I made it there late. It was always late to me anyway. I hadnít slept for days. I had traveled by bus. Over the phone, he had said the place was nice. He didnít mention the mess, but it was assumed between us. We had been roommates before and ever since he was a kid, he always had an army of dirty socks as his first defense against intruders. He had made an effort to clear a small space for me in the spare room. It wasnít much but it was enough. It was the second time I had moved by Greyhound in less then a year, and this time all my worldly possessions had been reduced to three bags.

She was there too. Her eyes were half closed to prevent too much harsh reality from getting in. Words came out of her so lazily that I was amazed they made it to my ears without having to nap on the couch first. She seemed pretty although it was hard to tell what was underneath her baggy clothes. She was busy doing what I know she felt was the first and most sacred duty of being a good host.

 

She was rolling a joint...

 

I couldnít have needed a joint anymore than I did then, and I was very grateful to my host. My words quickly became twice as lazy as hers and they were dribbling off my chin incoherently. The hard miles were quickly melting away...

 

...

 

I spent three days on the bus struggling in those seats that were obviously designed by aliens for aliens. I tried to imagine what they looked like. I think one of them got on in Tulsa. 

The first night, the seat next to me was open so I tried my best at winding myself into a fetal position across the two seats, but each time I sprang out into the hallway and was eventually woken by someone stumbling to the toilet. The only seat you can get horizontal is the triple wide in the very back. You can sleep there but itís next to the toilet so your dreams are all piss.

In Amarillo, the driver yelled at me for taking my shoes off. I guess he was bothered by the fact that one small part of my body was almost comfortable. I wanted to take him outside and bash his fat head in with a large rock, but I was too tired. Instead, like a naughty schoolboy, I waited for him to turn his back and kicked my shoes back under the seat. As I watched him head back to the front, I thought of spit wads. He was lucky there was Plexiglas between us.

The highlight of the trip was a blowjob I got somewhere just past Gallup New Mexico. It wasnít very good. Nothing on the bus is very good. I didnít like the dame and I donít think she even liked me very much, but it helped to pass the time.

It was like every other bus ride. The toilet route. From the asshole of one town to the asshole of another packed to the gills with trailer trash and the occasional naive foreigner or student. Sure, you got to where you were going, but you looked, smelled, and felt just like shit...

 

...

 

 

Back on the couch, my host was playing highlights of her favorite hippie jam bands on the stereo. I was drifting in and out of the small party that had gathered to celebrate my return. I was able to nod my head and accept more tributes of bong hits and beers but nothing more. Then I passed out...

...

 

I woke up later to realize for the first time one of the flaws of my new home. The walls were very thin. Too thin. I realized this because when I woke, the sex my roommate and host was having was broadcast loud and clear like a radio news bulletin.....

 

"This just in... sex."

 

At least I was only in the age of radio as long as I didn't confuse their door for the bathroom.  I've never walked in on anyone having sex yet but I've heard the door open and close quickly on myself a few times.

Personally, I couldíve done without the bulletin. I would have preferred to sleep sound blissfully unaware of those dirty dealings. Now if I had sex, that would be news. Other than the trashy bus ride blowjob, I hadnít had any for months and the last time I did, I threw up. 

 

Karma...

 

Back in the day, my roommate received regular transmissions from me and my lovers. Some were in full color. One girl was crass to the point that she would often walk around the apartment naked like a billboard that said " Just done it". Sometimes I'd follow her around the apartment naked like a billboard that said, "Just do it - again".

Our little station went off the air some years ago dissolved after some disputes over unwanted children and various Betties. I'm sure she's still broadcasting on someone else's frequency but I'm thankfully out of range. These days when I walk around the apartment naked, it's like a lost highway billboard that's been whitewashed and the farmer has disconnected the power some time ago.