Chapter 31: Journey to the Land of Prostitutes



Chapter XXXI: Journey to the Land of Prostitutes

After I checked out of the hotel, I got a taste of what it would be like should I move to Portland. There I stood, with all my luggage, with no place to go. Kelly said she didn't wake up until 1:00 PM (late sleeper, shit, I haven’t slept that late in years) and I had to be out of the hotel at 11:00 AM. Two hours I could handle, but reality set in what would happen if I moved anywhere in which I did not know one single person, no direction, and with no place to go. Carrying all this shit around gets heavy fast, and I thought about selling all of it to some random person walking on the street. If it were raining in Portland, that would suck and more than likely spell the demise of what little possessions I had left in this world. I simply lugged all that shit across the street to Waffle House and had yet another 5 star gourmet breakfast that rivaled everything on the Rachael Ray Show.

That day, I was beginning to feel deathly ill and felt contamination committees might be called should I enter any establishment. I felt the fever coming on fast and the heat was cranked up at Waffle House, which only made matters worse. It was easily 85 degrees inside Waffle House and the waitress said that the heater was stuck and would not shut off. I was unsure if this was a ploy designed by management to make the Waffle House Beauties sweat to appear more sexy and possibly unbutton their erotic uniform blouses to expose the sensual lust of heated sweat dripping down her massive cleavage.

I did devise a concept for an exciting new video series called Waffle House Waitresses Gone Wild! Unlike the regular "Girls Gone Wild" series where girls display promiscuous behavior simply for a free T-shit, the Waffle Beauties will do absolutely anything for a free pack of cigarettes.

A: When the heat goes on, these beauties will do anything- Waffle House Waitresses Gone Wild
B: The one on the right is significantly sexier than all the employees at the Asheville location.

While I was eating, I was sweating, my nose was running, and my throat was sore. I felt as if I resembled Doc Holiday from Tombstone the entire time I was trying to conceal that I had any ailments whatsoever; but satisfied myself knowing that was at least not full retard.

The initial plan was to stay at Waffle House until the bus came, but I couldn’t stand the heat anymore. I grabbed all my shit and walked up the hill to the bus stop. It was still cold, but I kept reminding myself that at least it wasn’t as cold as Milwaukee—even though it can feel colder in Asheville because of the higher altitude.

Kelly did not tell me her address, only the street she lived—and I vaguely remembered her telling me what bus stop. When I got off the bus, I had no idea where to go, so I just stood on the corner waiting for her. It was 12:34 and I texted her hoping this would be a good day for her to wake up “early.”

While I was standing there, a hooker approached me and asked if I smoked cigarettes—Kelly lives on a street where hookers are “employed.” I told her I did, and rather than bum one (which I thought she was going to do) she simply gave me one. It’s not every day when a person is approached by a random prostitute and given a free cigarette.

At first, I thought it was because I looked miserable standing there on the corner with my luggage. Or, this was a marketing ploy attempting to lure me into buying her services. Most places have gifts like this such as ink pens displaying the company logo; I felt it would have been a great business strategy if she had her name and phone number printed on the cigarette. After thinking too much about this, I feared that she was a mind reader and knew all about my idea for Waffle House Waitresses Gone Wild—she only gave me the cigarette with intentions that I would expose my 0-AA breasts for the camera and shamefully rub my face into her crotch with an audience of desperate drunken sorority girls watching; that she was making a video called Scrawny Ass Confused Douches Gone Wild!

But then I realized, “Oh, she just got laid—that’s why she’s in a good mood… and got paid for it too. Tell me again why the fuck I got a degree in English?”

Being fashionably late, she texted me at 1:01 PM, and luckily I was close. I knocked on the door and her roommate let me in, she knew I was coming. Kelly came out briefly, but insisted she still needed some more sleep. “Yea, it’s early yet,” I mumbled under my breath.

This was that Modern Home and Garden style Asheville house that featured a living room that was decorated with a set of drums, a keyboard, and several other instruments including a hammered dulcimer, which I was not overly familiar. Somewhere off to the side was a futon, and that would be my next sleeping device. Her roommate, Mary, who I liked instantly, greeted me with that warm Asheville welcoming… in some cultures, it’s called a peace pipe.

Hammered Dulcimer

Unfortunately, I was still feeling sick and had to decline the offer. If I were only sick more often, I would have spent my entire life declining the usage of green tobacco with strangers; maybe then I could focus on my dedication to brown tobacco paychecks for my stint in the adult entertainment industry.

Mary and I conversed about various issues and she informed that they were having band rehearsal there tonight. I was fortunate enough to come at the right time. She was a bit older than us, but much wiser. Mary is the type of person who seems to always say the most intelligent thing for the situation; it would be a shock to The Universe seeing Mary ever go full retard, or for that matter, doing anything stupid at all.

I was tired, and since people would be coming over, I didn’t want to be sick. Furthermore, I am not the type of person who likes to impose on people. I can’t simply make myself at home and even asked permission to use the bathroom. After sitting uncomfortably for a few minutes, I decided that I should leave, run some errands, and come back later.

First, I returned to Izzy’s for some more coffee and saw one of my favorite people working there. There are only a few people who know more about music than me, and he was one of them. Again, for whatever reason, we didn't hang out as much as we should have when I lived here.

Back in 2009, on that essential holiday known as Valentine’s Day, The New French Bar hosted an ordeal where people could submit their birthdays and the computer would generate your most compatible person in the establishment. For the most part, getting rated at 50% was good, and anything over 60% was genuine. She was reviewing mine, and I saw on there that I was listed as 94% with Chris Ballard. I was excited, “Chris Ballard- 94%! Fuck yea, is she hot?”

She looked at me sternly, almost angrily, “No! She is a he and he has a girlfriend.”

Oh, well so much for that. I started to inquire if he was hot, but I could tell that statement alone counted as two strikes against me. For reasons I will never know, women have a tendency to lose their patience with me quickly. The smart thing for me to do is simply shut the fuck and do not say a word until somebody offers me a free pack of cigarettes; then it's best to do as they say in order to avoid any physical abuse.

It took forever before I finally met this person, and unfortunately, he was not the smoking hot babe that I was anticipating. However, once we started talking about music and I realized he was as passionate about music as I was, I could see the 94%. We just did not hang out that much, and for no reason. He had a girlfriend, I had a girlfriend, and we saw each other at our jobs passing through and that was about it. However, he became one of the few people I remained in contact with via the Internet, shared various posts, and I read his music blog periodically to find new stuff.

Luckily, he seemed as happy to see me as I was. We chatted for a few, and I had mentioned that I was contemplating moving back to Asheville. He inquired about that, and said he would keep alert for any jobs opening. Then, it was busy again, so we didn't get to talk much.

However, while I was checking out the bus schedules, I did pay more attention to the music playing—taking notice to his playlists, while applying the “seeing how the other side lives” as I do at bars. That’s the advantage he has: he gets to create playlists for this cool ass place with Christopher Walken on the bathroom; I had to make playlists that featured The Beatles and Led Zeppelin—and was still scolded by the owner for playing stuff that is too weird. I got in trouble once for playing death metal—the death metal song being Jack and Diane by John Cougar Mellencamp.

This is the kind of place that I wanted to work—I want to be around these people and be able to play this music. If I could do that, I would never go full retard ever again, I would never suffer from Social Anxiety, and for that matter, I wouldn't give a fuck about anything. I would strut down the most crime filled streets in the nation handing out free cigarettes to all the hookers because my job was better than hers.

However, I left once again singing the line from the song Heaven and Hell by Flower Traveling Band… “I should have done more.” It occurred to me that I should have done a lot more when I lived here.

A woman with a good job

Index: Chapter List

Chapter 31 Soundtrack Listing:

1. Flower Travellin' Band
"Heaven and Hell" 3:48

Made in Japan

2. Moon Duo
"In The Sun" 5:12


3. Primal Scream
"Exterminator" 5:50


4. Blood on the Wall
"Rize" 2:51


5. John Mellencamp
"Jack and Diane" 4:17

American Fool

6. BEAK>
"Yatton" 5:17


7. My Bloody Valentine
"Come in Alone" 3:59


8. The Telescopes
"Violence" 3:46


9. Black Mountain
"Modern Music" 2:45

Black Mountain

10. This Heat
"Makeshift Swahili" 4:04


11. Sightings
"I Feel Like A Porsche" 8:49

Michigan Haters

All Sections Written, Designed, and Music Compiled by Tony J. Neal

Hammered Dulcimer image from:  Dulcimer Diva
Woman With a Good Job image from: The Humor Smith


1 comment:

  1. After doing some research online, I've ordered my first e-cig kit on VaporFi.


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