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The Yellow Dog

$10 was stuffed into my jacket pocket last night by one of three blond women standing outside having a cigarette. She thought I was homeless, probably because I am skinny, and have unkempt hair. Or maybe it was because I was walking in the downtown area which has been taken over by homeless people at night.

I was looking for the Yellow Dog. I already had some beers, and 600 ml of Saké, and I wanted more.
I knew vaguely where the Yellow Dog was, but without proper guidance, my journey would lead me to inhospitable darker corners somewheres unknown. So I asked the first guy I saw if he knew where it was. He was a Native American, or Native North American, in this case, or an Indian, if you will. Along with the homeless, they are also inhabiting the downtown streets when it gets dark. He seemed friendly enough. He also knew vaguely where it was, but not for certain, so he googled it on his iphone. If I were a cowboy, and this was 1833, I'd imagine instead of consulting his iphone, he would instead have consulted Mother Earth, or an Elder, but instead of trying to find a pub, I would in fact be trying to find some elusive spirit, and if they weren't blinded by hatred for the white man, they would offer me to sit in on their next peyote ceremony. Instead he used google, which is the modern equivalent of spirit quests. He pointed me in the right direction, which by and by lead me to the Pony Corral. And it was there those three blond ladies stood outside, two of which were smoking.

I had smoked all my cigarettes, and wanted one, so after walking past them, I decided to ask them for one. They stood under some bright florescent lights by the door. I asked the smoking if I could have a cigarette, and without hesitation she gave me one. It was a Benson and Hedges Slim. She said she could have bought DuMaurier Regular, but decided for the slims. They didn't seem to mind me there while they talked, maybe it was because they were high on cocaine, I don't know. One said her boyfriend was a big coke dealer, and that his truck had gone missing, but they couldn't phone the cops because it probably wasn't his in the first place, and because he was a coke dealer. Then they started talking how they got fired for being high and smoking weed, whereupon they all had a good laugh. Then when the other one asked if I was homeless, I said yes and she gave me $10. I refused at first, but she just stuffed it in my jacket, and who am I to ruin her good deed. She also gave me a hug, which was the best present offered to me that night. She asked if I had a phone number, and I said no, then I said yes, but she didn't believe me. Then she gave me another hug. She wore a leather jacket.

Being outside the Pony Corral, I couldn't help but think these ladies were in fact horses. They sure were riled up. Other horsey behaviours included spitting. They made a great display of spitting, which made me think for one crazy second that they were camels. I quickly admonished myself for such thoughts. They were horses, no doubt about it. No camel would be seen as hysterical.

 Since they were horses, and I had at my bequest a wild stallion whom I managed to tame with my whisperings and Royal Gala Apples, I hailed him with a whistle and outstretched my arm. It wasn't long before he came galloping up to stop by my side. Where he spent his time I knew not, but his breath sometimes smelled like whiskey. The horse was a large man named Stanley, who had lost several bets to me and was paying me off with horse rides. I jumped on his back, and waved my hat at the women upon exit. They made whinnying sounds. Stanley lead me willy nilly to the Yellow Dog, which was closed.

"Ok, Stanley, off you go." And Stanley went off somewhere at a gallop.

I would be walking home. Stanley had to go to stable, and all the buses had stopped running. I used the money she gave me to buy some food, because the walk home was a three hour one.... The added nutrients would also help me awhile since I live under a bridge and cook roadkill in cans full of hot water with soot in them. They say it's the soot that adds the flavour, but I don't trust them when all but three of their teeth are missing, and when they call themselves dentists.


sybil law said...

Awwww, man.
I love you.

JMH said...

I like the reference to camels. You might consider writing a book about camels, like non-fiction, but it doesn't have to be true.