I'm "humorous" and "high energy."

L


et's get some things out of the way. A guy from the Cavalier Daily, a University publication, is featuring the musings in his column this week. He eventually gave me an interview during my Tuesday morning shift. Also, I'm a "diary of the week" at the Mining Company, the distributed Web indexing service. Pamela, the miner who reached my rich beds of ore, says she doesn't always "like" me but that I'm "humorous" and "high energy." Perhaps this would make my deposits something like high-sulfur coal. Her reviews of journals are generally accurate, though perhaps always a bit too flattering.

---

Earlier today his bail had been lowered from $4000 to $1000, which meant his bond would only be $125.

L


eah had me drive the Dart down to the C&O to pick up Tyler. The plan was to somehow obtain the necessary funds to bail our chum Rory out of jail. Earlier today his bail had been lowered from $4000 to $1000, which meant his bond would only be $125.

The chugging of the Dart's bearings isn't getting any louder. I feel better about it these days; perhaps the axle isn't bent and that it's just the bearings that are the problem. This whole issue has been enough to curtail my driving enormously. And now with the example of Rory's legal problems, it's doubtful I'll be doing much more drunk driving in the future. For her part, Leah says she'll never drive drunk again. It looks like the justice system is having its intended effect.

Matthew Hart returned from small adventures and,at 4:30 in the afternoon, drove Leah and me down to the magistrate's office (on Water Street near the Downtown Mall). That's where Leah had an appointment with the bondsman.

It's even worse than trying to travel on Greyhound, and that takes some doing.

T


he bondsman was a plump worried-looking man in casual clothes. He collected every nuance of Leah's personal information and $125 of her cash and in exchange loaned her (indirectly) the $1000 necessary to spring Rory from his chains. He was concerned when he heard the grave nature of the crimes with which Rory had been charged. But in the end he said Rory stood a good chance of avoiding prison time: he's young, seemingly has no criminal record, and he's a foreigner (a pleasant-looking Caucasian foreigner is surely what the bondsman meant). One has to take the words of a bondsman with a grain of salt; they're in the business of seeing to it that criminals don't flee. If they cast the case against one of their clients in an overly negative light, they undermine their purpose.

At a certain point, Tyler joined us.

We waited a long time for the slow gears of the police state to enter its human warehouse, find and deliver the goods for which we'd come. There is nothing about the legal system that is designed for comfort. Indeed, all aspects of comfort have been deliberately removed from the equation. It's even worse than trying to travel on Greyhound, and that takes some doing.

We waited along with an older redneck couple anticipating the arrival of their mulletized son, who'd been caught drunk driving. His father was a frail skinny old man (no doubt he looked older than he actually was) with a tumour the size of a bantam hen's egg on his arm. I couldn't look at it; it terrified me.

F


inally, Rory was with us, his handcuffs were removed, and he rode off with us in relative freedom. He was subdued, depressed and fatalistic. Nothing seemed to matter. Even this day of freedom seemed to underwhelm him. The weekend in jail appeared to have broken his spirit. We tried to excite him and discuss his offensive strategy for the legal battles ahead, but all he would do was say that his time was up and that he was happy to have known us.

He showed me his money disdainfully and asked "what is this, what is this?" and with that he grabbed a bottle of expensive wine and added it to the shopping cart.

We went to Kroger and bought an enormous amount of beer, all manufactured by Adolph Coors. First Matthew selected a case of Killian's and then Rory got a twelve of Killians and case of Coors in cans. The latter was an afterthought. Rory was in a fugue state, miserable, generous and unpredictable. He showed me his money disdainfully and asked "what is this, what is this?" and with that he grabbed a bottle of expensive wine and added it to the shopping cart. At the checkout line, he tossed in a handful of chocolates. We also got a box of fried chicken, Rorys' favourite meat. It's my favourite too, and we intended to split it.

Back at the Haunted House, the Curious Digit were loudly practicing in the dining room while Rory attempted to play his accoustic guitar on the back porch. He quickly became frustrated by competing with the Digit's amplified instruments and in a fit of rage threw his guitar out into the yard. It just missed the treacherous jaws of the concrete steps.

He and I ate chicken and talked about the future and about his "problem." We all agreed that Rory's "problem" isn't so much with alcohol as it is with driving. He says he's wrecked lots of cars before, always while completely sober.

He reassured us that "as long as they make whiskey" he'd be alright.

W


e were joined by Leah. She proceeded to tell me something very disturbing, that changes were afoot and that she'd be moving out of our house. "Why?" I asked like a fool. She explained that her relationship with Matthew was coming to an end. What? Huh? It was as if she was telling me she was breaking up with me. I hadn't seen this coming at all. If anything, Matthew and Leah had, from the looks of things, been actually getting along better lately than in the past.

This was sad news. Depressing.

And as if to prove the point, when Matthew showed up, Leah immediately left.

Matthew announced the breakup separately. And no, he said, it was no Theresa and Persad breakup. This was real and permanent. His voice had an unusually shaky quality to it that I'd never heard from him before. It made me think I might start crying myself. He reassured us that "as long as they make whiskey" he'd be alright. A half gallon of whiskey he'd taken along on his weekend fishing trip was now almost finished.

Matthew explained that this breakup was yet another result of the weekend's weirdness. When a monkey wrench is tossed into the fine machinery of our social structure, the results can be unpredictable and wide-ranging.

Spying on our collective misery, a sad full moon rose above the railroad track to the east. A slow freight train chugged by. Matthew climbed aboard and rode for 20 seconds. The mosquitos observed a temporary moratorium.

I headed back to Kappa Mutha Fucka for my prework nap, passing Leah and Deya doing girltalk on the front porch.

At Comet, Stefan had yet more sad, disturbing news which I won't go into. The world had become a bleak place full of the haunting cries of wild beasts.

the forest

the puddle

the child pissing his pants deliberately

the rain which only makes things better at night

we are finally alone and we hate the wetness of the weeds against our shins

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