Kindle Edition
Amazon
Amazon
Amazon
Category:
Memoir
Publisher: AOSR Publishing
ISBN-10: 0615872026
Pages: 211
Copyright: Aug 30, 2013
ISBN-13: 9780615872025
Price: FREE! (eBook)
“The only thing an artist needs to draw is a mother(explicit) check,” – Bryan Allen, excerpt from the book.
Bonnie and Klyde plus 2 cats is not the usual Bonnie and Clyde book. This is not a book about robbing banks and murder. “Bonnie and Klyde…” is a humor infused memoir entailing the journey of the author, KO Giuseppe, moving from a good engineering job in Connecticut to living in a car in California with his girlfriend, plus two cats. The author uses humor to detail the unexpected hardship, and he also uses humor to shine some light on the interesting characters they met on their journey west.
Excerpt
CHAPTER 1: CALI
Thump … Thump … Thump …
I woke abruptly. It was 2 a.m., my first night in an unknown land, and it had taken an awfully long time for my brain to shut up. I’d finally fallen asleep—and now I was hearing ungodly sounds. The sounds jolted my brain and introduced a flurry of new, unwelcomed thoughts—Maybe it’s a ghost. Yeah right, don’t be ridiculous; Ghosts only make noises in the movies. The sound seemed to come from the attic. How odd … I didn’t even know this place had an attic.
Redd, my girlfriend, lay next to me, fast asleep; Tabbey, the fat tabby cat, found comfort sleeping on top of our unpacked bins; Panda, the creepy black cat, slept on the bed, intruding on our space like she always did. I swear, she sleeps horizontally on purpose, taking over more real estate than we do, with her tiny-ass body.
Was I the only one that heard the sound? The cats were not even curious.
Thump … Thump … Thump.
There it goes again. It wasn’t coming from the attic. I distinctly heard it from the hallway outside our door. Like satellite dishes, both cats’ ears danced; so I wasn’t the only one that heard the noise. It couldn’t be a ghost. It definitely wasn’t a person—I don’t think, or overthink—fuck it. I plopped back into bed and fell straight to sleep.
Morning—or should I say afternoon—came fast. It was about 3 p.m., and Redd and I hesitated to get up. It had been such a long journey. I wanted to sleep forever. Sluggishly, I picked myself up. The room looked much brighter than it did the night before, with a ’70s décor: all wood everything—wood flooring, wood walls—slanted attic ceiling, and basement windows with a nice view of the neighbor’s mansion wall.
I put on my robe, opened our bedroom door, and looked to the right of the long wooden hallway; our housemate’s bedroom door was closed. I looked to the left where the hallway lead to a kitchen. A round wooden table in the corner of the kitchen was littered with more than three outdated monitors and a handful of newspapers. It didn’t seem like our housemate was home.
A few feet from our bedroom door was the bathroom, so I made my way there. The bathroom was ultra modern—about the only thing modern in this place. It had tile all over and a stand-in shower, but a curtain hung in place of a glass shower door. The toilet lid was open, with fresh piss in it, which didn’t shock me. There was fresh piss in the toilet last night when we got a tour of the place. I was more irritated that we were told this would be our private bathroom. I peed, flushed the toilet, washed up, and went back to the room to badger Redd.
“Wake up, wake up.” I shook her vigorously. Dazed and confused, Redd didn’t want to get up.
“No, just a little more sleep.”
“Get up, Redd. It’s 3:30. We have to get around.”
She ignored me and went back to sleep. I have been living with Redd for over three years now, going from apartment to apartment. One thing I know for sure is that Redd sleeps an awful lot; she would be the only soul to sleep through her own funeral. I guess that’s why she looks so young—too much beauty sleep.
I fed the cats; put on some shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops; and made my way down to the kitchen where I discovered a bunch of bulk condiments everywhere, dirty pans drowned in the sink, and two office chairs neatly tucked under the mess of the kitchen table. I scrounged around looking for something to eat. As I surveyed the overflowing fridge, the sliding door leading to the backyard slid open and a shirtless, pot-bellied man with shoulder-length gray hair, bow legs in shorts, and a tan from the neck up, walked in. His name is Abe. He smiled, revealing at least two missing front teeth.
“How’d you guys sleep last night?” he asked with a southern accent.
“Amazing,” I replied.
“Mat told me about your trip from up east—must have been long.”
“Yeah, it was pretty long. I’m just glad we found a nice place to stay for a while. Thanks, by the way.”
“No problem. I don’t usually let couples stay, but Mat told me good things about you guys. Where’s Redd?”
“She’s still asleep,” I replied.
“Well, you guys are free to use any of my stuff. Feel free to take food from the fridge if you want.”
“Thanks, much appreciated.”
Redd came out of the bedroom and walked toward the kitchen. “Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning,” Abe replied. “So what do you guys have planned for today?”
“We’re going to go to the beach,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s what people do around here.”
Thump … Thump … Thump …
There it goes again, that noise that kept me guessing last night. The sound came from down the hall. Turning with curiosity, I saw an old orange tabby cat, with a trim similar to a lion.
“Here Cali, here Cali,” Abe called out to him.
The cat walked past us and jumped onto one of the office chairs.
“This is my seventeen-year-old lion, Cali. The secret to shaving them like this is you have to shave the tail and leave the tip untouched. That’s why I do it myself. Them groomers never get it right.”
Instantly, Redd started to pet the cat. She even gave him treats. I personally didn’t want to touch him for the same reason I don’t like holding babies—he looked so fragile. Abe insisted I give him treats. Not wanting to be rude, I petted him once and felt nothing but bones. He felt worse than he looked. Even though he only had fur on his neck and chest, he looked as though he had a couple ticks swimming in his fur—gross.
I quickly changed the topic and hurried Redd back to the room. Panda and Tabbey wanted to go out of the room so badly, but we couldn’t let them out. Cali was declawed and old; our cats would murder him. I emptied out our bin full of clothing, making sure to cover up the gun with a newspaper. I didn’t want it to be in plain view.
We got dressed—and by dressed, I mean we put on bathing suits, the native uniform. We went out the kitchen door, moshing through an endless supply of beer bottles and dirty furniture in the backyard. Tomato plants grew from every angle, and there were lemon trees, avocado trees, and an assortment of other gardening items I knew nothing about.
It looked like God had taken an uninteresting dump on Abe’s backyard. I’d never seen so many different types of chairs in one place—couches, bar stools, power chairs, lawn chairs. Every chair imaginable could be found there, but I wouldn’t dare sit on any of them. Abe’s backyard was the worst yard I’d ever seen in my life—not even the village houses in Nigeria measured up to this disaster.
We hurriedly followed a small path that led to the garage and then branched out to the back picket fence. As soon as we exited the yard through the picket fence, we were instantly transported into heaven. It was as if Abe’s fence was the portal to another dimension. Mansions surrounded Abe’s dirt patch, and even the ocean was visible from that distance. Those neighbors must’ve hated Abe for bringing their property value down. They must hate him a lot more now for bringing blacks into this community.
We got into our car parked on a cul-de-sac and drove around in amazement. All the houses screamed immaculate wealth, such wealth that the only dealerships in town sold supercars. How did we stumble upon this hay in a diamond-needle stack? Our jaws hung open as we drove around the homes of the super wealthy, mostly retired, and living the life. I’d never heard of this place, and it took me a long while to pronounce the name right. They called it La Jolla. Everyone here was blonde: blonde girls, blonde guys, blonde black kids, blonde dogs—so many blondes. Brunets were rare, and redheads were boarder-line extinct.
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