THE VICARIOUS AVATAR Part One

Hunting season is over and it’s cold as shit. Just feeding the woodstove is a full-time job. I’ve been doing a little drawing and working on another book. This time I want to try to capture Jack Hodges, the black sailor who shot my 5x great uncle Richard Jennings, was sentenced to hang, then got off – while two white men hanged. Jack is an unlikely and unexpectedly slippery character to capture on the page. I want to do him justice, so I’m trying to take my time on this one. That’s a tall order for me. Too much like work. So, in the meantime – avoiding the constant media drone surrounding the downfall of western civilization - I have to get my kicks elsewhere. One prime source is a fellow big game hunter who will remain nameless. His season is always open - 24/7. All weapony are legal. He hunts way more dangerous game than I dare to stalk anymore. Those days are long gone for me. I’ll let him tell the story. “I met up with this guy Vaughn, in the city. He’s about 60, cool, big hair, hooked up in the entertainment industry. He’s probably had a few “METOO” moments…. but he’s all right…. not like he carries NDAs around in his pocket. So, he and I started off at BEAUTY BAR. We go in and who do you think is sitting in the front booth? (I have no clue) Chuckles. He’s there with a couple of glum looking artist types. We just say hello, look around and leave. Chuckles agrees. “Good idea. This place is dead.” Next stop is PEOPLES. The place is the new “it” spot. I tried getting in last week and couldn’t get past the rope. Fuckers. Vaughn says he knows the owner. This is a better scene: a small good-looking crowd – like a hip railroad flat with expensive drinks. We get the VIP treatment and go to the back with the owner. On the way we pass these two hot girls – one brunette and one blond. The blond catches my eye and gives me a BIG smile. She’s blasted. We order drinks. I don’t have mine half down before I back track and pick up the trail of the blond. She’s still all smiles. It doesn’t take long before Vaughn decides to leave, and I slide in to…....possibly….... get in position for a shot. Too early to tell if she’s a shooter. The brunette leaves. More drinks. Then we go up to the CHELSEA HOTEl for more alcohol. The blond…....her name is Oralia……...goes into a winding, slurry, stream of consciousness, monologue about her recent “awakening” and a new video projector she just bought. “All I want to do is stay home, watch TV and snort ketamine.” At this a very tall, older woman in hoop earings, a red mu-mu and gold turban (who had been listening intently to Oralia’s rant) turned and said very loudly “METOO! I have a room upstairs. Let’s go.” I hadn’t done K in years. Oralia jumped in the woman’s bed, while I snorted a line. HOLY SHIT! Then she popped up and did one too. Fifteen minutes later we were banging on THE JANIS JOPLIN room’s door. Some poor fuck stood there, completely dressed, on the phone, looking confused. Then we ran like K-hole maniacs out into the street. When O (that’s what I was calling her by then) when O got into the passenger side, I puked between the car and the curb. A steady rocket stream. I don’t think she saw it. I shouldn’t have driven. I couldn’t feel my legs. But O insisted it would be fine. “Ooops.” She said, “I just got my period.” ……to be continued