We watched from above, then…B-roll from helicopters, as Reginald Denny’s skull was bashed in by some punk scumbags who took his wallet, tossed a fire extinguisher into his head, and kicked him repeatedly and I thought, fuck, he should have driven that motherfucking semi straight through the fiery madness and out, but who the hell knows what waits for a man on the other side of a dank, nasty tunnel? Sometimes nothing. Daylight. Breathing room. I think most of us are inherently good and we try to watch out for others in situations like that. And so. And so they pulled Denny out of his truck and nearly killed him. Years later Denny is on some TV show with half his skull dented in and I’m unemployed and huffing freon from a can stolen from the back of a bakery in a strip mall in P.G. County. Thinking: Jesus, we’re both alive somehow…me feeling a weird high, like a battery and Reginald feeling probably like hell. They’re all parasites on all sides across all races. I’ve always known when the Revolution comes I’ll be the one running the other way, jug of cheap wine in hand, mindful of mortars and shrapnel and Bouncing Bettys. Barbed wire. Entrenched infantry. I’m not losing my arms or my nose or my ears for some obtuse cause dreamed up on paper by a comfortable despot with a beard and a bank account in Switzerland.
We watched from a TV studio, then…B-roll from the courthouse, as they let O.J. off. The entire control room screamed in outrage at the verdict and the guest in the studio, some defense attorney babbling details filling in the time throughout the long wait, complained about bias coming from the crew. It was a black vs. white issue he said. I didn’t give a shit about it either way. Nothing is fair in the long run and everything is fair in the long run. Years later O.J. is on a national news show being pinched for some pseudo-armed robbery involving sports memorabilia or something. He gets 33 years in prison with a possibility for parole in 9 years. I don’t give a shit either way. I wake, I have a piss, I brush my teeth, I get dressed, and I go to work. Half the time if I’m lucky I get a good parking spot on the side of the vacant gravel lot next to the Shanghai Pagoda Chinese food joint. They cash checks, too. And make Italian subs.