Chapter Two: Brownies

 Chapter Two:

It has now been six and a half days since I gave my jacket to my ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend.  I still can’t figure out why I decided to get naked on Valencia street at 1:30 in the AM; I guess I just felt tainted. But the fog has been rolling in like a fat lady on roller skates and my Whole Foods hoodie just isn’t cutting the cake.  I want my fucking jacket back!  I decide to let the wisdom of my friend Jack Daniels dictate my future actions.  Isn’t being young and dumb so much fun?

            Ten shots, six cigarettes, and two hours later I have come up with the most awesome idea ever.  I get my jacket back and I also get to screw with that lanky hipster who is currently fucking my X and more importantly (not in the slightest bit sure why) sleeping in my bed.  How did she end up with the bed and the apartment? I let her keep the cat though; thing makes the inside of my nose itch.  Pussy.  

            Long johns, tight T, old cashmere sweater, hipster sweatshirt, Whole Foods hoodie, and a black Giants hat; I’m out the door.  I giggle at my neighbor and her white poodle; she glares at me.  I trip and almost fall.  Shit.  I’m on the street now.  Brownies hardware store is just up the block on Polk Street.  I throw a drunken wave at my favorite bum and his gay bum lover. Jesus.

            When I get to Brownies, I wander around the lighting section for a few minutes. Loitering.  A man in his 50’s asks me if I need help. No.  I’m heading down stairs now (in cities these stores have multi levels) I spot a young kid. He sports a Giants cap and has horrible acne. 

“Nice hat dude,” I say as I lean against a shelf of garden hoses, tilting my head so he can see our similar taste in baseball teams.  This is completely ridiculous because everyone loves the fucking Giants in this town. “I was hoping you could help me find something, it is somewhat of a delicate manner,” I wonder if he has any idea what I’m talking about, I wonder if I do either.  He nods his head.  I take that as a yes and continue.  “I need something that you use to pry open a door or maybe a lock with?” Gulp.   Too obvious?  He smiles and gestures to a wall filled with multicolored bars.  “I guess your best bet would be a crow bar, what are you using it for?”  I decide to throw caution to the wind.  “I need something to break into my ex-girlfriends apartment.”

He laughs and hands me a bright orange crow bar about two feet long, “this will get you through most doors as long as its wood.”  Burp.  Really? I decide not to push my luck, “thanks dude.”   I turn and half run, half leap up the stairs, trip. Fall. Ouch.  I hear him laughing.

On the street now, crow bar wrapped in a brown plastic bag. Brownies.  I love that place.  I focus on getting back up my steps and into bed. Tomorrow I’m going James Bond on this bitch’s ass.  Oorah! 

Streaking in the Mission

 

I stumble out of some shit bar in the Mission of San Francisco. Drunk. Had a little whiskey drink off with some Goth chick that claimed she was Irish.  Fucking showed her. I trip and barely catch myself on the parking meter; bumping into the sliver fender of a BMW.   Fuck.

 “Bapu? Holy shit! How the hell are you?”  I look up to see the beautiful god-awful face of the most wonderful woman I have ever met.  A brief glimpse into my past.  The love of my life.  Her hair is big and blonde, like an 80’s rock star, hoop earrings, perfect teeth.  Her smile is wide and welcoming, but I know better.  She is awkward and nervous.  Her perfect doll face portrays nothing to the average eye.  But I am drunk and bloody brilliant.  Fuck.

Here she is; what do I say? What do I do?  She acts before I have a chance to come to a conclusion.  I wrinkle my nose at the thought of my face making such a disgusting expression (such as wrinkling my nose).  I’m half way through the completion of this thought when…

“This is my boyfriend Jake.” She gestures to her skinny lanky hipster boyfriend with an asymmetrical haircut and a pea coat. Fuck.   Acting on instinct I take off my Patagonia jacket.  I stare at it for a moment, wondering…  I hand the jacket to the boyfriend, mumbling,  “hold this for me will you?”

 I feel slightly British as I say this.  Underneath I am wearing my expensive workmen’s jacket, that doesn’t really fit.  I always thought it made me look like a badass construction worker.  She always said it made me look skinny.  Bitch.  I take that off.  I glance over the cold steam of my breath; seeing the utterly confused faces of my X and her new BF.   What the hell do I do now?  Why did I just take my fucking jacket off?  It’s totally freezing outside.  I should have made them feel comfortable.  This shouldn’t be weird, right? The love of my life. Her new hipster boyfriend. Me instinctively taking off my clothes.  I catch her eyes. Wide, horrified. Still smiling.  All teeth.  Fuck this, I decide as I lean drunkenly against the parking meter.  I turn and walk down the sidewalk without another word. Fuck it. I take off my under shirt and toss it to a half crazed bum on the corner.  Naked now. Drunk. I don’t look back.  Life is too short.  It takes me five cabs and six blocks before I get someone to give me a ride home.  I wake up the next morning, my head baking, minus two good jackets and my favorite Beatles shirt.  I check my iPhone, hoping for a clue to my recent past.  “What the fuck?” is my only text.  I briefly wonder who that’s from? Maybe Jesus?