The Finger Feels Good to Give but Shit Still Floats to the Top In Bad Dreams and Other Complacent Hours
(3/7/05) - The things that belonged to me were in a sandcastle, wrapped in a little bundle, far out on a rolling dune beach of loose, deep sand.

My friends were hanging out on the flats away from the beach. Slayer had just finished a free show nearby there. We'd planned to go to Seattle, but it hadn't happened. So we were there.

We'd been playing around on the beach earlier which is why I'd left my things bundled up in a flannel next to the sand castle. But now my friends were hanging around not knowing what to do.

From time to time during the indecision, I'd have to crawl up and visit the other people I knew. There was a restaurant at the top of the dunes.

The main path was so heavily-trodden down it was like a motorcross course. But I'd be polite and go say, "Hi," to the other people I knew. The other entrance to the restaurant was really far and up and down a bunch of dunes.

I crawled up the loose sand of the trenches and could hear the same old glory days stories hammered out to perfection over the years so much that historical fact and accuracy were now irrelevant. I'd get to the top, hide my scowl, wave to the guys, refuse to regurgitate one of the dead stories I might have some association with, excuse myself for being so brief and move along.

The quickest way out was to walk up into the restaurant, past the fancy tables, and then back down to the beach again. Once I was up there I could spy my bundle out on the beach too. But there was a catch.

Up at the top, coiffed around a table was the well-off liar and his cohorts. He'd ask or say one thing to me. I'd respond dryly, move on and then within earshot he'd start stating the exact opposite.

It was a long trek to get over the beach dunes to where my actual friends were and it'd be double long if I made my way back out towards the water and sandcastle to grab my things.

"Why are these guys my actual friends? Oh, yeah. Because they're not delusional assholes, they like having me around and they don't expect anything from me."

But there is that whole annoying indecision thing there where all of us keep waiting for something to happen instead of making something happen.

So to distract myself and keep up polite relations, I make the rounds as the day drones on. But naturally the tide begins to rise up.

Nevertheless, I keep making the rounds waiting for someone to take that initiative.

I'm beginning to get worried. The water was pretty high when I'd started climbing up the steep motorcross sand path to the glory days boys and it took me a really long time this go.

I wave at the glory days boys and tell them all my shit is gonna get washed out to sea and then run up into the restaurant relieved to see the sand castle still standing. But the water is creeping up steadily.

Right before I run out to grab my stuff, the liar asks, "Do you have a moment?"

"Well, if it takes just a second. All my thing are/"

"Well no. This will take more than a second."

I shake my head and run off. In proper form the liar shouts after me, "Well, you shouldn't tell people you have a moment for them if you don't."

"I didn't say that."

"Yes. You did."

"No. I didn't you lying, fucking prick."

I spin around and ask the waiter walking up the stairs if this tray is going to him. With a nod, I steal their beers and shrimp coctails, go grab my stuff and head back to the sand flats.

Yep. They're still there waiting.



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