Yes you do, and it’s me.
I woke to the harsh sounds of a man yelling from what felt like 2 feet from my ear. But he was across the street, but still, wow, seriously. wtf?
It was 3 AM and I had gone to bed wasted about a half hour ago. This dude was obnoxious though, too obnoxious. So I shouted in true Minnesota fashion through the heavily barred window,
“Hey, excuse me! sir? could you please keep it down? I”m a bit tired, and would like to sleep.”
*CRACK*
A bullet ripped through the screen window, past my face, and through the paper thin wall behind me. Then probably into my neighbors cat. I don’t know for sure, I’m not super man. But for the sake of one less cat in the world we’ll say that’s what happened. The bullet was followed by this jive,
“FUCK YOU! THEY LET THE INDIANS IN. THE NATIVE AMERICAN THIS TIME. EVERY TIME THEY LISTEN TO THE GOVERNMENT. NOBODY LET ME IN.”
“what the fuck is this guy talking about?” I thought to myself for more reasons than he could count to. And what is a black dude doing on a Northern Minnesotan street?
I looked around for answers to these rarely asked questions, and what I saw put my drunk ass in a tailspin.
The thermometer on the wall said 65 degrees, but the thermometer outside said 80 degrees. It was October, but I wasn’t in school, hating the twins again, or smelling burning wood. I was drunk, and in bed, but not with a freshman/sophomore from a University of Minnesota institution. Oh, and there was the black guy outside, more rare than diamonds in this small town of Hermantown. That’s when it hit me…
I sprinted from my bed to the other side of my bed, and fumbled for my smartphone. It said the Date was Oct. 13, and the year was 2011. Facebook had checked me in at “Blake’s super sexy jazz club and sex dungeon, Los Angeles” And the palm trees outside backed up it’s story.
My fears were confirmed. I had been the victim of time travel… and travel travel. I called out to the drunken African American on the road as he was the only person I could find,
“how did I get here?!” I asked, realizing as it came out of my mouth that he was as likely to have a successful law firm as the answer to my query.
“Sameways Weealldoo…A pussy”
A pussy indeed! More memories sprang from this phrase, and I quickly began blacking back in, as well as regaining my memories. Fleck Mathers… from Hermantown, MN, a town so small Microsoft Word makes you “add to dictionary”…I’m old enough to party…but not so old that I think “a few beers is enough”….and…and…
Kelsi
I was here for Kelsey. Kelsi had called last week because she needed my help. I was the smartest guy Kelsey remembered from high school. Well…who didn’t go on to become a doctor or something useful to society. Having nothing better, and always kind of wanting in Kelsi’s underdoos, I hopped on my hog and rode the thousand miles out here, hoping to score. Also, and whatever she wanted…that other thing…that she was…she was…going to tell me tomorrow!
I let my head fall back on the drooly pillow, and slipped back into a hard dreamless sleep, as the man out the window’s softly fading voice called,
Clinton…the mortgage crisis…Clinton…pussy…Indian…Clinton…Clinton…Clinton…
