You Can Only be Washed up Once.

"YOU ARE WASHED UP. YOU DON'T OWN anything. I feel sorry for you." I took that in and thought about it. Yeah, I'm washed up; I'm a has been. At least I can still smile. I was smiling 'cause I was at the top of a hill and just before me was a bright yellow Karmann Ghia with its windows down. I took off my belt and opened the door to the small, lightweight automobile. I took the E brake off and struggled to push the car out away from the curb. It was too much for me alone, so I waited.

Two college-looking guys came walking up. "Hey," I said. "Excuse me. Say, could you two loan me a hand?" The two turned towards me. I asked in a polite voice, "Can you help me?" I needed to push this car out away from the curb. It was past 11 o'clock at night, so not many people were out. The two helped and we got the car to the middle of the road, facing downhill. Here is where my belt comes into play:

I strapped my belt around the steering wheel and fastened it tight so the wheel would stay straight. I closed the door with the belt hanging out, so it would work as a mechanism to keep the car going straight when I coasted it down the hill. The two guys who had helped me couldn't believe it when I let the car go off by itself.

The car went through two intersections smoothly before smacking into a cab. I ran down the hill. The driver inside the taxi was bleeding, all from the side of his face. "Damn, cabbie. That looks bad." I went over to the Karmann Ghia and retrieved my belt. I fastened it around my pants and surveyed the damage. When the cops showed up on the scene, I watched as they too surveyed the damage. The paramedics got there quickly and began administering to the cab driver. He looked like your typical American cab driver, only he was bleeding, heavily. The officer took notice of me and asked if I had seen anything. I told him I had seen the whole thing and it was awesome. Officer Ramirez interviewed me. I made up some incredible story about how I saw a phantom driving the car, and that after the car hit the cab the phantom fled. Officer Ramirez asked, "Did he flee on foot?"

I laughed, "No, not on foot. Phantoms don't have feet." Across the street, officer Ramirez's partner was interviewing the two who had helped me push the car into the middle of the road, They had watched as I rigged it up. I wondered if they were telling the officer that I was responsible for what had happened. When I saw them both point over towards me, I realized that they had. I didn't care if I was gonna get in any trouble 'cause even trouble beats being a has been or a washed up pile of shit.

The officer approached .me. His face was mean as hell, but his eye color was soft like Magnum Pl's. I wasn't afraid. "ID please," the officer said to me. "Sure." I reached for my identification and the prick locked my hands up over my head and put the cuffs on so fast that I was amazed. "Only thing, it hurts," I said. "Ouch."

"Loosen up, commando." He got out my ID from my back pocket without my permission. They ran my name for warrants. Nothing came up. Then they said they were arresting me for reckless endangerment. Cool. Inside the jail I was in a cell with a lot of Mexican homeboys. They all looked like Cabbage Patch Dolls, though none of them were at all threatening; just this one who had a long scar on his face.

It wasn't hard to know who he was. He was Pazuzu, world famous demon--looks friendly. I smiled at him and said, "They don't know who they have here, do they?" Pazuzu gave me the peace sign. I stayed clear away from him. After five hours of looking at the ground and watching the feet that were glued down to the ground, I was released. When they let me out I was so happy I looked up and it was still night. The stars were bright and the moon was covered by clouds, but I don't like the moon so I like when the clouds block its view. I walked south on Bryant Street and underneath the freeway. I saw a young kid spray painting and I screamed at him. "Hey! Stop that!" The kid dropped the can and took off running. I laughed quietly to myself, then picked up the can. I wrote "Pazuzu Lives" in large script. When the clouds moved, the metallic paint glowed nicely.