Talking with the Lost

“One night at the Cedar, O'Hara became
more and more incensed at the injustice.
Finally he said to Kenneth Koch,
'Kenneth, we've got to do something.
He's a great poet and the Russians aren't
going to let him accept the prize.
I think we should send him a cable.."
-Brad Gooch, Frank O'Hara; City Poet

SO THERE I AM, GETTING PROGRESSIVELY overwhelmed in the $3 bus to Marin, chatting with a man with no lips and the hands of a baby, who's insisting on telling me about his escapades in the city even though I really don't want to be talking to him. And he tells me it costs twenty dollars to see a pornographic movie in San Francisco.

"IT COSTS TWENTY DOLLARS TO SEE A PORNOGRAPHIC MOVIE IN SAN FRANCISCO!" he hollers at me, sitting right next to him. I whisper "yes, yes,” hoping he will lower his voice. This bus is full of old women and young South American looking school children who I'm not particularly keen on drawing the attention of as 'The Guy Who Is Sitting With The Letch' dangerous gambit, this hush-up-his-lonely-dissertation maneuver. It could misfire seriously. I try a sort of last-ditch effort to focus on the weather. "Doesn't look like the fog is going anywhere," I comment, never pealing my eyes away from the clouds ghosting around the Bay outside my window. "Hopefully it'll be gone once we get to Petaluma. You might think they would have different pornography magazines in the city than they do back at home but they're all the same. Taboo and Hustler. That guy Larry Flynt prints both of 'em. Ha Ha Ha."

He does not understand that I might not care. But now I've done it, I have to feign interest and comprehension as he fires off more inappropriate topics in never a more inappropriate place. This guy won't shut up.

"So it costs 20 bucks for a movie at the video store?" I ask him, relenting to the inevitable.

"No. No not the video store, at the pornography theatre on Turk. MY FRIEND TOLD ME I SHOULD CHECK FOR PORNOGRAPHY ON TURK STREET. But they charged TWENTY DOLLARS just to sit and watch one of their pornographic movies! And they keep them locked back on a shelf so once you pick the one you want to watch they have to go get the key. They make you wait while they go get the key to unlock the shelf. TWENTY DOLLARS! I couldn't believe it!"

"Everybody’s got to make ends meet." I grumble, looking around to make sure no one hears me. He laughs. Any differences between us are completely blotted out in his mind. He's having a serious conversation with me and I am an understanding and involved participant. Perhaps I've misjudged this situation. It's not about me at all. It's about this lonely lipless old man from Petaluma. I wish I could write this man down. Record him for future uncaring participants to stare at even while I look the other direction, repulsed by his lecherous laugh, his effeminate mannerisms, his tiny dotted eyes, his babysoft hands and his cracked lipless mouth.

"That Larry Flynt used to really do some work on The Man back in the 80s. He exposed how George Bush Senior had a roll in the Kennedy assassination, and showed his ties to the C.I.A. and fascist mideast oil cartels. Now his son’s in office so all that Fourth Reich stuff seems pretty right-on.”

“But nobody ever read it.”

"Only the guys buying into nudie girls."

We are not bound to porn, see? We can talk politics. Publishing rights. When he sat down he told me about Bridgestone Tires exploding at the the Indy 500. He told me about the Carnaval in the city. The Bay Area's treacherous weather. This might be alright. Maybe I can talk to him like a civilized human being, I think. Then that's when he puts his hand on my leg.

It's pink baby moisturized skin in stark contrast to the white chalky flesh caking dryly around his wide yellow-toothed and lipless mouth.

"WHERE ARE YOU HEADED TO, SON?" he asks me.

"Uh," I stammer, "Mill Valley."

"Then this is your stop," he says helpfully. "It’s been real nice talking to you."

SO I GET OFF THE BUS, FINALLY Free of the old letch with no lips and a volume control problem. I sigh a deep breath of relief. I guess he wasn't so bad after all, but he made me uncomfortable. I am glad to be off the bus. But as soon as we get ourselves out of one tight situation we find ourselves wedged firmly within the confines of another.

Namely: Where the hell am I?

“Is there anybody going to listen to my story?"
-The Beatles