The Next MorningA Story by Judas HammerThat Monday I learned a little more. Class was in session....The Next Morning Long
Beach Transit Journal Written
on 103 Bus to The Blue Line: Via Cell Phone I
woke up next morning. The event from the weekend still hadn’t sunken in. I was
on the leg extension machine at the gym: the one on Carson and Orange. It was
leg and shoulder day and in reality: I dreaded leg and shoulder day. My
dreadlocked, thin friend Danny called me around eleven thirty and asked me about
my weekend. I gave him the Cliff Notes version and the, ‘I am ashamed of
myself speech.’ He
listened for a few minutes; being the great listener he was. Prior to that day,
we spent many alcohol inspired hours on the phone talking about God and my
Nigerian foe we both knew yet I loathed. On that afternoon, he informed me our
mutual friend Lamar’s mother had died and he was at the coffeehouse: the one we
had all met at during the summer. "I'll
be there at two o’clock." I
didn't make it until three. I caught the 103 to Atlantic and ambled to the
shop. My buddy Pete was outside drinking a cold tea and taking deep drags from
a cancer stick. He was a nurse at an old folks home about a mile away. He
insulted my newbie handlebar mustache as I approached. The cigarette smoke
burnt my nose. "Were
is Mar at?" Written
on the 61 bus to Downtown Long Beach: Via Cell Phone Just
as I asked he came around the corner looking tired and sullen. He had a salt
and pepper beard and seemed smaller than the massive frame that was his
trademark. We sat on the small wall dividing the sidewalk from the parking lot
and he asked me about my weekend. I told him about my 'would be' assassin. He
shook his head as worry entered his brows. "Dave
Dave Dave. I think you got yourself into some stuff." I
had felt that but I asked him anyway. "Why
do you say that Mar?" "I
think someone is watching you. I think you're in the middle of something you
don't even know." Written
on the 111 Bus to Downtown Long Beach: Via Cell Phone He
asked me a series of simple questions that ranged from did I rub anyone the
wrong way to if I had any enemies in that part of town. Pete
chimed in saying that neighborhood was cool. It was on the edge of the
Gayborhood and trouble down that end of Broadway was rare. I
told him about a few run ins I had had with some guys during my time in Long
Beach. To a shoving match in a club to a full out donnybrook with two tatted up
gangsters from the San Gabriel valley. Pete
went on to say there was a race war working itself to the beaches. He said back
in the days the blacks terrorized the Mexicans in the streets of LA now it was
payback a generation later and everyone was included: gangster, working class,
bums, athletes, ministers everyone was fair game. Worry
didn’t cross my mind. I was trying to figure out the: who, what, where but not
the why. I didn't cat about the why. The 'who' was weighing on my mind and I didn’t mean the rock group. I
was thinking about the group of Aztecs that wanted me to check out. "You
got a call." I
thought I knew what he was talking about but I had to dig deeper. "You
mean a warning?" Mar
stared ahead like he was watching a mental movie: it was a sad one. He had just
lost his mother and now this. He peeped my future and it didn’t look bright
from where he was sitting. Peter reminded him of the time, because he was
taking Mar to work at LAX. "Man
if I was you I would lay low and keep your circle tight.” We hugged and he was off. I watched them
drive away in Pete's black Honda accord. All the sudden the levity of that
weekend sank in. Edited
at Green House café, East Village, Long Beach and Village Hotel, Lakewood, Ca © 2014 Judas HammerFeatured Review
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2 Reviews Added on December 30, 2014 Last Updated on December 30, 2014 AuthorJudas HammerThe City of Angeles, CAAboutI like to write, live in La and write and make short films. and more..Writing
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