when you got nothin’, you got nothin’ to lose at the coney island lizard meeting

i am ensconced in the relative safety of my bushwick digs with maxx and buddy after returning home from what i thought was going to be an uninterrupted hour or so of joy watching maxx run on the seashore. as i drove to fort tilden and maxx barked on cue in agreement, i decided on driving further, ending at the other side of the new york bay inlet. i didn’t feel like being chatty with that grifting lizard after that last encounter when i was like helen keller in bondage. “maybe fort tilden isn’t as good a place as i thought it is,” i mused, as i drove past the exit (and maxx barked “what the fuck?”) and headed to coney island.
i grew up in the neighborhood next to coney island – sheepshead bay. once upon a time, it was all the same place called “gravesend,” but that’s your history lesson, if you so desire. as a kid, i went to coney island in search of danger, fun and drugs. as i grew older, i replaced that with bay ridge and it’s bars, fun, drugs and danger, then “the city,” and its danger, drugs, bars and fun.
i always shifted my priorities but kept them all within reach.
this was accomplished by putting “working” in the middle of these priorities. it was perfect, or at least reached perfection when i opened scrap bar, but i’m in coney island at the moment.
i drove to the very end of coney island, parking by the entrance to “sea gate” something i likened to as my land of oz when i was a kid. myself and a friend snuck in there when we were eleven.
then it became the land of oz as “no big deal” and i replaced it with the mcdonald avenue trainyards. this will happen again and again all my life. bushwick was my lastest oz, with the eighth-electro-plasma ocean of the ninth dimension looking pretty good for my next and most unattainable oz yet.

following the massacre in mumbai, a tragedy in the form of madness by people sold a promise of one sort or another, made of faith-based hate as an attractive tourniquet on a hemopheliatic humanity. whether it’s eternal life, a rung-higher on the karmic ladder (do this and you’ll return as an Audi sports SUV or a well cared-for statfordshire terrier – take your pick), one of the 1,172, heaven heaven heavens to betsy! shit, will it never end?
an aside; there’s something fresh-facedly erotic about that name. just a thought. besty!
it’s really confusing – such murderousness happens in india, while on long island, usa, a walmart clerk is stampled to death by bargain hunters and two shoppers kill each other at a toys’r’us on the left coast.
it’s a crazy, tragic, comedic fever that this planet’s been in the grip of since the dawn of time.
in my haste to go to a good place today, i left my house without my camera and consequently have no photos of coney island journey. there was so much to see, but what the heck. what was most interesting, however, was my return to where my car was parked. parked behind my tired old camry was a late-model jeep wrangler. sitting behind the wheel was that martian lizard with his olive-skinned associate beside him.
i walked to the car holding maxx close by my side.
as i opened my mouth to speak, he began, “just wanted to impress you. gotta go.” and he drove off. the olive-skinned woman smiled through the slight glare offered by the car’s windshield. even through it, i was able to get a glimpse of those sharp little teeth. we walked to my car. i wondered just how many cars those grifting bastards owned.

About stephen trimboli

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