The Boardwalk

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!

Rainbow Night at Club Venus

James always looked sharp. His bell-bottoms always wore a sharp crease and his platform shoes never went out in public sporting scuff marks or cigarette butts stuck to their heels.

One day James convinced me to accompany him to Club Venus over at Perring Plaza to pick up women who were amenable to dancing under the big glass ball.

"But”, said James, “we gotta take you shopping for some new threads.  I have seen your wardrobe man and frankly it sucks. Might work for those big Mother Earth, Ms Natural types I see dragging you around, but the women over to the Venus need you to step up your game. They have some class.  They actually shave their armpits and use lipstick.”

He could tell I was a tad miffed.  He turned me to face the big glass doors on the front of the Towson State University library.  “Look at yourself fool.  You’re a schlub, what with all that tye dyed hippie shit cut off jeans flip flop look you are sporting. Really Bro, time to pick up your game.  No sulking, we are hoofing uptown to Hutzler’s. Besides, what are you going to spend that paycheck on anyway, more weed?” 

So we began the hike up York Road.  James strutting in his everyday best and me flip flopping beside him in my everyday worst.  After a short stop at the bank to cash my check, we crossed the street and entered the department store.

Forty five minutes or so later we strode out of Hutzlers looking like twin brothers of different mothers.  I had transformed from an ugly ducking into an imagined swan. Tucked into a pair of baby blue bell bottoms was the classic “Fever” shirt with the big collar and puffy sleeves opened of course to show off the authentic fake gold chain. Toss in those outrageous 3” platform Disco shoes and Jack, I was ready to kill me some ladies.  Least ways, Jack said I was gonna knock em dead.

Thursday night came.  James called me.  Something about being jammed up and he would meet me at Club Venus around eight.   Bummed a ride with some other folks from the dorm and walked in the club.  A banner over the entrance to the ball room claimed in three foot letters, that this night was the first annual “Rainbow Night”. 

Not placing any special importance to the notion of “Rainbow Night”, I walked onto the massive dance floor.  Disco Jacks and Disco Jills were getting their grooves on.  I was maybe halfway across the floor when it dawned on me that I was seeing mostly bucks dancing with bucks and does dancing with does. ……………

“That goddamned James, …..I’ll kill the bastard", I thought. I smiled instead.  James thought he had been safely living in the closet.  He had no clue most of his friends knew he was gay and didn’t care.  …… “But yeah where is that little bastard?”  I finished crossing the dance floor and found the 50 foot bar.  Ordered a shot and a beer, I settled onto a bar stool and watched the light in the loafer folks do their thing.

Into my second shot and second beer, I noticed a woman heading in my general location.  She was taking disco to an ultimate height, fashion wise.  She was wearing a one piece silver hot pants outfit, thigh high silver platform boots, and topped off with an albino afro, two and a half feet across.  Woah, she wanted everyone’s attention.  She would not be ignored.  She smiled at me and………..  Damned, if it wasn’t James, doing his best tranny act and pulling it off to boot.  He looked perfect.  But then James always looked sharp. 

All I could do was grin and head out to meet him on the dance floor for his first coming out dance.  Had a blast that night with him and all the friends he used to keep in his closet.

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 660 words -more or less

First written in Fall of 2018 for a writing class I was in.

Cross Published in the original "Lost in the Bozone"