sick people.

I walked away from Markville Mall at 8am in the morning. Friday morning. Sweating. Smelling. Pounding head. Hungover and pasty. Tired. Really tired. Really hungover. Although back then my hangovers were never that bad. How bad can they be at eighteen years old??? But I had my tickets. My Bruce Springsteen tickets. Waited in a lineup all night for these tickets. Partied all night for these tickets. But I now walked away from Markville Mall with these tickets. I walked on the sidewalk alone and hungover and made my way to Hwy. 7. I needed to get home so I could change and go to summer school. Why? I don’t know. Walked to Hwy. 7 and stuck my right hand out with my right thumb pointing in the air. Hitchhiking. Alone. Hungover. Tickets in my shorts. In the pocket of my shorts. The right pocket. It was sunny. It was hot. Sweating still. Pasty still. Needing to get to summer school still. Still puzzled as to why. Blue car whizzes by. Brown car whizzes by. Grey car whizzes by. Everyone in a rush. Society full of rushers. Life moving too quickly. One by one I was getting rejected. This time by cars. LIFE IS SO CRUEL. Finally a car slows down. Excitement. Smiling. I look at the car with my sad puppy dog eyes. Man looks over at me. JUDGING ME. LOOKING DOWN ON ME. NOT KNOWING ME. He drives away. Probably horny. I was horny. I am always horny when hungover. Not sure why. Does anyone know? Cars continue to pass me. Not noticing me. Tired. I continue to stick out my hand. My thumb. My right hand. My right thumb. Continue to walk. Continue to sweat. Finally I hear a honk. I look up. A crappy, shitty, old, brown, small Dodge has pulled over. Stops on the rocks on the soft shoulder. He waits. I run. I get to the car and look in. I see an old man with short grey hair. I smile. He reaches over and rolls down the window. He struggles. I look in. He opens his mouth and says, “You want ride? You need ride?” He had a very heavy old Greek accent. I said, “sure thanks.” I opened the door and fell into the front seat. The car was old and smelly. Had that coffee and cigarette smell. I noticed a dangling cross from the Greek man’s rearview mirror. I hate crosses that dangle from car’s rearview mirrors. “Where you go?” Greek man asks. “Village Parkway and Carlton,” I reply. We drove away. Not sure if he knew where Village Parkway and Carlton was but we were driving in the right direction. Music on. Greek music. Bad classical Greek music. “Where you live? Where you were? What your name?” He kept asking questions but never listened to the answers. We were getting close to Village Parkway. “Turn at the next right,” I said. “Okay,” Greek man replied now looking down at my crotch. I looked away. We turned right. He looked down. We drove straight. He looked down. He couldn’t keep his horny eyes off of my sweaty balls. I felt uncomfortable. Hungover. Pasty. Sweaty. Horny. And uncomfortable. We slowly approached the stop sign at Village Parkway and Carlton. The same stop sign that I last saw my Dad. SAD. LONELY. I began to reach for the door handle with that same right hand. But old Greek man continued to drive. “It was right there. That’s where I need to get out,” I said anxiously. “We go for drive. Not long. Okay?” Greek man said back. “WHY?” I said right back to him. “Don’t worry. Don’t worry.” He was persistent. He was old. He was Greek. He was small. And he was horny. We drove away. Away from that stop sign. That stop sign at Village Parkway and Carlton. As we drove the old man looked at my crotch again. I was uncomfortable. I was sweaty. I was pasty. Not knowing where we were going. Not much was said. The old man then touched my left leg. Rubbed my left leg. My dick began to grow. Not sure why. Dick was hard. Dick was big. Cars everywhere. Cars behind us. Cars in front of us. Cars on the other side of the road. Cars on the same side. Greek man kept rubbing. My dick kept growing. Now his right hand was rubbing my big dick. Rubbing and rubbing. It felt good. I hated what this old Greek man was doing but it felt good. “You very big. You very big,” Greek man said referring to my big rock hard penis. “Thanks,” I replied. I was stunned. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t see. Hardly could hear. Old Greek man then unbuttoned my grey beach shorts and really started stroking my throbbing penis. He was stroking. I was sitting. I could feel an explosion coming. Not sure where we were now. Not at Village Parkway and Carlton. Sweating. Sweating. Sweating. One last stroke and explosion all over my grey shorts. All over his right hand. I was instantly embarrassed. Instantly ashamed. He was furious. “WHY YOU GO SO FAST? WHY YOU GO SO FAST?” He looked at me in disgust. I looked down in shame. Still sweating. Looking out window. Seeing again. Seeing cars. Hearing silence. Feeling SHAME. ALL KINDS OF SHAME. Old Greek man turned around and drove back towards THAT STOP SIGN. That stop sign at Village Parkway and Carlton. Drive was silent. Not a word. Stared straight ahead. Not horny anymore. Drove. Quiet. Silence. Wondering. SHAME. EMBARRASSMENT. FEAR. NUMB. LIFE. DAD. DAD. DAD. DAD. I kept thinking of my Dad. Car stopped. I got out. That stop sign once again. WHY??? WHY DID I KEEP THINKING OF MY DAD??? I said thanks and walked home. Opened front door. Walked in and went to bed. No summer school. No Dad. No innocence. But had me a pair of Bruce Springsteen tickets. Life is great.