There are few things more dangerous and more menacing than Holiday traffic - especially for the working man. And double that much so if that working man happens to live on a damned island in the Pacific. Compounded with the influences of Oxy 80s and cocaine, it becomes a total hell.
"Chinatown. The closed off fucking CHINATOWN for this parade." I said, feeling the burn of the setting sun in my eyes. "Who the shit closes off fucking CHINATOWN during peak traffic hours?!"
It was the natural order of things on this island to schedule traffic interruptions and detours at moments when it would maximize the impact upon the island as a whole. The last four years on this island have been plagued with unmentionable closures of major roadways for work during peak traffic hours - I can imagine the board of directors sitting around in a dark lair right now, cackling like menaces from a horrific B action hero movie:
"Chinatown. The closed off fucking CHINATOWN for this parade." I said, feeling the burn of the setting sun in my eyes. "Who the shit closes off fucking CHINATOWN during peak traffic hours?!"
It was the natural order of things on this island to schedule traffic interruptions and detours at moments when it would maximize the impact upon the island as a whole. The last four years on this island have been plagued with unmentionable closures of major roadways for work during peak traffic hours - I can imagine the board of directors sitting around in a dark lair right now, cackling like menaces from a horrific B action hero movie:
So I told the City Councilman that we should close down the entire highway in the middle of the day and divert traffic into two sidestreets. AND HE BOUGHT IT! Pass the champaign boys, we've managed to artificially inflate gas prices yet again!
As much of a conspiracy nut I may sound like for mentioning such a scenario, it's the only sound and firm explenation for such asinine and troublesome inconveniences to the good, decent taxpayers drivers of Hawaii.
I took advantage of the red light to fumble around my glove box for my sunglasses... A few discarded parking tickets and a bag of the crushed remains of a mesculine tablet or two fell into the fuzzy brown floor of the Green Machine and the sunglasses somehow got themselves intertwined with a knock-off opium pipe I got from the swap-meet. I pulled off my glasses, tucking the glazed shades over my dialated eyes to shield them from the downbeating sun.
The sun. Yeah, fuck that too.
The sun. Yeah, fuck that too.
It was then I became aware of the traffic honking around me at this red light, I glanced over and saw, much to my dismay, cars going about me. I looked over to my right, and looking at me was a rather tedious-looking Traffic Cop.
"Sorry officer," I said, paranoia bracing the back of my skull. "Bright sun, long day, you know - da kine."
It could be attributed to the gripping influences I was under, but the mound of evidence could not be heaped up anymore against me. This was it, I was done for. 10 unpaid tickets, expired registration and safety, no insurance, drug paraphinelia... He even saw me take off my prescription sunglasses. Even with my bad eyes and the shades of the lenses, I could see the officer calculating the current scenario.
"Move along, sir," The fine young man of the HPD said. Or woman, I couldn't be sure - it was the closest pig to a pig I could describe. I guess the officer decided that he didn't want to deal with the bullshit of looking me, and figured that with that many tickets and drugs I would just drive off anyways. Probably do something insane, like drive on the sidewalk or careen into the empty oncoming way (all of which I would have done without hesitation. Cocaine makes everything a great idea).
"Sorry officer," I said, paranoia bracing the back of my skull. "Bright sun, long day, you know - da kine."
It could be attributed to the gripping influences I was under, but the mound of evidence could not be heaped up anymore against me. This was it, I was done for. 10 unpaid tickets, expired registration and safety, no insurance, drug paraphinelia... He even saw me take off my prescription sunglasses. Even with my bad eyes and the shades of the lenses, I could see the officer calculating the current scenario.
"Move along, sir," The fine young man of the HPD said. Or woman, I couldn't be sure - it was the closest pig to a pig I could describe. I guess the officer decided that he didn't want to deal with the bullshit of looking me, and figured that with that many tickets and drugs I would just drive off anyways. Probably do something insane, like drive on the sidewalk or careen into the empty oncoming way (all of which I would have done without hesitation. Cocaine makes everything a great idea).
"Thanks, Officer." I said, giving him a proper salute with my right hand. "And a Merry Christmas to you."
"Merry Christmas... And buckle your damned seatbelt."
"Merry Christmas... And buckle your damned seatbelt."
No need to ask me twice. Second gear and two streets later I'm parked on a One-Way street, bound for the gripping insanity that is Chinatown Hawaii and dodging a marching parade to chase all sorts of demons and devils that lavish this crooked side of Paradise.
Merry Christmas indeed.
Humbug.
Humbug.
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