The truck slammed into the loading dock behind Thrasher's Fries with a
bang. "Here ya go fellas,
Ocean
City."
Porko and Phil grinned. They had really lucked out. One ride
from the DC Beltway all the way to OC was as good as it got. All they had
to do now was help the driver unload 40,000 pounds of potatoes.
Just over three hours later, Phil finally located the one hundred pound bag
of Idaho's finest they had been looking for. Of course it was the last
one on the truck. Phil muscled that last bag out to the pallet sitting on
the dock. Porko was busy trying to figure how many bags it took to total
40,000 pounds.
"Let's see.........10 bags is ...uh .... 1000 pounds..... 20 bags
would....................."
"Jesus Porko, you are such a dumb ass. 400 bags, you
bonehead. And since you are lazy to
boot, that would mean you carried maybe 50. I carried the rest."
Porko sat on the last skid of potatoes and lit a cigarette. He tipped
his head back and blew a large plume into the air. "Yeah, I'm a lazy
bastard. Good thing I brought you along." He grinned at Phil.
The driver came through the dock doors with his pallet jack.
"Last one guys." He jacked up the pallet and swung it
around. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be back with fries and some
pop. Thrasher's fries are the best there is you know. You guys did a great job. I'll make it
back to B-more by dark." He yanked hard on the pallet jack and
disappeared through the doors.
~*~
"You know the kid working the peeling machine at Thrashers told me he
and his buddy usually get $40 each to help unload. We got $15. What
a rip off."
Sitting on the boardwalk at Ninth Street with his bare feet in the
sand, Phil looked at Porko and shook his head.
"The man gave us a ride. He paid us, fed us, and you complain?
You aren’t just lazy, you're an inconsiderate whiner to boot."
"But $15 each? Slave wages. The sooner I find a rich woman
........."
"Can it Porko. You are so
full of shit."
"Yeah well........at least I'm not still a cherry like you."
"Screwin your sister don't count."
Porko shoved Phil off the boardwalk onto the soft sand.
"You take that back. It was her buddy I nailed. You know
that."
Phil was not smiling. His virginity hung heavy on his
mind. Jeez, he was 17 and still seducing his hand. Phil
stopped thinking about it. He was resigned to the notion of dying at age
80 un-laid and grumpy.
"You fellows want some weed?"
Porko jumped. "What the Hell man? Don't sneak up on us like
that."
Still on the sand and on his back, Phil strained to see over the edge of the
boardwalk. A scruffy hippy wearing blue tinted granny glasses was standing
behind Porko. Phil hopped up on the boardwalk
"Uh, sure man, we’re always looking for weed. How much and what
kind?" .
"Hold it Phil. We don't know this guy. He could be a
narc."
"Porko, shut up. So what if he's a narc. It's just
weed."
The hippy grimaced. “Man, if I was a
narc, would I be selling weed?
Porko considered this. “Uh, I guess
not man. Whatja got?”
“ Nickel bags of Commercial or Sinse.
Mersh is $10, $15 for the Sinse.”
Phil and Porko huddled. Pockets were
checked. Mumbled words exchanged.
“Look fellas, I ain’t got all day.
You want some weed or not?”
Phil turned. “ Two nickels of
Sinse.” He reached in his pocket.
“Jesus guy, not here. Let’s take it
over there.” The hippy nodded towards a
narrow alley separating a couple of souvenir shops.
~*~
“Where the Hell did you get $50?”
Porko studied Phil’s face.
“The truck driver gave it to me.”
“He gave you $50? What the Hell man? He gave me….”
Phil smiled. “Yeah, he gave you $15. Told me you weren’t worth even that
much. But who cares anyway? We have weed, we’re baked and we can still
eat tonight. This trip to OC without the
parents is working out just great.”
Phil passed the joint to Porko and laid back on the sand. A wave broke over his legs, creating a rush that slowly worked its way up his spine, ending in a full body shiver. Who
cared if school started in a couple of weeks?
Who cared what happened tomorrow?
Tonight he was free and stoned.
Life did not get any better than this.
Phil turned his head toward Porko. Porko was holding the joint and staring
at it. He was not smoking it.
“Damn Porko, if you ain’t gonna smoke that doob, don’t Bogart it. Pass it
back over to me asshole."
~*~_____________~*~
The Boardwalk – fictionalized memoir from 1969 - @ 800 words
A tale that is mostly true. Expect "Part 2" at some point. Those 6 days were full of seminal moments.
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Of course I can't forget some music to help set the tone - The Drifters', "Under the Boardwalk" will do just fine. Enjoy!
