New Year’s Party
“You're a real writer man,
what are you doing
with these
other guys?”
the others
were full blast into the
ritual of the party
smoking
drinking
dancing and sweating
doing what real people and writers
sometimes do
I was giving my sweaty self a break
from filling everyone’s plastic cups
with bargain beer
a pause for the cause
“Whaddya mean? These guys are real,
they’re writers.”
“No man, you’re a real writer man.
I mean, when I read your book,
it blew my mind.”
this guy was really in my face
a big dude with short cut hair
a goatee
glasses and a somewhat
punk attitude
“Well, thanks…”
I didn’t know what else to say
“No man, I mean, your book was really good.”
he turned towards the wall and started
smashing his fist into the
thick plasterboard
driving his point
all the way home
good thing he liked the book
after a number of
powerful drunk punches
there was a hole
he turned to me
his fucked up hand cupped in the
palm of his good hand and
smiled
satisfied he had made it clear to me
“Thanks.” I said
he gave a painful
but giddy laugh and
walked away
back into the pulsing crowd
I returned to squirting cheap beer
out of the big metal kegger
for the
merry makers
shortly after my
brush with greatness
the Los Angeles Fire Department arrived to
shut the shindig down
official like
the place was trashed
we all herded ourselves outside
without incident
there were 6 or 7 big red
fire engines lined up with
L.A.P.D. escort
lights flashing
igniting the
dark
downtown streets
with red and blue
holiday energy
I guess there weren’t many fires that night
you could hear the sounds of
guns popping in rapid succession
accompanied in the
deep distance
by the far off music of
sirens in pursuit
we loaded into our cars and
left the scene
inside the car Rafael reported
that he had made out with several
girls
Scott declared from the back seat,
“I made out with so and so
just outside the bathroom door while
standing in line to take a pee. We
were French kissing for 15 minutes and
she loved it!”
everyone was happy
Lorraine looked great
I drove us to a decent place to eat
1992 was a helluva New Year
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s.a. griffin
green hills memorial park - march 9. 2000
S.A. Griffin is a crash vampire living in Los Angeles. He is a Cadillac wrangling son of the Lone Star State. His mother was Venus on the halfshell, and his father was a used car salesman. He is rhythm and oxygen.
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