The Hipster Hillbilly

  “some moments are nice, some are nicer, some are even worth writing about.” —Charles Bukowski     I finally dragged my roommates out on the town.  Wheezy smoked a blunt on his way home from work so he was feeling pretty good when he walked through the door.  His eyes were half-closed and despite the spray, you could still catch that faint aroma of cheap marijuana drifting off of him.  Squinty had been ready to go for hours.  He smoked a maduro cigar then took a shower and changed into all black clothes—collared shirt tucked into his trousers, sunglasses, and came out smelling fresh as fuck.  He had a highball of mint julep, but after that he wouldn’t touch any alcohol.  He was too embarrassed after blacking out the other night.  “That could have been it for me.” He said, after I reminded him he was too inebriated to hook up with his CPAP machine.       Wheezy arrived home about 5:30PM.  He changed while I drank a fe...

“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...

 “Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.” —Charles Bukowski     A small brown envelope crept from beneath the door mat.  I knew it all too well.  Inside was the key to the apartment for all of us transplants.  Four total.  There were two left, and I looked for the edge of that brown envelope every day when I returned home from work knowing there wouldn’t be some new stranger in my apartment.  Yesterday was different.  It wasn’t there.     I went to turn the key to unlock the door, but noticed it was already unlocked.  Walking in, a movie blared from the television and I noticed empty grocery store bags next to the trash can.     “Oh, god” I thought, a new roommate.     Sitting on the couch was this mid-height, mid-weight, middle-aged man with a brown beard and squinty eyes.  I introduced myself and shook his hand.  I still don’t remember his name.  We talked for a while, nothing of intere...

  "There's a lot of insects. It's really, really hot in the summer, and the traffic is worse than it ever was." —Bill Murray, attempting to drive people away from Charleston     I am not accustomed to life in a large metropolitan area.  And to be fair, Charleston really isn’t that big compared to cities on the West Coast or in New England.  But I’m not used to it, damnit.  For some reason, Myrtle Beach never bothered me and I acclimated quickly to the madness of the summer tourist season.  I learned backroads to avoid the traffic, avoided tourist hot spots.  Are there back roads here?  If there are they are no secret anymore in the world of navigation systems programmed to “avoid highways.”  Every street is congested.     I used to enjoy a shot of tequila on my familiar drive home.  Now I’m too unnerved to risk that.  The most I do is one beer with some bar food if I have to drive.  Going seven miles in West Ashl...

  "If I'm an advocate for anything, it's to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. Walk in someone else's shoes or at least eat their food. It's a plus for everybody." —Anthony Bourdain          I enjoy meeting new people.  I really do.  Ok, so I’m incredibly shy and introverted without a few drinks in my system and over the last few years I’ve grown increasingly antisocial, misanthropic, and give off this loner vibe.  For anyone who has met me over the last seven years, I hate to break it to you.  But you’ve never met me.  I’m a meet new friends in a bar and mingle with strangers kind of person.  I just haven’t had that opportunity for a long time.  I feel really comfortable around new people, I just don’t trust them.  Once you get past the first sober meeting where I’m reserved and quiet, I get more sociable.  When I’ve had a few drinks, that awkward meeting n...

“Let it die.  Let there be a new beginning…Goodnight.” —Charles Bukowski     Sunday is a holy day set aside as a day of rest and recovery and reserved by a higher power for early drinking and greasy breakfast foods to revive the soul after a late-night binge.  What?  You thought I was on a spew about religion?  Hell naw, son.  I’m here to spread the Gospel of Brunch!     I have always been fascinated by the concept of “brunch.”  You’re telling me that people, like normal people with social drinking habits, gather around a mound of yolky eggs and fried meat and drink between 10:00AM and 2:00PM…on the Sabbath?  I couldn’t believe it at first.  I thought it was a myth, some tall-tale concocted by bitter alcoholics who wake up to crack a raw egg into a glass of beer.  Every time I visited Eva I was always on some tangent about wanting to find some brunch Sunday morning.  It became my Bigfoot, my Loch Ness monster.  I...

  “As you move through this life and this world you change things slightly, you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life, and travel leaves marks on you.” —Anthony Bourdain     I bullshitted my way into my last job.  They asked me “can you cut a shoulder clod?  We cut a lot of shoulders.”     “Sure.” I told them, full of shit.  I had only cut them once when my employer a few companies prior shipped us clods to cut up for ground chuck.  I had never merchandised them into steaks, roasts, or even touched the top blade.  They hired me on my word, which didn’t mean much.  I even lied about how much I was being paid at my previous employer just so I could score a fifty cent raise.  Don’t trust me.  I lie.  And I’m really good at it, because I never lie—I never lie to my friends or my women.  One must have, at least some, morals in this immoral and degenerate world.  But lying to people above you in l...