Friday, July 31, 2015

The War

  A most debilitating battle. The Van Man fought hard. It was the conflict within and he was losing. Where was he in life? Was it okay to be there? The answers were not easy, they never were. As he sat in his van, two Persian Men argued in the car next to his. They were loud and distracting in the lamppost-lit parking lot.
  Most days, Van Man felt a ping of irrational guilt. A remnant from his unwanted catholic upbringing. Was he selfish? Was everything he did selfish? Of course not, but...he had to fight to get that answer. The Persians left and the parking lot was still not quiet. The skateboarders had arrived.
  What did the future hold? Who cares?, he thought to himself as he watched the skater boys bark and holler at each other. But he did care. And that was the problem.
  July had come to an end. There was sadness because it would be back, the same thirty-one days. Van Man would be different the next time they met. Time changes people and people change in time. Of that there was no doubt. Whether or not The Van Man changed into something useful was the real question.

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

3:30AM

  The Van Man awoke in a sweat. It was damn hot. Too hot for whatever ungodly hour it was. His senses came into focus. The van slowly rocked left to right, left to right. Then he heard the moans. Slight and aching. Van Man knew instantly that they were the moans of lust and orgasmic tension. They were his favorite type. Left to right, left to right. Van Man did not dare move. He did not want to scare away the source. Left to right. He laid on the floor of his van, shirtless and sweaty. Van Man noticed a window curtain was ajar and he could see through the crack. There was a young man with his mouth open. He looked down at someone...or some thing. Left to right, left to right. Van Man had to see. He slithered up to the window, very quiet. He peeked out and saw the movements of a young woman with the young man. They moaned. Please, don't go, thought Van Man and he slid his hand down the front of his shorts. Left to right, left to right. Then the moaning stopped and the van ceased to rock. Van Man watched out the back window. The Young Man walked away, as he tied a long-sleeve shirt around his waist. The Young Lady followed, in a very sultry manner. Why did they stop? Van Man quickly got his answer as an older female jogger ran by. She had disrupted the erotic meeting between the three of them.
  Van Man checked the time. It was three-thirty in the morning and he truly felt alive. Sweat dripped down his cheeks, the couple drove away and the jogger jogged. The Van Man hoped they would visit him again soon. He would be prepared next time.

Friday, July 17, 2015

Prince Of the Park

  A full week of work. The Van Man was appreciative. A construction gig, a few summer camp classes and an estate sale, bookended by a short film shoot and a play performance. One could say his week was busy as hell.
  Van Man needed a good workout, so he headed to his park. It was not really his, but he had an emotional stake in it. After all, Van Man kept it classy.
  He arrived with The Sun reaching its hottest. Van Man stripped off his shirt and lugged the weights out of the van. He neared his favorite spot and noticed a meathead working out on the pull-up bars. Fuck him, thought Van Man. But then he calmed down. It was, after all, not really his park. Meathead had as much right as Van Man to do a pull-up. Van Man sat his weights down and loosened up. Meathead hustled over to a different area to continue his exercises and Van Man began his on the bars. As usual, he recited Shakespeare between sets. The Sun got hotter and sweat dribbled down his brow.
  In the middle of Queen Mab, Meathead interrupted and stepped right into Van Man's face. Meathead held his hand high in the air.
"Good stuff, bro, good stuff!"
"What?", asked Van Man.
"Good stuff, bro!"
"Yeah, man.", replied Van Man and he recognized something in the way Meathead continued to hold his hand in the sky. It was an attempt to give Van Man some skin. He had not given skin in fifteen years, but that was about to change. Van Man held out his hand, palm up. Meathead smiled and gave up a bit of that flesh, then hustled off. Van Man wiped his hand on his bare stomach. Fuck him.
  The Van Man continued his work-out and recited Iago's "Villain" speech. He knew he would have to wrap it up soon because more people arrived to exercise. He was not angry, though. After all, The Van Man was just the caretaker.

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Gettin' Paid

  Pay day and The Van Man was happy. He looked at his paycheck. A sting of reality. The Ones In Charge had taken a big bite out of Van Man's ass and had left him the rest to limp on. He could have conjured a complaint or three, but what was the use? Van Man was happy to have some scratch in his pocket. He reminded himself that he was being paid great money because he taught the basic fundamentals of Lego construction to first, second and third graders. There were worse things in life that one could do to make a living. Eating dick down by the LA river was one.
  The Valley in July was a mystic bitch in heat. Van Man could never find the right word to describe what it felt like. It was a relaxed beauty that permeated Her most grotesque images. And when he had a pocket full of bread, Van Man would find himself in love with Her streets all over again. Hope. Perhaps, that was the word he looked for.
  The Van Man had a few bucks and the rest of the summer was his. It was hot as hell and he sweated like a pig in the van, but he reminded himself that there were always worse things. Being raped under an overpass in Studio City was one.

Sunday, July 5, 2015

A Fourth Of July Story

  It was a hot one. The Sun smoldered and The Valley baked. The air was filled with sounds of family gatherings and The Van Man smelled cooked meat everywhere.
  He had an invitation to make good on. A friend's party in Toluca Lake. From the description, it was beers, hot dogs and pool with enough space for the kiddies. How nice.
  Van Man arrived with a jump in his step. He was hungry and it had been a while. He knew it would be good to see some old friends. He recognized cars as he walked up the driveway and into the backyard. It seemed that everyone was inside. Van Man noticed the abnormally large grill as he passed it. Some delicious goodness cooked inside. He figured it was industrial-grade. Good for grilling. He strolled up the side steps that led to the poolside area. There was no one except a little girl in a wooden swing, blonde curls like Shirley Temple. She stared at him. It was very quiet and he stared back.
  "Hey, man, where's the party people?", asked Van Man. He thought he was being cute. The Little Blonde Girl stared at him and the swing creaked back and forth. Van Man looked around. "Nobody here?", he asked. The swing stopped. Van Man noticed her legs were too short to stop it with her feet. Little Blonde Girl reached out to him. He backed up a step, confused. She stretched grotesquely to him and it seemed to Van Man that her arms got longer. He took another few steps back and ran out of ground. Van Man hit the pool and water rushed into his throat. He opened his eyes and caught glimpses of dead bodies lying at the bottom. He choked and panicked and splashed around. He was desperate to find the ledge of the pool. As he struggled to stay above water, Van Man thought he saw many children standing around the pool, watching him as he gagged.
  He found the ledge, pulled himself up and realized he was right. Many children stood and stared. As he pulled one leg out of the water and propped his knee on the ledge, two twin boys grabbed his arms and held him in place. Their triplet brother rushed up and sliced Van Man's throat with a straight razor. He grasped his neck. Blood spewed. Ten children ran to Van Man and took ahold of him. They pulled and drug him along the ground. He kicked and swatted, but he could not overpower them. He noticed mutilated party goers strewn about the backyard. Blood was splattered everywhere. A headless corpse sat in the swing where The Little Blonde Girl had been. Two of his friends sat in chairs. Their throats slashed to the bone and faces contorted in horror.
  The children pulled Van Man to the grill where Little Blonde Girl waited. She wore a chef's hat. "Meat!", she screamed and lifted the grill lid. To Van Man's horror, three severed heads crackled and popped. The eyes had long been melted. They were skewered together on the same stick with a potato between each head. Van Man tried to scream, but only gurgled. Little Blonde Girl raised her hand high. He noticed the butcher knife she held. "Meat!" She ran at The Van Man and his eyes widened. The knife butchered its way into his face. Over and over. The children laughed joyously. The real fireworks had begun.