Richards’s dad kept bugging us to get a job. I agreed that I would be happy to find one however everything was so spread out and there was no public transportation that this became a problem. Grudgingly, Richards’s mom, who still eyed me like I was Satan, would drive us the forty-five minutes into town and we would look for work. But, instead of looking for work, we would spend hours at the university campus computer room talking in chat lines on the Internet.
I met some of the really kooky friends of Richard when we walked around town looking for stuff to do. The bloated pedophile with the Chihuahua, The Purple Lady, and Mr. Pickles. The town was small and old. Everything was red bricked buildings and rusted signs. Little old ladies in sensible shoes and old grey haired men with horned rimmed glasses stare as we walk by. Can't find a fucking store that sells Lucky Strikes! Had to settle for Camels. Blech. Mostly burnt out hippie college students and street performers prowling the main drag and loitering in the Plaza. Found a little book shop and bought Hubert Shelby Jr.'s Last Exit To Brooklyn; an old fav.
The most bizarre of Richard's friends was a retard named Ralph, a lanky goofball with a shock of red hair, scraggly red beard and googly eyes. And I mean fucking bugged out Cookie Monster eyes! He lived in a ratty and rusted trailer alone, was legally blind, and watched WWF Smackdown on his television. His trailer was a shrine dedicated to his heroes of the Wrestling Federation. Posters, t-shirts, action figures, dirty underwear, and piles of filthy dishes cluttered the ugly powder blue trailer. There was this mongoloid girl that was in love with Ralph and stalked him. Wore a powder blue baby doll dress and had a forehead like a skillet.
Last Friday, Richard and I went up to the State University to crash a few parties. Chatted with some interesting college kids. They said there were little parties going on all around campus. Lotta hot jock eye candy. Not one for the white boys but some heated me pants as they walked by. One party was held in the Union Hall, a kind of free for all dance with a lot of ugly people. A couple of hot jocks, but no one that I was interested in. Except this handsome little Filipino, who kept staring at me. (I have this secret thing for Filipino guys, goes back to my first experience with homosex.) But, this seems a fairly homophobic town, so I'm keeping my cool. The DJ would play anything you asked for and I requested The Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Picture Show and I got to dance the Time Warp with about sixty co-eds. But it’s the pelvic thrust!
We hung around the campus and dug the festivities. One black fraternity took over the campus café and did “stepping” all night. A dance style that consisted of eight to ten guys connected by a rope and moved in perfect rhythm without music. It was pretty impressive. It was the shizzle, yo. Again, eyes met with this grr-jess black guy with amber eyes and built like a brick house. Homina homina! Ran out into the cold darkness to cool off. Richard ogled at all the girls. Perhaps it's time to drop the fag bomb on him. Perhaps not.
Then we cruised down to Ralph’s trailer to drink. When we got there Ralph was already wasted. He was sitting in the hall in his underwear beating on a tin bucket with a spoon to the rhythm of Pretty Woman by Roy Orbison that was blaring on the radio.
Around 3:30 a.m., there were a series of vicious knocks on the door. Bleary eyed and incoherent, Ralph wobbled over to the door in a Stone Cold Steve Austin T-shirt and saggy dirty underwear. He swung open the door to find a teenage girl wearing a powder blue baby doll dress, white stockings, black patent leather shoes, and a werewolf mask.
“Trick or treat!” she screeched.
“Uh, like…It's not Halloween, yet.”
“I don’t have any candy.”
“I have nothing!.”
“Okay, okay…just a minute!”
Ralph clumped into the kitchen and when he returned he slam-dunked two canned soups and a frozen potpie into wolf girl’s bag. Then he slammed the door in her face.
“Stupid ass bitch.”
Crashed on the couch drunk from 212 and Richard's mother picked us up the following morning.