Biking downtown, I’m smiling and waving at all the wonderful people I know. Without warning, a drunk, behind the wheel of daddy’s new Bentley tears around the corner and connects. I’m thrown several yards, tattered and bloody, but miraculously I survive. There is no permanent damage, but the injuries will require a lengthy hospital stay. “It’ll be paid leave, of course,” Cal tells me. He and Julie come by almost every day, Julie’s cooking (which has significantly improved) spares me from the hospital cafeteria. The settlement is substantial, on account of all the witnesses. Between the big screen projection television and that laptop I always wanted, my recovery is speedy and I am escorted from the hospital clutching the new great American novel, publisher’s lined around the block, salivating for the rights to my inspiring story.
Julie had been pressuring me to go with her on some sort of vacation. The problem is she can’t think of a single place to go. I suggest Mississippi and receive an interesting look. She suggests Florida. I counter with Mexico. She parries with Canada and I twist, and thrust with London, but she’s on top of that with Amsterdam. We eventually call it a draw and decide on Bangkok because once we were in the grocery store and saw a book of Asian recipes. On the cover was a plate piled with bright red, boiled creatures resembling giant armored, multi-legged telephone receivers. The caption read, “Pepper Crab, Native to Thailand.”
Randall’s uncle Jake runs a pawn shop in Biloxi. We pack into Finn’s nineteen eighty-seven Chevy van, a.k.a. “Van-Halen,” and we drive down, Julie, Randall, Finn and I. Julie was none too happy about my including these two but the only was we were able to afford the trip was to stay Jake’s beach house, which required Randall, and Finn had the van.
Shortly after entering Biloxi, Beachfront Blvd. driving east, one starts to notice a pattern. On your right, the view of the Gulf of Mexico is obstructed by casinos, one after the other, for miles of Mississippi coast. On your left, opposite each casino is one pawn shop and one church, usually Catholic, directly across the street. This situation seems to me to create a sort of win-lose scenario. Or rather a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” mentality. Conceivably, a person could come to Biloxi, lose every dime they have, sulk across the street and pawn the watch, ring, antique armoire, etc. Brimming with new-found wealth, and a the need to “win it all back” so the Mrs. never becomes the wiser, that person could dash all the way back to the Blackjack table before their rum and coke goes flat. After losing it all again (and perhaps repeating the cycle several times over) this person could, head drooping in a free drink haze, enter the house of God and repent it all, fully admonishing themselves of any wrongdoing and beginning life anew with fresh perspective and joy. They could do all this, and never have to travel more than a block.