Topanga's ghosts

There was a letter in the mail today from an old friend. When she was arrested for selling marijuana to undercover agents in Topanga, I cared for her infant son while she spent a few months in prison. The memorable thing I can remember about it all was how strong a baby's stream can be. I would no sooner have his diaper off when the kid would let go and piss right in my face. It was a signal, I think, for him to pee by undoing the flap of his nappy and bend over to change him. I should have sold him for her while she was in prison but didn't. I thought about it except the kid reminded me of "Little Red Chief", the brat that kidnappers had to sell back to the parents to take the little monster off their felonious hands and out of their hair.

He just had his thirty-seventh birthday and is still pissing on people. His mother was mugged in a home invasion robbery, Lyle, went into the same line of business as his dad, selling drugs. And because of being hit in the head with the butt of a gun, my friend Lee suffered brain damage. Lee was brought into selling drugs when she came up pregnant with Lyle by her new husband, and of course what father wouldn't want to do the best by his family, he gladly sat her up in the drug business. Before that, she was a bookkeeper for a book store in New York when they met and just before he swooped her up, took her to Topanga and impregnated her, leaving her pregnant and living in the back of a car. Her only luck was that she didn't take drugs herself, but it did pay the bills to sell it and she quickly got out of the car and into a house.

She was a neighbor when I lived in Topanga. Through her, I met the most unusual people, bank robbers, whores, film stars and every assortment in between. I have tried twice now to write a story about those years, and I think I still can get it just right one of these days. It is remarkable, I think.

Well Lee can't speak very well, after the brain damage, but she can write very well and the letter proved she was still around. I wrote back today, after reading her letter and hope to catch up through our letters. It should be interesting.

Her son is living with her in the back of her house, he is into numerous cats, which he keeps in his room. Good thing too because the last time he was here, I caught him in my garage having my dog lick his penis. He was seventeen at the time, the dog four. Cat's tongues are pretty rough, not that I would know what it would feel like on my penis, just letting Millie lick my forehead and hand feels like having a file go across the skin. I think dogs tongues are softer, perhaps Lyle is jaded with dog tongue and has moved on to a more brash form of bestiality.

That's what I love about heterosexuals, they can marry, fuck each other in a variety of ways and it's all okay. But if a gay man wants to marry another gay man, well, the public seems to have issues with that. It is, after all, a Christian Nation.