Ron's Journal 03B

"Hey dude, y'all look like you're traveling. Us too, shit yeah. We just got to the city and we're looking around. Y'all want a ride?" he drawled at me.

"Sure, thanks, it's a bit cold out here, yeah."

I put my stuff in the car trunk and climbed into the back seat. Introductions were made. The driver was Jim, the passenger was Bob, and they were rude and crude East Texas rednecks on a rampage. I should have been nervous but I thought they were funny. Ha ha.

Jim criss-crossed Manhattan and somehow avoided collisions or other mishaps. I wondered if these boys had ever even been in a city before? I have heard that some West Texans have never seen a STOP sign.

Jim pulled up to a cold-looking young longhair couple thumbing at a highway entrance. The guy held a sign saying POUGHKEEPSIE, about 80 miles north. Bob leaned out his window and drawled at the guy.

"Hey there, we'll give y'all a ride all the way there, if your gal will fuck us, that is."

The couple looked at each other. They were shivering. They shrugged, put their packs in the car trunk after Jim popped the lid, and climbed inside next to me. Jim drove around a couple city blocks and pulled into an empty alley.

"OK, payment in advance. Y'all get down here!" Bob said.

The thin dark hitchhiking gal pulled her dress up and her panties off. She lay on the back seat. Jim hopped on and humped her. He was fast and loud. Bob quickly replaced him, just as quick and noisy. I was thinking about whether I wanted a piece too, when a police car turned into the alley behind us. The gal quickly restored her clothing.

Two cops walked to us. "What's going on here, now?" asked one.

I forget what excuses Jim and Bob made. I said that I was just riding with these guys.

One cop asked Jim for his license and the car registration.

"Er, well, there's a slight problem, officer. Y'see, our friend in Galveston gave us his car to drive here so it would be ready for him when he flies out next week. I don't know where he keeps the registration."

That did not go over to well with the cops. The result: The car was impounded, awaiting confirmation from the owner that it had not been stolen. The cops opened the trunk to check the contents, but did NOT allow me to retrieve my rucksack and guitar, nor let the thumbing couple get their packs.

I checked with the cops every day. No use; I was never allowed to retrieve my stuff.

I was stuck in New York with nothing but the clothes on my back, the heavy peacoat to keep me warm, the wallet and harmonicas and notepad in my pockets, nothing else. Oh fuck.

And my life changed forever. I tell that story in other chapters.

NEXT: New York City sucks unless you are very rich, and then it still sucks.