It seems through my growing fame and notoriety as a writer - much to my chagrin - that I was blessed with my first book reading at the local hipster cafe here in Tucson called Shot in the Dark. I had been contacted by a Tucsonian fan the second week of my arrival and he had set it up. "What do you want me to do?" I asked with waves of paranoia gurgling in my system. I am not comfortable standing in front of a group of people I do not know. Shyness is nice and shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to...blah blah blah. "All you gotta do is read. And bring some copies of your book Tweeker." He assured me.
So, I ordered a few copies, bought a fancy new outfit - I looked like a post-modern William Burroughs. It was cute. Ugh. Anyway, around six that evening, several hipsters and artistic weirdos arrived and sat patiently and listened to me rattle off passages from the book. They laughed when it was funny and sat appalled when it wasn't. I literaly acted out a chapter or two. I should have won an Oscar. The ordeal was painless. I signed a few copies, chatted about Tijuana, meth, and traveling with a few who wanted to know.
I quickly hid in the side patio and chained smoke. Luckily my friend Caleb who also re-located from El Paso to Tucson showed up and I granted him a signed copy. He was pleased and squealed in junky delight. Or dementia. As I had stated, the guy is really attractive but nuttier than squirrel shit. Too bad. Say no to drugs, kids.
Kyle, that hustler fuck, also showed up and was so drunk and annoying, more so than ever, that I left him to his own sorrow. My patience is really wearing thin with that one.
But, the time was pleasant and all the copies I had brought disappeared. I guess I can't complain...