Don’t Drive On My Side Of Town
Cy had a little Mercury Lynx hatchback that all of us piled into one time when we had eaten too many pills. We were lost and needed to get back, so we went to Marshall ‘cause that was our base. It grounded us. Anytime that we ate too many drugs, we’d go to Marshall. And the whole town supported anything we did as long as we didn’t steal shit and break too much shit. We played paintball through the town—just don’t put out the dog.
‘Cause the dog was barking up a storm, got popped and ran off whining. And I call out, “Sorry. He tried to bite me. I promise.” And giggle my ass near off. I shot him in the butt with a paintball, and not one of the frozen ones either. It’s a two-hundred-pound dog, quit feeding him so much.
But yeah, we all piled into Cy’s Mercury Lynx. He could not drive. Bad Cy. No. Get out of the median. We made Cy pull over, and he pulled into the median of a divided highway so that I could drive. Oh yeah, that was a better idea. Let the other fucked up person drive. Is there a sober person among us? Nope.
So I had to close one eye to see the road, but I drove between the lines and could actually do it, which is why they made me drive instead of Cy ‘cause Cy couldn’t manage. Cy was gone.
We removed everything before we got to Marshall—everything out of the pockets, shoes, socks, shirts, leave on pants and ran around. It was an adventure. God only knew where we ended up.
We wound up on the water tower once.
“How the fuck did we end up here?”
“I dunno. Did you paint that?”
“God damn it, we need to go get more paint, this can’t be seen.”
“What is it?”
“Ah, they’re gonna get pissed. Town is going to make us paint something bigger.”
They made us roof the church once. After doing donuts in the superintendent’s of Covington’s lawn. So, as punishment, the rest of the town made us re-roof the church. We didn’t have to buy the materials. They just didn’t want to do it, so we did. We were the fucking kids that tore shit up. But the superintendent was too pussy to say anything about it, but we got all our friends together, got a cooler of beer and got after it.
The little old ladies realized that we liked beer. Well, not that I liked beer. I didn’t like beer, but Nick liked beer. Nick would roof the church and keep working as the rest of us goofed off. As long as you supplied him beer, he’d keep working. He was a hard worker when he was stoned and drunk. Give him too much beer though and he quits working. He just sits there and giggles. It’s funny.
Give him more beer, he gets up and does back flips off of stuff. He was the one who taught me how to do back flips. Fuck he was good at it. He did it first when he back flipped off the balcony onto the trailer house, onto the bed of the pickup and then onto the ground. And then I had to try it. It worked, but it wasn’t so pretty—it hurt, and I damn near killed myself doing it, so I decided not to do that shit anymore.
So I went and got the motorcycle out, was ramping the median on the road right in front of his house. If I successfully jumped it, I would go get myself a drink. About the time that I missed the five-foot wide median, I was done riding the motorcycle ‘cause I was apparently too drunk to do that.
Everyone was staying out of the road. No one was coming down it. We were in Marshall for god’s sake. Don’t drive down that side of town. Why? Because we drive down that side of town.