Ann Arbor
Tuesday, August 9 1988
Posted by brockp

The van jerked and lumbered, the trailer rattled. Brock sat beside the cooler steadying himself with his legs. Gooch's voice could be heard from the bottom stack. He and John K were talking, probably about business.
Jonathan lay beside the open back door on the top stack, eyes closed, walkman on. Up front, Skippy sat in the driver's seat, Ken beside him. Up ahead, Brock could see the back of the yellow ALL truck as they passed a sign, "Ann Arbor City Limits."
Brock had been thinking about the previous night in Kalamazoo. He tried to write about it. It was [Sometimes I wonder about these small towns. it seems strange that in a place like Kalamazoo, people are pretending to be...] no use. There just didn't seem [Very strange show last night. Everyone in Kalamazoo seems so uptight. The soundman...] to be anything to be said that was not as frivolous as the people there had been. Already it seemed part of some distant past that did not merit examination.
Skippy was singing redneck Virginia songs to Ken, who was enjoying them immensely. David Allen Coe. "He just goes on singing like that about the worst life anybody could have."
"If that ain't country, you can kiss my ass."
"Where are we ?" Gooch asked from under the stack.
"I don't know. Bill's gettin' pretty steady with the turn-arounds where I can't make a U-turn."
"Listen guys, we're right in front of the house," Gooch announced as the van lurched to a stop, "anyone who wants to come check it out better come with me."
The doors opened and everyone spilled out. "Hey Brock, Kastner says to lock up the back door when you come up. You just go up here to this light, turn right. Its a white frame house beside an eye doctor's."
Brock continued writing for a minute then shut his book and locked up the van. The house was easy enough to find. All the boys were hanging out in the front yard. Brock walked up. Bond Head passed him as he stood on the sidewalk. He seemed to share Brock's unsureness of what to do next. They both sat down on the curb. Bill and Bug Phace walked up.
"They got a cool store here. They got a real cool store here. They got 237 kinds of beer !" Bug declared.
"What kind ya get ?"
"Red Stripe."
They began arguing about who smokes who's marijuana and who shares with who and who owes who what.
A bearded guy with a cut-off t-shirt and a brown and black dog came up. He opened the car door, fished for something, and shut it, then walked around the back of the house with a buddy who joined him from the porch. The dog followed.
Bug Phace sat leaning against the back fender, brown bag beside him. Bill stood next to him. Gooch loudly taunted, "Maybe if we're reeeel nice Brock'll cook us some vegeteeerian spaghetti or somethin' tonight !" Then he belched.
Brock was listening to a radio blasting from a car somewhere behind. Crickets were singing. A large ant stopped before him. Bug Phace threw a stone and it disappeared. He belched, then spat. He was studying Brock with hard, sad eyes. He held his head in his hands.
The conversation turned to blow jobs and more teasing of Bug, "I don't believe that. He buys a six-pack of beer and won't share with anyone."
A girl walked up, her child at her feet. Brock looked up at the child from his notebook.
"She's shy..." the girl said.
The car started. Brock moved. It backed up, turned and left with the people who lived in the house in it. Bond walked off towards the van and everyone else went inside except Brock & Bug, who remained sitting on the porch.
"Oh fuck...like what the fuck..." John K could be heard inside.
Two cars pulled up. A group of four people walked by and Debbie came outside. She got in her car, moved it to where the other had been, and got out. "How was Kalamazoo ?" she asked, "where'd you stay ?"
"Promoter's house," Bug responded. Bond walked up.
You're missing it," Debbie said to him, "they're looking at all the pictures in there. There's a real good one of you in there." They went inside.
Ken came out. He had shaved and wore a pink, black, and white Misfits shirt. He sat on the bannister for a second then went back inside. Brocked stopped what he was writing and looked at Bug. He was pretty depressed and sat staring blankly at the back of his beer bottle. He looked up at Brock. Brock decided to let him read what he had been writing. He got up, handed Bug the book, and sat down again. Bug smiled and began reading. He muttered "Bug" and snickered. He was smiling again.

Spring Compositions Book - ctd.
Monday, August 8 1988
Posted by brockp
11:13am

The engine of ALL's yellow box truck had been running for a long time. It had woken Brock up from his sleep in the bottom stack. Ken had been curled up next to him. The white Doughboys van was parked beside the ALL truck with the side and back doors open. It was here, in this Food Town parking lot, that the previous night's search for a place to stay had ended.

Bill Stevenson walked up to his truck carrying two bags of groceries. He opened the door, sat down on the passenger side, and began eating. He had a plastic cup in one hand and a quart of homogenized milk in the other.

Brock sat in the driver's seat of the van writing in his notebook on top of the anvil case in his lap. Beside him, Bond Head sat back, feet on the dash, composing a letter. Ken returned, also with a bag of groceries, sat on the cooler, and took a bite from a nut laden iced donut. He also had a quart of orange juice.

Lightning Boy slept on the top stack. At his feet was a Big Boy hamburger from the night before, untouched, still in its foam box. He would no doubt be disappointed to discover it had soaked up the melted ice from the cooler and was now a mushburger, but it would likely be at least a few hours until he awoke.

Ken finished his donut, put away his juice, and went walking off towards Little Caesar's Pizzeria & Carry Out, probably looking for a bathroom. Skippy Smooth lay on his side on the bottom stack where Brock had been earlier. Having eaten and gone to the bathroom, he'd decided to try and get some more sleep until the caravan finally got moving. It was only a 3 or 4 hour drive to Kalamazoo.

From accross the parking lot, Smalley Dave was approaching in his polka dot boxer shorts and a black t-shirt with XXX accross the top. He also carried two bags of groceries. He got in beside Bill, pulled out a bottle of Perrier, took a swig, then bit into a plum.

The engine of the truck was still running. it was the only constant, Brock thought. It was this one thing that could be depended upon. There would always be somewhere to drive to and another city, another club, another grocery store, another parking lot. It was as if the only awareness was the engine itself, which offerred life to the twelve bodies whose days revolved around it unerringly.

"Ken looks like Charles Manson," Bond said, "look at him, he's Charles Manson."

Ken, barefoot, walked up. He hadn't shaved in a few weeks, and his hair was all wet. ALL's window rolled down.

"Want some milk ?" Dave offerred.

"No thanks, I've got yogourt," Bond replied.

"What about Brock ?"

"He doesn't drink milk. It comes from cows. Do you ever think about what cows eat ? Its disgusting, " he joked.

"Do you guys have all your people ?" Bill interjected, "let's bail."

"I have no idea where we're going," Bond said. "We're all gonna die, Bill's driving. What the fuck, look at that, he's gonna take the side of the van off. Bill !!!"

"He's totally insane."

Both vehicles pulled out of the parking lot.