May Gumbytron heap blessings on you and yours

Pieced together out of the shredder:

Went in search of the nearest coffee shop location for the Megabus landing and trekked 4 1/2 blocks in the 90 degree heat with a suitcase, a laptop bag, a camera bag and snack bag. 4.4 stars on Google+. Sit down at a table with all my junk. No place to plug in a Droid. Begin eavesdropping on the couple at the table next to me. The guy is talking up the woman about some hardcover book which I assume he wrote and his “celebrity” friend that works behind the counter. Hear her say, “Well, usually, if I don’t like a book by the first chapter, I just set it aside.” Kamikaze planes nosedive into his turret guns and I drag all my stuff outside, coming to the full realization that the city I spent 10 years living in may now be a boast town.

My hippie stank did not sit well with the yuppie smug and I dragged cigarette after cigarette trying to calm my nerves after the bus ride back to hell again and again and again. (That will likely be another story in itself). My Droid is rapidly expiring, while I am texting Little Sis Rescue and Uh Oh Rod (off topic, he and I used to patrol the Savoy Complex nigh 20 years ago, he has a 9 year old son and makes a decent buck shining rich people’s shoes).

Droid battery in the red zone, furious texting action only the likes of a 12 year old has seen between myself and Rod and self and Sis. Who will arrive first, Rod said 3, Sis is in traffic pattern holding and my tanks are empty. I take another sip of Nagasaki Cold Turkey Coffee (4.4 stars, may I remind you and a bargain at 1/3 the price).

I text Rod that I am exhaustipated and that if Sis Rescue arrives first, I’m hitting the Medevac and leaving behind an artifact for my Savoy sidekick, as per our custom back in the day. An OTE CCG “Incredible Opportunist” card with a Peace Dove pinned to it. 20 fucking years since that Character from Brain Dead was distributing his newsie “Transdimensional Times” at the old Luna in the Short North. At least 13 since I’ve seen Rod.

The kamikazed writer type dude with the celebrity coffee server comes out with the ADD one chapter book tossing chick and they briefly hug and they part ways, writer clutching his over-priced hardback. Where the fuck is Rod? Where is Sis-evac? I survey the scene at the NE corner of Gay and High. Oh my, oh my, Goodbye Columbus.

Droid is almost but not quite thoroughly dead and my com-lines are down. I’m staring into every car, hoping to catch sight of Rod before Sis-evac arrives. That dude almost looks like Rod, no, what the fuck did Rod look like anyway and does he still have teeth. I still have some teeth, although the dentist may repossess at any time if I’m late on even one payment and I think he fucked one of my sisters.

Eye gaze left, Shoe Shine Tycoon Rod is sauntering up the sidewalk from his day job, looking like a million bucks, approaches me and says: “Mr. O.T.” (Another story altogether, trust me, I’ve windbagged enough of it to you already).

I stand up and say: “Verify your credentials!”

Has Rod forgotten the secret handshake we used to practice? I begin demonstrating it and the fog of responsibility lifts slightly from the veil of intervening years. We recount tales, lost friends, not forgotten, maybe just temporarily out of order. I bring up the summer of the Purple Jesus Shred and time stands still. The universe becomes a shade less incomprehensible.

(more later, maybe, maybe not, not sure how I can even tap the keys in my current state of maximum fuck-it-all…)