Los Angeles, 2 a.m.
Tha jam was hot, so I decided to stick around. Get outta the club (Fishbone/Trulio Disgracias) around 2, decide to go on one of my patented long walks. It's late - I need to wind down, think, take my body and soul for a spin, and furthermore, I don't ride the bus, Just don't.
I walked from the Good Hurt (club) at Venice Blvd. and the 405, all the way up Sepulveda to Westwood Village. (A long-ass way.) All of you's who aren't L.A. people, look on a map - it's pretty far. Stopped along the way somewhere at an all-night donut shop. Two chocolate donuts and a coffee to go, and I was re-vitalized. Kept going. Destination Canter's, on the other side of town. Then maybe catch the train at 6:30 am. Exactly how it happened.
Keep thinking, "Debbie (my friend) just ran the L.A. Marathon, twenty-six miles. So I can do 5 or 6 tonight, no problem." Kept me going ...
Somewhere around 3:30 am, I'm in Westwood, standing at the foot of the Federal Building. Eeek. Ominous. Dark. Taxi rolls up. I go:
"Hey - give ya five bucks to take me to Canter's!"
"Where the fuck is that?" (Thick russian accent ...)
"Fairfax." (A long-ass way.)
He starts laughing ...
"My friend, that is a thirty dollar ride!"
Me: "No it's not."
Him: "Ok, twenty."
Me: "Naw, thanks." (I start to walk away.)
"Ok,ok ... whadaya wanna pay, boddy?"
Me: "How about seven bucks."
Him. "Mmmm. I'll take you for ten."
Me: "Mmmm. Ok, deal."
Hop in the cab. We drive a long-ass way. Eventually we hit Fairfax. He lets me out on the corner at Sunset. I turn towards Canter's, and decide to keep walking instead. Now I've walked about 3 miles. My mind is spinning, "Preston's dead, Joe Strummer's dead, Kurt's dead, Johnny Cash is dead, FUCK!"
What would Preston do? I wonder. He'd say, "Go to a jam session, and then take a long walk." So I did exactly that. Now it's like 4-something in the morning. I stumble into the IHOP on Sunset (near LaBrea). Scuzzy, rock 'n' roll junkies, hookers, undercover cops - these are MY PEOPLE! Heh. Everyone's in a band, and everyone sucks, and they can suck my fucking cock 'cuz I'm exhausted (after walking 5-plus miles) and don't wanna hear their stories and all I want are some of those Belgian Waffles like in the picture! Ha! And I get 'em ... (the waffles.)
I write a letter to my friend Steve in the Bay Area. He's pissed 'cuz he came home from a film shoot and his wife was gone and left him a "Dear John" note. I write a postcard to my (sorta) girl in Santa Barbara ... Or soon-to-be, I should say. Now it's 5 o'clock in the morning. I've come a long way ...
Hit the train back to Santa Barbara at 6:30 sharp, as planned. People in suits look like wannabe-tv-clowns to me. They haven't survived Sunset at 4 and tha rock 'n' roll IHOP experience like I have tonight. Poseurs. Gawd bless 'em, they suck, too. The guy in the IHOP caught me shaving in the men's room, I just turned my head to him with a razor in my hand and said, "Rock and roll!" Yeah. Adventure. A tune in my head. Life. Music. Waffles. Keep Walking ...
Al Sharpton for President! -Todd