The Hipster Hillbilly

“Sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whiskey and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind but falling in love and not getting arrested.” —Hunter S. Thompson     After working seven days straight, I finally had a day off.  I woke up around 7:00AM with steak and eggs on my mind.  Feeling a bit lazy, I lounged around the apartment for another hour, drinking an energy drink, vaping, and writing before I hit the road.  I wanted to check out Sunrise Bistro on John’s Island for breakfast, but when I arrived, the parking lot was full and I didn’t feel like the wait.  I figured I’d just stop by the grocery store and cook breakfast at home.     A healthy slice of cube steak and duck eggs hit the frying pan.  Toast jumped from the toaster.  I was just in time for brunch hour in the Holy City and poured a shot of Baileys into a cup of black Jamaican coffee.  Bougie on a budget.  Where I was headed, I needed to get into that grand...

‘Wish I can give you this feeling, I feel like buying And if my dealer don't have no more, then (I feel like dying)’ —Lil Wayne          I feel like I have a hangover.  My head aches, I’ve got a bade case of the shakes, and my stomach feels uneasy.  But I didn’t drink much last night.  I had maybe five beers over the course of five hours.  My head injury almost a decade ago caused a chemical imbalance in my brain that had to be corrected with medication.  Although I probably don’t need it anymore, I’ve taken the pills every day for seven years—a half in the A.M. and two at night.  My script ran out yesterday though.  So I’m feeling pretty rough.         I called my doctor a few days ago to have my prescription transferred to a pharmacy down here.  The pharmacy texted me that it was “TOO SOON” to refill my medication and that they would not fill it until today.  In the future, I’ll stick with Wal-Ma...

 “.. the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop…” —Jack Kerouac, On the Road         Aside from the critiques of my roommates who personify the very antithesis of Kerouac’s description, I enjoy it here.  I don’t have to be at work until 1:00PM, so I returned to Folly Beach this morning for some exploring.  I walked around town and stopped by Lost Dog Cafe for a plate of eggs and bacon and a cup of coffee.  The wait was long but I was on a solo expedition and lucked out with a bar seat.  This cute girl sat a few seats down, but after hearing her say she was twenty three, I lost all interest and returned to my coffee.  Nothing good comes the ...

 “ What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone.“ —Charles Bukowski     I haven’t slept properly for days.  The new roommate finally moved off the couch and into the second bed in my room.  He wears a CPAP machine which roars all night like a tempestuous surf, and occasionally he pulls the hose out of the machine and it just screams air into the room and I awake in sheer terror.  Then there’s his phone…which he does not silence.  The damn thing beeps and rings and bops and boops and vibrates all night and well into the morning.  Most of his belongings stile reside tucked into brown grocery bags which he rummages through at all hours.  The noise is like an earthquake.  Not to mention the mattresses which creak and groan at every shift of the body.  The black and blue bags drooping beneath my eyes are so large I could smuggle drugs across the border and no one would notice.  I look rough and w...

 “And he said unto them, ‘Do not be alarmed.” —Mark 16:6     Easter is a confusing time of year.  So perplexing in its complexities that I consulted an oracle in downtown Myrtle Beach a number of years ago to ascertain the truth of the story.  The great diviner had a large hairy beer belly that protruded beneath a short, tattered white t-shirt with sweat stained armpits and splatters of vomit that trickled down the front.  I lucked out in finding him.  He had only recently been released from the Psych Ward after his latest psychotic break.  I had read Aristotle, so I knew this man was touched by the Gods.  “No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.”     I was instructed to meet the oracle in a secluded alleyway and bring a forty of malt liquor, a brown paper sack, and a can of aerosol paint.  When I arrived, he hid his soiled hair beneath a tin foil hat, and rocked back and forth as if the spirits were playing ...

 “ Live steady. Don't fuck around. Give anything weird a wide berth--including people. It's not worth it. I learned this the hard way, through brutal overindulgence.”   —Hunter S. Thompson     I arrived home yesterday after having spent almost an hour covering the twelve mile stretch of road from work to my apartment.  The commute is slowly growing on me…slowly.  The drive is a beautiful Old South experience.  Narrow and lined by looming live oaks, their branches overhang the road drooping with the Spanish moss of the subtropics, giving you this feeling of stepping back a hundred years into time.  You pass classical country restaurants, farm stands serving up the quintessential South Carolina boiled peanut, and joints with this farmer’s market kind of feel.       But all the fucking nostalgia of my youth blew out the front door when I entered into my apartment.          “JOSH!” came a drunken scream from the...