Then, it was suddenly the late eighties. And, I moved to LA. I was looking for jobs, but got lost in some winding street bazaar. Stoners and queens selling old clothes, candles, and bongs. I stopped to try on a pair of pants. But, someone stole MY pants while they were off. A black cat kept following me everywhere. I stepped gum at one point. And, I spent a significant amount of time trying to wipe it off on things as I continued to walk. Eventually, I got to an open farmer's market full of yuppie eco-lovin' vegan types. They were all wearing the same green plastic shoes. It was subtly sci-fi. Then, I had lunch with Sean Carnage. He said he'd try help to get me a job. I was still telling everyone I saw how I met Mel Brooks.
In real time news, I swallowed a huge chip from one of my canine teeth last night while eating hard, sourdough pretzels. At first, I thought maybe a piece of pretzel was stuck to my tooth, feeling all jagged-like. But, then I realize it was my tooth. By this point, it was too late-- I had already swallowed my chip. Then I proceeded to throw a temper tantrum. "It's not fair! I brush my teeth AT LEAST three times a day AND floss!!! And, I don't smoke or drink soda!" I know why it happened. I have been grinding and clenching my teeth since I was a toddler. I have another crack in one of my back molars from the same thing. It torques open when I eat sometimes. And, it hurts enough to make me wanna drop whatever I am holding. Because I never had braces and have pretty fine looking teeth (which receive great care), I was always convinced I'd trip and fall during my drunken days, cracking off my front teeth. Now, I thought I was safe. Someone told me it was a sign that I am getting old. And, I guess I realize, despite my preemptive measures, it will just be me and Old Chopper one day. I am more concerned how these events are influencing my bite mark impressions.
