Steven Hunley
01-06-2014, 04:46 PM
The Real Me
I call up Fast Eddie, who I know has a rich brother-in-law.
“Eddie, you still taking care of your brother-in-law's shack on Mount Soledad?”
“Yeah, he’s in Puerto Vallarta with my sister and the kids.”
“Come by and pick me up will ya? I need some pictures.”
Fast Eddie Felson rolls by and picks me up and we scoot down Mission Valley on highway eighty until we reach the beach and head north. Then we wind up Mount Soledad and pull off next to their gate. I’m willing to take the pictures there, with the San Diego skyline in the background but he says no.
“They won’t be back for a week, come on in and have a drink.”
He opens the gate and we loop around the gravel driveway. What a view. On the south side you overlook the southern beaches all the way to Mexico. San Diego, Mission Bay, the harbor, Mt. San Miguel in the background. On the northern view you see Scripp’s pier jutting out into the Pacific and the rugged sand cliffs coast line stretching north. There’s only a veil of mist over the shoreline and I feel like a second-hand Arthur gazing at Avalon.
And parked there, silent witness to all this grandness, is my old gull-winged Mercedes 300 SL.
“Remember this?” says Eddie, and pats it affectionately on the hood. My brother in law stole it from you.”
“He didn’t steal it. I gave him a super deal. Let’s take those pictures and get it over with.”
“I was with you when you got it. Remember? You were in the pocket. Still dealing dope then weren’t you?”
“Yeah, of course. Bling was part of the job, the car was…..was an accessory to my crime. It added cache."
“But then you got busted. That was back in the good old days.”
“The good old days, yeah.”
On the south side were the few glass and steel skyscrapers of downtown, and you could see the bridge to Coronado curving neatly over the harbor like an eyebrow of a glamorous model. Coronado was upscale. Clinton stayed there once with friends. I remember hearing on the local news that although they had three different kinds of bread, Hillary send the maid or the butler or the Mexican peon that cut the lawn to get Chelsey her favorite kind for toast.
The rich? They got it made. Street people? We hustle for a living and eat scraps off the pavement. America, home of the brave and hungry. I love it.
The beer tasted bitter.
“This view pisses me off,” I said. "Let’s take a picture, chug these brews and get out while the getting’s good. I don't wanna get infected."
İStevenHunley 2014
http://youtu.be/FTwSKepkmdE The Real Me----The Who
I call up Fast Eddie, who I know has a rich brother-in-law.
“Eddie, you still taking care of your brother-in-law's shack on Mount Soledad?”
“Yeah, he’s in Puerto Vallarta with my sister and the kids.”
“Come by and pick me up will ya? I need some pictures.”
Fast Eddie Felson rolls by and picks me up and we scoot down Mission Valley on highway eighty until we reach the beach and head north. Then we wind up Mount Soledad and pull off next to their gate. I’m willing to take the pictures there, with the San Diego skyline in the background but he says no.
“They won’t be back for a week, come on in and have a drink.”
He opens the gate and we loop around the gravel driveway. What a view. On the south side you overlook the southern beaches all the way to Mexico. San Diego, Mission Bay, the harbor, Mt. San Miguel in the background. On the northern view you see Scripp’s pier jutting out into the Pacific and the rugged sand cliffs coast line stretching north. There’s only a veil of mist over the shoreline and I feel like a second-hand Arthur gazing at Avalon.
And parked there, silent witness to all this grandness, is my old gull-winged Mercedes 300 SL.
“Remember this?” says Eddie, and pats it affectionately on the hood. My brother in law stole it from you.”
“He didn’t steal it. I gave him a super deal. Let’s take those pictures and get it over with.”
“I was with you when you got it. Remember? You were in the pocket. Still dealing dope then weren’t you?”
“Yeah, of course. Bling was part of the job, the car was…..was an accessory to my crime. It added cache."
“But then you got busted. That was back in the good old days.”
“The good old days, yeah.”
On the south side were the few glass and steel skyscrapers of downtown, and you could see the bridge to Coronado curving neatly over the harbor like an eyebrow of a glamorous model. Coronado was upscale. Clinton stayed there once with friends. I remember hearing on the local news that although they had three different kinds of bread, Hillary send the maid or the butler or the Mexican peon that cut the lawn to get Chelsey her favorite kind for toast.
The rich? They got it made. Street people? We hustle for a living and eat scraps off the pavement. America, home of the brave and hungry. I love it.
The beer tasted bitter.
“This view pisses me off,” I said. "Let’s take a picture, chug these brews and get out while the getting’s good. I don't wanna get infected."
İStevenHunley 2014
http://youtu.be/FTwSKepkmdE The Real Me----The Who