New Life?

I was directed to the 20x24 Facebook page today by Bob Crowley over at New 55 Film this morning.  I saw this announcement that the selling of Polacolor film was imminent.  That is the film I do what I do with. . . or did.  I thought never to do it again.  Am I to be saved?  I want on the inside of this thing.  I want a direct pipeline to the source.  You can't imagine how I tremble.

This is what I've been able to do instead.  I like it, but I "invented" the other process and so. . . .  

I lose stories that I don't write.  I had planned to tell you the second part of Drug Skinny, the shoot after dinner, but I wrote about other things and now it is lost.  It was good, I remember thinking, and I would write it in a day or two.  What did I write instead?

The girl from Venezuela, the Lunch Room Lady, left the charger for her phone in my studio.  She called me. . . no. . . she texted me.

I forgt my charger :[[[
Fuckkkkkkk!$


    What do you want to do?


Idk:]]]]
I'm stupid.
   
Why were we doing this by text?  I called her.  She was going to the chiropractor in the morning, she said, and then to work.  I could meet her halfway between, I said, as I was going that way.  What time?
After the chiropractor, she said.  O.K., I said, call me when you get up.

But she didn't.  At least not when she said.  So I texted her.  Eventually I got a text back.


Morning!  Going to chiropractor now should be done soon.  


     Need a time.  I'll meet you at the parking lot on the SE corner.


Where's that?  What parking lot?


     I can't remember what is there.  A gas station, I think.


Not sure I know there's a books a million by there I'll be there at around 9:20 I'm gonna be soare to work :(

Now I'm trying to figure out what "soare" is supposed to be.  Fucking texts.

     OK.  Books a Million it is.  


Sweet!

Still at the chiro should be done in 10.


     I'm here. . . Sort of.  There is not books a million.


Time goes by.  I'm sitting in a parking lot of a strip mall where the book store used to be.  Now it is just a bunch of cheap ass places and empty stores.  Unsavory characters wander about.  No message now, but I'm not mad, exactly.  Still, I feel impish.

     Hey. . . never late.  There's a black guy here in front of the dollar deal store.  He said he'd wait and give you the charger.  He says his name is Rufus.  He's wearing a yellow shirt.  Call me and let me know you got it.

Ok did you drop it off?


Dollar Deal?


How long will he be there for?


Where's the dollar deal there's a books a million right next to bed bath and beyond and Starbucks.


     He ran as soon as I gave him the charger!


No he didn't -______-


I will kill yewww


     Fuck yea.  Like a jack rabbit.


     I knew I should have given it to the Mexican. 


Shut up!


What dollar deal??


     I could have caught the Mexican.


     They are way slower.


Adress :|


     I'll meet you at the Starbucks.  I'll show you the picture of the black guy.  I had my camera.


Right now?  Shit alright I'm gonna be so fucking late to work.


Ugh fuck my life.


     Where are you?


I'm done chiropractor km going home I have to get dressed :|


It will take five mins.


:[ so rushed


You can offdrop!


I'm pretty sure people at Starbucks will save it.

Fuck this, I think.  I call her.  I get her voicemail.  Why!?!?  I mean she knows I know she's with her phone.  I'm trying to do her a favor.  I text her an "OK."  I walk into the Starbucks and look at the two hipsters making Frapacinos or whatever.

"I know this is weird, but can you hold this for a girl who will be here in about ten minutes?"

They both look at me like I'm kidding, then they look at one another.  One of them says, "Is there a secret code?"  The faintest of smirks plays on his face.

"Her name is Carlotta.  She's from Venezuela.  Can you hold it for her?"

They look at one another once again.

"Yea. . . I mean, I guess we can put it here. . . ."  He puts it in a very stupid place, but I don't care.  I've done my job, so I turn on my heels before they change their minds.

"Thanks."

I get another text, but I don't respond.  The whole event has taken forty-five minutes.  She wants all sorts of information, but I'm not in the mood to text any more.  She can call if she wants, I think.  What has happened to people, I wonder?  I remember my ex-girlfriend telling me that she "didn't do verbal" when I said something about calling her in New York.  Far too cool for that, I guessed.

The text said that she wouldn't be able to pick it up until after work.  Really, I thought, I don't care.  But that night, I texted her to see if she got it.

Yes.

That was it.  Yes.

I can't find a way out of this vignette.  I want to badly, but it would take too long and I've worn myself out.  What can I tell you?  What can I say?  Would another photo get me off the hook?  I mean. . . what would you do?