Bad Boys Running Wild

So the other day, I escaped the urban jungle to the magical land of Fairfield 45 minutes away, where things are not different at all. We went to the skatepark, I bought some corn from the dude hustling on the side of the soccer field, and everything was rather chill, but the sky was oppressively grey, which I did not appreciate. While we were skating, Bob started shooting the shit with this twenty-something BMXer dude. He was country. I want to call him Henry. Let’s call him Henry. Henry was wearing some JNCOs, a black sweatshirt with flames on it, a ballcap sunk low over his eyes, black biking gloves, and muddy skate shoes. Henry had a kid, who looked alot like a pikey child from the UK, with a dark blue long sleeved shirt stuck into track pants and a shaved head on top of his shindig. During the course of their conversation, Bob probably alluded to the quality of the skatepark, something along the lines of, “yeah, this place is pretty tight.” I believe Henry was in agreement, but added the caveat that he is often irritated by the Fairfield Skatepark, because he has been arrested there before. Bob laughed and said, “you’ve been arrested here before? Wow, man, that must be embarrassing.” “Hell yeah, it’s embarrassing!” Henry replied. After this interchange, Bob continued to skate in his flannel, I continued to daydream, and Julian continued to do his full-time job of observing his surroundings while simultaneously re-learning his picture perfect treflips. He’s a big observer, Julian. Then suddenly, maybe twenty minutes later, a Fairfield cop screeched up to a halt in front of the skatepark and ran out onto it’s promontory barking something at Henry. Henry dropped his bike and turned away from the cop, slowly bringing his hands behind his head. The cop approached Henry and pulled out his gun. He barked some more at Henry, and Henry dropped to his knees. The cop then approached Henry, and getting closer and closer, he eventually stopped short, planted his feet wide and aimed his people-killer right at the back of Henry’s head. Everyone became very quiet and all eyes were on the people-killer leveled dead center on Henry’s dome. The cop then pulled out his radio with his other hand and started a convo with the dispatcher, but kept his eyes fixed on Henry. Julian said it looked like an execution.

Within minutes, a second cop arrived and they put Henry in the squad car. Henry’s pikey child stood close by and asked aloud to no-one in particular, “why are they arresting my dad?” Soon we all found out why Henry had been graced with this tease of an afternoon execution, Fairfield style. Apparently, he shot this local kid in the ass with an airsoft gun (handheld, pistol edition, dude) an hour previously. We were not informed why Henry shot the guy, possibly just to keep it real? The kid told his mom about the incident when she came to pick him up, and she called the police. He was maybe the most epic part of our day in Fairfield. The kid was an exact replica of the actor who plays Joe Dirt as a child when he gets abandoned by his family in the Grand Canyon. Homeboy had a massive mane of curly glam-mullet and an Amish pseudo-moustache reminiscent of Pubert from the Addams Family. The cops kept Henry for a while, and then let him go, (maybe because he had to take his pikey child home, and they couldn’t just leave him on his own at the skatepark? or perhaps because it was his lucky day and he didn’t have any pressing warrants?) afterwhich they had a long Doctor Phil discussion with the young Joe Dirt and his parents. Yes, I said it, parents; plural. Not long after Henry’s confinement in the cop car, Joe Dirt’s dad arrived to the scene. He was a body builder with spiked hair. As the fracas wound down, a kid in Dickies gave Bob, Julian, and I his two cents on Henry. “That guy lives on my street. He’s always getting arrested. The cops are at his house like every week, sometimes like every day.” I hope things for Henry quiet down. I hope he quits living la vida loca. I hope that someday soon he can ride his BMX bike in peace. Finally, I hope that his pikey child gets lots of love and attention and stops wearing track pants. However, if his pikey child continues to wear track pants, I hope he enjoys the swishy sound. Sometimes that’s really comforting, that sound.

Who needs 1 girlfriend named Magyar when I have 2 boyfriends like these? For the record, both of these dudes tried to play dirty tricks on me involving temporality and location yesterday. When Brian was outside the taqueria, he said “I’ll be there in half an hour” and then walked in to eat nachos two minutes later. When Chris was cruising up to the front door of JB Killa’s party he told me in all seriousness, “We just chillin’, bludd. I’m staying in tonight with my cats and the new book that Oprah recommended” and then opened the sliding door to the porch in order to turn my frown upside down. If you meet a pretty girl today, tell her about some arts and crafts project you are working on for your aunt, and she will pretend to act interested, but at least she knows you are deep and complex.

In 850 AD a Taoist alchemist in China attempted to create an elixir that would give the gift of immortality, a fountain of youth potion if you will. What he ended up with was the world’s first light explosive.

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