Walking down the street minding my business when all of the sudden, a smell comes out of nowhere, bringing me back to the pleasantries of childhood… Such a bittersweet moment giving me goose bumps, normally making me think of some shit that’s all warm and fuzzy, or something completely uncalled for.
I could walk by hundreds of dryer vents coming out of the basements of apartment complexes, but it's that certain one.... That certain brand of dryer sheet that makes me think about my old apartment in Carlstadt. I have opened a lot of refrigerators in my day, but there will always that one that reminds me of the fridge in Woodstock that was always stocked to the doors with ice cold green cans of Genessee... God I loved that shit.
Being able to walk by a bum on Hollywood blvd. Laying in a pool of his own nastiness and not think of the A train stop down the street from gray's papaya.....
The candle store in the mall brings me back to my old apartment in Nyack, certain cheap incense reminds me of mom vacuuming the living room rug to Jackson Brown on Sunday mornings.... Sometimes a coffee shop is always a good one for waking up at Grandma Agnes’ house. And if it's mixed with cigarette smoke I actually think I’m waking up in 1976..... If I walk into a Pinkberry or some sort of shop like that I go right to the Carvel that was next to the Boys Club my grandfather taught me how to shoot bumper pool at, and the first time I ever punched someone in the face, his name was Pat, and he had a glass eye.
Certain lotions or body sprays are infamous for making me wish I was a better judge of character..... Or had morals, ever. There is one certain lotion that a lot of girls wear that reminds me of this English cougar that picked me up at the Viper Room one night and took me home with her. She was kind of hot, but old as fuck and not really my thing at all. But when you are a sex addict and there are no twenty two year old girls waiting outside the club for you to get off work, you kind of just have to go with what you can get. Her house smelled like biscuits. Her bed had too many pillows on it. She put on something lacey and attempted to talk sexy to me, but just sounded like Austin powers. A total fucking turn off… But being a man committed to my craft I was in for the long haul. She made me rub her feet with this lotion, it smelled like wild berry Kool~Aid flavored Victoria’s Secret body spray. As I rubbed her feet little black balls of dirt starting forming on the palms of my hands from her old, dead, dirty skin. I couldn’t go on anymore and finally had to just fuck her and get it over with. She started moaning shit like, “oooh baby you know how mamma likes it”… seriously, I was trying extremely hard not to laugh and vomit the entire three minutes I was inside her old, leathery rust pot of a thing she used to call a vagina, back when it still worked. I almost dehydrated myself from spitting on that dry piece of toast so many times just so I could fucking cum and walk home feeling like the king of shit mountain. It doesn’t matter how hot the girl is, the smell of that shit to this day is a total deal breaker. A reminder of just how low down and disgusting I used to be, and still can be from time to time. If a girl is wearing it and I she is near me I will just start being mean to her for no other reason than I hate myself so much for fucking that old Austin Powers cobweb that I want her to feel just as bad as I do…
Today was the wood paneling that lined my grandmothers attic in Garfield. It's where I was read Horton hears a who.... Where the wild things are..... It's where I listened to the Guess Who and Steppenwolf for the first time, I would hang my G.I. Joe's from a shoelace and set them on fire to "Sookie Sookie" and “No Time”.... It’s where I learned how to sneak around late at night because that house was a creak palace and my grandmother slept like a bird.... The mothballs were so pungent in the closet that they fumigated the entire attic. I blame my alcoholism on the mothballs reaction to the Jersey summer heat. And yes, fresh cut lawns.... Few and far between in Hollywood, but when I do walk by an army of home depot convicts pushing shitty lawn mowers in funny straw hats I always go back to a hung over Saturday morning somewhere in 1986.
Mom banging on my door as the sun breaks through the crust covered slits in my eyes, fighting with the yellow rope of coke phlegm that refuses to come out easily causing me to vomit all over the front yard for the entire neighborhood to see.
Hoping I don't cut my foot off or run over a hidden Yellow Jackets nest in the ground while I mow a giant Twisted Sister logo in my back yard...that was always fun.
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