A 2 time loser from San Diego did his last bit and said, “Hasta Luego.” Then made his way to Utah chasing a bonny lass.
He didn’t ever tell me how he came to met her. She was out his league but he couldn’t forget her. He said, “You and me forever, babe.” She said, “I’ll take a pass.”
Well, he didn’t really give a Tom, Dick or Sally. He was never goin back to prison or Cali. “Besides,” he said. “I kinda like the Beehive State.”
He paid his rent with his handy man skills. Bartered the neighbors for whiskey, weed and pills. And his only tattoo read, “Forward, Never Straight.”
He ended up hangin at the hippie park. Downtown Ogden, Washington Boulevard. I was makin my way from the State Liquor Store on Two Bit Street.
He walked up to me all uptight and lippy. I said, “Excuse me, sir, but you don’t look like a hippy with your high and tight, your sweet reet pleet.”
He told me he grew up a horse track rat. I took a pull and said, “Imagine that?” He wanted to be a jockey but he couldn’t manage the weight.
Went to a late night spot and tapped into a keg. He kept saying, “Thanks a lot. I want you to break my leg.” Then he’d point to his arm and say, “Forward, never straight.”
My brother was home on leave from Army Bootcamp. He thought he’d end up in Germany then probably Viet Nam. He knew how I felt but he didn’t give two shits.
And neither did I, to be truthful and right. Me and Reggie took him out every single night. The go go girls would break the law and show soldier boy their tits.
But the last night out was a complete disaster. I’d describe the moon as alabaster but I don’t know what that means. Gonna have to look it up.
Anyway, we walked downstairs into a joint called the Cellar in honor of the Beatles and the fact it was a cellar. We ordered three pitchers, three mugs, yup, yup, yup.
I know the last verse was a little silly, but just thinking of that night makes me scared and chilly. Like my blood’s running cold on the hottest day of the year.
You know how they say before the storm it gets quiet. That night was just that way a split second before the riot. Then all hell broke loose and a shotgun said, “Get outta here.”
I shoulda known it was gonna be a mess: a barroom filled with hippie freaks and my brother in full dress…uniform. I guess I should’ve asked him why.
In my defense, I weren’t in the best shape for thinkin. 30 days and 30 nights of constant drugs and drinkin. My brother turned to me and said, “Time to look death in the eye.”
Up and out on the parking lot grounds. Punchin and gruntin and bone breaking sounds. Then someone threw a brick through the pawnshop window display.
All at once those anti-war types stopped swinging at our faces with wrenches and pipes and crossed the street to do some looting. We made our get away.
Dan asked me, “Where’s our beloved loser?” We were talking ’bout Reggie, that San Diego bruiser. We found him on the backseat floorboard hiding his head.
He said, “When the rumble ignited, I didn’t know what to do. I got excited, picked up a brick and threw it at the window, kicked up my heels and fled.
Reggie was the genius and Dan, he had the power to keep our attackers in the parking lot for hours. We made our way home while the police made the others wait.
We dropped Reggie off at his motel room. He said, “Good luck, Danny. Joey, see you soon.” Then he pointed to his tat and said, “Forward, never straight.”
joefingas 