Binks and myself are milling about by the stop 2-6-4-2 on the Hawthorne over-underpass, drinking Old German pounders from the bag. Exulting life, I suppose, soaking in the resplendence of God’s own day, that most glourious of Tues-days. The government and church establishment perhaps haven’t officially recognized it as a holiday, our Tuesday, but I rest assured that they someday will.
How could they not? Ineffable solar rays, a moocow lowing of the tugs and boats on the river just ahead, scritching birds, droning cars, sweeping breeze! Truly a day to be out and about and headed downtown to extend one’s snap account. “Isn’t it great?” I’m shouting to Binks as a bus rolls by.
“No, I think we missed our bus,” he’s saying dismally, off on a different tangent altogether.
“Damn your balls, man! Can’t you see it’s a wonderful day? Heavens above and beyond,” and I take another surreptitious slurp from my bag, enjoying a lukewarm pizzy mouthful of stale wash as I scope out the number on the disappearing bus. “Nah, you fool, it’s not ours! See, we’ve got a few minutes yet before ours comes along.”
“Right-right, then!” he chimes in, brightening up immediately as he tips and drains his can back. “Well, I’m dry” he shrugs, tossing bag and can back over the side, into the weedy concertinaed-off lot below.
“Littering wag,” I’m muttering after him as my eye follows the thing’s descent, impact, and insignificance among forgotten cars and racks of canoes tangled in tall grass. And suddenly I’m putting it all together, scanning the lightposts above for camera boxes. “Ye gods, Binks! We ought to take a canoe,” and already I’ve got my unsteady eye on a shoddy kelly green thing in the corner, built for two and a case and easy enough to lift. One that nobody’d miss, I’m thinking.
“What, down the river? Are there paddles? What about our food stamps?”
“Don’t bring me down with details, dammit! We can use those planks as paddles, the river’ll be our starboard and the breeze our compass! We can head downtown another day this week.” And already I’m leading the way down the concrete stairway, Binks tittering on behind me.
“You’re crazy, Hoff. Goddamn crazy,” he’s admonishing me, nigh-on complimentary. “We just take this thing north, to the ocean? And what then? How’ll we get back?”
“Details again, you little squint. You can’t nitpick inspiration on days like this.” We’re on the ground now, rubbley litter-strewn stretch of disused earth. I’m looking about for weaknesses in the fencing, but it’s all razor-tipped and padded off from the general pop, tight and proper. “Well ass,” I’m cursing at the thing, foiled before we could make good on our venture. “Maybe there’ll be a bedroll along the river or under an overpass or something.”
“What, you’ll ruin somebody’s bedroll now? That’s all some’ve got, you crazy bastard.”
“Fine, fine,” I’m conceding. Binks has a point, even if he is a complaining little weed. “We’ll look for something though.”
From above comes the hiss of what is most likely our bus. “Shit, shit!” Binks is shouting angrily, running pell-mell for the staircase. “Dammit, wait!!” It’s a funny sight, watching him scramble up those stairs. Binks can really leg it if he wants, despite being a dumpy cuss. The bus hisses on though, grunting its way back into traffic towards the bridge. “I missed it, you shit!” Binks is calling from twenty, thirty feet up.
“Why don’t you throw a can at me?” I’m laughing back at him, still looking about for a way through the wire. Perhaps I could crawl under and push the canoe over… “Hey Binks, I’ve got a plan! Binks! Binks?” But he is gone, probably crossing the bridge on foot in a huff. Shame, really though. The canoe might take a crack if there isn’t somebody on the other side to catch it.
I leave off toward the esplanade and the river with a shrug. It is a glorious day, not one to be wasted on scurrilous details. I tip back my Old German and drain out the very last and plunk it softly into the yard. These are the gifts one mustn’t prod too roughly in the teeth; this sun, these birds, this traffic thundering onward overhead, completely oblivious to the wonderful world below it.
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