Kangkuza

The sun appeared to be at it’s high noon hour as the sun cast a slim shadow of my former self on the chalk filled sidewalk just steps away from my front door. I smiled briefly at the projected slim character as I’m a bit rounder these days at my peppered age. I didn’t spend much time embracing my slimmer self on the sidewalk for to long as I was in a rush to be somewhere at noon. I’m just not one to dwell on the past as the past was for the dead to reflect on. Moreover, as I strolled south on S. Congress I took a glance at my watch just to make sure my assumption of the time was right. I’m not a fan of looking like an ass by assuming wrong even when I’m testing myself. My time telling talent was still as accurate as ever, as both hands of my watch stood erected perfectly aligned pointing toward the noon sun like a blood hound points toward a wounded rabbit on a hunt. The vertical idled hands on my watch were telling me a whispering message, yet with my hard of hearing issues I couldn’t hear a damn thing what time was saying. So with each wondering step I left on the canvas sidewalk I looked up at the sun with Clint Eastwood eyes bulldoggin’ the sun tryin’ to break the message—what does noon mean? But neither the high noon sun nor the time on my watch were helpin’ an old man figure out today‘s message. The noon sun just sat there perched in the sky like an overweight insomniac counting sheep till 2012, and as far as time was concerned time just cared about time. I was ok with time being self centered it was business not personal. Yet, despite the lack of clues I still kept looking back at the sun and then my watch hoping for some kind of a clue. By this time I was about to say fuck it and move on with the day but I took one last peek at my watch, and noticed the speedy minute hand was approaching 12:01, when a green-lite bulb (I’m conserving my carbon footprint thoughts) lit up the old, rusty think tank. The message was clear and simple now--04 Lounge at high noon. When the message converged in my thinking cap, I was standing mere feet away from the corner of Congress and Krebs where the 04 Lounge patiently waited for me like an old friend, and I really needed a cold, frosty friend right about now.
A frosty friend had been on my mind this whole time as soon as I left my front door but I had just forgotten where to go, perhaps Alzheimer’s was knocking on mortal doors. The heat and the damn pestering sun beams elevated my desire for a cold one, and together they both made me feel like I was being attacked by mid-summer night Texan mosquitoes. It was at this point I needed a frosty friend…pronto. My blood pressure was boiling and my violent tendencies were about to erupt, so the 04 Lounge came at a good time as I needed to ease my pain. This angst feeling would not have been so bad if I could have only found my sunglasses which I just bought yesterday and are now missing. Since I didn’t have my sunglasses the ultra-violent rays were driving me mad to the point that I would have slashed the throat of the next homeless man who asked me for money. Homeless folks are a plenty between my home and the 04 Lounge but you wouldn‘t have noticed them if you were driving as they hide and lurk in the shadows like creatures from Jurassic Park. Some of my neighbors would have agreed that these bums were genetically related to Velociraptors, as they stormed out of the shadows looking for free handouts--damn crumb snatchers!!!
As you might have noticed I had a horrible temper but I’ve made some strides these past thirty plus years….I think. When I was younger I was notorious for whipping out a blade or a pistol to solve my problems of the day. But I’ve been working on that but it’s a day to day process, and each day was different from the next. However, the older I’ve gotten I found myself drinking more alcohol which has stabilized my murderous ways. Drinking just made everything feel so much better inside and out even when things were going well.
My temper today wasn’t so much triggered by the annoying weather elements but more so of the homeless folks on my street. I was not an evil man or uncompassionate to those in need but a world without sunglasses really pissed me off, especially at my old age. Where I’m from we don’t tolerate the homeless too well. It’s a sign of weakness, of givin’ up. We were a proud culture. And I say “were” because most of us are dead or locked away for a lifetime. If a man was healthy and had his paws, fingers, legs, and feet he could easily have found work to make money be it manual labor or criminal activity, two of the same depending how one looked at the big picture. Furthermore, as soon as my paw grabbed the door knob of the 04 Lounge, my high blood pressure began to ease up and my murderous ways grew calm again. Something about the darkness of the 04 Lounge was very comforting like a bowl of chicken tortilla soup for the soul. And with the sight of Yvette and Erin behind the bar they brought a smile to my face at a crucial time. Thankfully, the bar had just opened so it was just the girls, me, and the dandruff brain cells of last night. And before I could get my ass settled onto the barstool Erin had grabbed the coldest Coors out of the cooler and slid the yella-belly down the bar right into my paw.
The girls and I talked for a bit about a whole bunch of stuff I know nothing about. I don‘t have a TV at home so I don’t know much about TV stuff but I know things about life, and so the girls were quick to ask questions and or advice about all thoughts related to getting‘ grown. Hanging with the girls was actually what I needed at my age. I missed out on some things, mostly my sensitivity. These girls helped me with such issues pertaining to the pretty things in life that I wasn‘t aware of.
For example, the preservation of life. Killing always came easy to me. Just never thought about the lost too much. But being friends with the girls they taught me that killing is not always the answer. Back home in my youth, the only thing I knew what to do was to murder someone if they disrespected me or if I didn‘t trust them. One never knew who was to be trusted, and sometimes your right hand man was your worst enemy. Killing was just the thing to do.
I killed off most of my competition to get to the top, and I even killed off the ones I loved because I couldn’t trust them including past lovers. For this reason I lived a sheltered life back home and made decisions from the safety of my own home because I was afraid to leave my compound. I didn’t have many friends and I didn’t trust anyone, and when the other bosses wanted to have a meeting about business everyone came to my place. My place was a safe house for the other bosses and I to conduct business, and since I was “The Boss” they really had no choice.
When business went sour because a new political regime flourished throughout the country that meant my money was weak. Times had changed. I made a choice to retire from the Kangkuza and I moved to the states to get a fresh start, “new beginnings” as they say. The good o‘ days had come to an end. The healing process took some time as well as forgiving myself for all the wrongs I did. I tried to acclimate myself in my new surroundings to speed up the moving on process, but I just never seemed to never fit in. I felt like a black monster from the black lagoon, yet the only thing I was doing wrong was that I was a kangaroo walking amongst humans. Back home I was a Boss, a King of all the Kangkuzas but here I was strange and radical looking. I guess no one had ever seen a talking kangaroo outside of children‘s books. So, naturally I kept to myself again. However, some years later the 04 Lounge and the girls brought me out of my cave, and both became my therapist. The girl’s perspective was always enlightening and feelings oriented, which helped the grueling healing process. Not only did they teach me that killing was unhealthy but they introduced me to this phenomenon called “feelings.” I didn’t have much feelings before. The Kangkuza lifestyle didn’t call for feelings. The Kangkuza called for power and dominance. The Kangkuza were a crime family from Australia made up of kangaroos, who were involved in all various of crimes. But I’ll never talk.
Shortly after catching up with the girls, they went back to work and I went back to my Coors. The bar was quiet for a bit until the rattlin’ of the beers, the liquor bottles being faced, and the dancing ice cubs in the coolers. All sounds of a ceremonial rite of passage for the incoming drunks. The flat screens were powered on and on mute--thankfully. I was never much into TV but the visual stimulation trifecta of baseball tonight on ESPN, the war in Iraq on CNN, and a show about gangs in St. Louis on FX were just enough for this old man to handle. The show about gangs had STL kids acting foolish. The kids, well, all kids in gangs these days had no respect for anyone or their neighborhood. Back in the old days in the homeland “respect” was everything and anything. “Respect” was like a credit line in these modern times. If you didn’t have respect for the neighborhood or the bosses, life was slim Pickens’ for sure. Nobody would have given you a job or the time of day. On this particular show, the kids appeared to be claiming their hood, yet they robbed and killed within’ their hood--makes no sense no how. A crime against a local business owner and or the innocent youth of the community was considered a very bad thing. Let’s just say, those punks would not have gotten an “Amber Alert” if they showed no respect back in the old days.
I was in the midst of respecting my second Coors and watching the devolution of the human race on the tube when the front door of the 04 Lounge swung open and out from the bright, blaring sun came this young Mexican looking kid with long curly locks and a chiseled face. He strolled in with a glow to himself like that of Jesus. He was dressed very humbled with a white-t, blue jeans, and a pair of Jesus sandals. He made a b-line straight to the bar never once scanning around the place. And of all the places to sit in this joint he causally sat down next to me. For as long as I’ve been coming to this bar nobody sat next to me. It was like house rules. The girls always made sure I wasn’t to be bothered and they always went out of their way to let the stranger/s know not to sit next to me. That’s why both girls stopped what they were doing and looked up at me to make sure I was cool with the stranger sitting next to me. I gave the girls a nod lettin’ them know I’m ok with the stranger. He respectfully ordered his beer, a Lone Star, and proceeded to slam the beer down with one big gulp. I appreciated that. “This boy had a powerful thirst,” I thought. I too had a powerful thirst.
I was coming to the end of my cold friend when the Jesus looking kid ordered another Lone Star and added a cold Coors to his tab. “That Coors is for my friend over here,” he said as he tapped on my shoulder. The kid then pulled out a pack cigarettes, Camels, my favorites and asked, “So old timer, wanna have a smoke with me outside?”
I looked over my right shoulder with Eastwood eyes. “What’s your name, Kid?” I paused as I looked him over. “I don‘t share anything with anyone if I don‘t their name.”
“My name is Chuey.” He said with a Spanish lisp as he took out two Camels from the pack. “What about you, old timer. What’s your name?”
I was always cautious to strangers because as you know I don’t trust anyone but I’m turning over a new leaf like I said earlier. “My name is, Fujimatso.” I replied with a handshake.
We shook hands and I followed him to the outside patio for a smoke. We sat at one of the far end picnic tables that was shaded by an aged pecan tree that blocked the microwave oven up above. He handed me a cigarette with his right hand as his left hand searched for the lighter in his pockets. “I think I left my lighter inside,” he mumbled with a cigarette in his mouth as he searched all his pockets with both hands. “I’ll be back.”
I didn’t pay much attention to him as I was more focused to this amazing design of a cloud in the sky in the shape of a white galloping horse. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful before in my life. The kid disappeared from my sights. I’m not sure why I left my guard down, maybe I was making some progress with trust at my forgiving age. For whatever reason, the white horse up above seemed to be stalled as it stopped galloping, and before I could get my bearings I had a sharp object pressed against my throat. I looked up and it was Chuey looking down upon me. “Do you remember a man named, Cheng Lee?” He asked with a blade to my throat. “He was a boss back in the old country.”
The name sounded familiar but the name registered quickly. “Yes…he was my best friend. He took the only girl I ever loved, so I killed him and her happily.” I replied with a smile.
Chuey pressed the blade even harder against my throat to point that I felt a little blood trickle under my Adam’s apple. “The man was my great-grandfather.” Chuey whispered with revenge to his tone. Without hesitation or any more spoken words the kid proceeded to slice my throat open. I didn’t cry for help because I couldn’t. I knew this day would come. I just sat and watched that white horse begin it’s gallop again. And all the pretty things in life that I missed out on suddenly flooded out as the blood had begun to paint the Earth canvas red. As my body began to weakened as I sat on the bench and the only words that came to mind, “Damn James.”