived with her husband and granddaughter. She was a true welfare case and she beat her husband constantly. Her best attribute was that she knew absolutely everthing about anything you could think of to ask her, talk to her about, or mention within earshot. If I was outside, at the mailbox or dumpster or car, and I felt her doorknob turning, I wouldn’t take any chances that it wasn’t her, and I’d have to sprint to our door to get inside before she shook me down for something.

Now she was screaming at the three fat boys up in the parking lot. There must have been a quieter beginning to the altercation, because this was the first I was noticing any talking outside and this was definitely the middle of something, not the start.

She was cursing loudly at one of them. He responded with something like, “Careful when you make a statement.” It’s not important what he said. But he must have made a threat, because the next thing I could make out (or the only thing I could really remember, likely) was her saying,

“I’ll get you! I’ll come after you! I will! I’ll have someone take care of you! I’ll kill you with Jesus! I don’t have a gun, I carry Jesus!”

surprisingly, the fat boy didn’t respond to that. How do you possibly respond to it, though?

Once I was taking the bus back to Hoboken from Port Authority in the middle of the night, drunk. The 126 was full, though, nearly, despite the hour. You always have to wait a long time for the Port Authority buses in the middle of the night. The late night bus picked us up in a nicer part of the terminal than the usual gate up in the top filthy levels of the parking-garage-like building. But there was still only one bench, and the rest of us were on the floor.

Finally we got on the bus and the driver starts taking us down and around and out. I was as scared as I’ve ever been on any type of public transportation, including cross-town cabs. He knocked at least 2 people out of their seats, swerving and jerking. He flew through the Lincoln Tunnel like a coked-up squirrel chasing an F-18. I clung to my seat in a panic for the entire 20 minute ride. When we came into town, I hit the bell 7 blocks from my apartment just to get off that thing. I practiced over and over what I was going to say when I got off the bus. I thought about it for awhile and worked on the words, which wasn’t easy because I was drunk. Finally I got it. I walked all the way up to the front door so I could pass the driver, and I passed him, and I said,

“You’re fucking crazy, man. You shouldn’t be allowed to drive a bike.”

And he looked at me and said, “Thank you, sir, God Bless.”

He invoked God! That was a cheap shot. I couldn’t respond. I had been right – he drove us like he was trying to kill us. But invoking God is the ultimate trump card. You cant choose the other side, so you’re left to silently agree. That fucking motherfucker. Just like every other God-invoker, he’d never change. If I ever saw him again I’d have to bring a helmet.

- posted by seanmh @ 9:00 PM