The sun had not yet risen over the plum colored mountains on an unseasonably bitter cold April morning. Three blanket-laden young men huddled close to one another trying to warm their respective shivering bodies. A low booming bass from The Beastie Boys’ Sabotage could be felt by any post-pubescent student within fifty yards of the white Ford LTD. Like marionettes, each young men bobbed their head to the (then) instant-classic tune. “But make no mistakes and switch up my channel, I'm Buddy Rich when I fly off the handle.” A dawdling amplification of sunlight began to thaw the ice which had penetrated the bones of the long time friends. Song after song and CD after CD played through the stereo in an attempt to numb their senses of what lie ahead. The music selection was as diverse as the student body melting pot. Reel Big Fish, Rage Against the Machine, Billy Joel, Mariah Carey, R.E.M., Tupac, Bon Jovi, Blink…The songs continued to roll on as if a schizophrenic DJ was making a suicidal cry for help to her listeners. Then a high pitched Ping…Ping...Ping. 3,000 students simultaneously herded into the school. To the three young friends it resembled a pack of wildebeests fleeing from a preying pack of lions, each scared of being left behind; chewed up and spit back out to the on looking scavengers ready to take advantage of the young meat.
6:50 a.m. is too early to ask any high school student to even be awake, let alone force them to sit through Mrs. K’s speech impediment and having to evade spit as she spoke of Freud and his fascinations with uncomfortable couches. With a drawn out day of faking an interest in their education and note taking imminently ahead of them, two of the pack decided to jump ship. The two freemen entered one of the boy’s cars. It was actually a used white construction work truck; however, no one could tell because of the build-up of filth which had originated from the Las Vegas desert floor. The words clean me were etched into the passenger-side door. The message called out to the truck’s owner like a kitten’s meow for a mother’s hygienic lick after the youngling has fallen into a bowl of milk. The driver had not heeded the message, nor did he have plans to. Once inside the truck the smell of burritos, sweat, and cement emanated from the glacial vinyl seats. Off they went into the muted sunrise. “Suckas,” they thought to themselves.
The young men were looking forward to the day. After all, they lived in Las Vegas. Las Vegas is known to many as a city which never sleeps. Those brilliant marketers have sold the world snake oil. It should read, “Las Vegas: The city that actually does sleep, you just don’t notice it because you are either slaving at work, broke, stuck in traffic, or hung over.” The streets were frighteningly empty. The boys incessantly looked for a mushroom cloud in the sky. The only explanation for such a desertion was a bomb explosion which had devastated all mankind. However, with each tick of the clock one more person seemed to appear as if there was a jail break, just more chaotic. Bored as hermits without wood to whittle, the young men were compelled to make nonsensical conversation until the city’s resuscitation was complete. The discussion in the truck’s cab was as unconventional as the back roads route which the young driver took to waste time. The boys decided right turn upon much thought, conversation, and contemplation, left turn to remove the right turn man from a bowling stop light……………………..it’s green trophy, drill a whole in the sullied truck’s hood left turn, and make a hood u-turn ornament out of it. It never came to fruition, however, to this day, each has ambitions to do so.
The cold morning had morphed into a beautiful day and each young man chuckled at the thought of their friends stuck in class. Oh, those poor fools who had been lured by Pleasure Island’s amenities only to be sold to the salt mines of hard work and bondage. The dichotomy between the plights of each group seemed unfair…yet the young men were not swayed by such injustice. The sun was warm, the slurpees were sweet, and the mall had just opened. The endless rows of perfectly lined cars in the parking lot at the mall looked like Arlington Cemetery on Memorial Day. Each hollow lifeless carcass equally distanced from the one beside it. As the young men exited the car and walked toward the entrance they noted the sun had never seemed brighter. Each boy pulled a pair of sunglasses out of their own pocket and placed them on their face. The heavily tinted automatic doors spread open informing shoppers not to worry about their lives, and then closed automatically behind them cackling until they are completely taken captive. Inside the massive cement box are stores and stores of over-priced goods and consumers willing to be taken advantage of by a piece of plastic. The dimmed fluorescent lights seem to hypnotize the weak until they have lost their free will. Luckily neither of the boys had enough money to make any purchases that day.
A man’s underwear has been important to them since they were able to pull them up themselves. Begging their Mom or Dad to buy their favorite superhero hoping that Superman would spin the earth backwards in the event they wet the bed. This day one of the young men’s superhero was evidently Marky Mark. He was easily admired. An untalented singer turned rap artist who got a shot at the business because his older brother was an untalented singer turned rap artist. Marky Mark was not only a musical magician, but he also signed off on the boxer briefs; a piece of underwear which also explains the deep male perspective. The need to be held close, but not too close and let loose at times, but not too loose. The young man took out his wallet praying to the heavens that money had magically appeared. He desired to buy these boxer briefs so he could have the confidence of Mr. Good Vibrations himself. The young man squinted his eyes and his shoulders shot up from a deep breath of hope. The leather creaked as it opened. The boy’s shoulders went limp and back the wallet went into his empty pants pocket, but it was not alone. Two pairs of boxer briefs accompanied the empty wallet. Detached from reality, the oblivious and law-abiding youngster was completely unaware of the other’s thievery. Nonetheless the two unsuspecting boys became the hunted. Two dark suits were waiting at the entrance. The little light that was left had dissipated and braving calculus didn’t seem so bad at that moment. “Come with us,” the dark suit muttered.
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