Crowbars, carts, and tool boxes
The big crowbar with the green handle
On Sunday, I took a ride out to Quincy to help my friend grab his tool box out of one of his buddy’s garage in Brighton. This buddy of mine is a connoisseur of the ganja if ya know whats I mean. That being said, I typically smoke his ass up whenever we hang out and this was no exception. Consequently, upon arriving the first thing we do when he hops in the truck is burn down some trees, big ones. This typically is no problem, however, I did not take into account the fact that we were about to drive into a city which is stuck in the late 60′s early 70′s and had no idea how to get where we were heading…
Lets just say, we had a few missed turns. When we were getting onto the pike, I ask him which way, left or right, he says, “Left, no right, no no left,” and finally just as we get to the divider, “RIGHTTTTT!” Of course right. What was I thinking? WEST it is! After missing another turn to get off the pike and perhaps one more on the way down his old childhood neighborhood we finally arrive at his friend’s place.
Real quick, these houses had not changed since he grew up around here. Yet the area was pure ghetto when he was growing up, housing looked like shit, people walking around like thugs, you know the deal. Today, however, you could see the area was middle class folks by the looks of the cars, exteriors of the homes, and kids playing. I just thought it kind of odd how the ghetto changed into a middle class mecca but the only real change were the people. So the folks who were living here I guess were now living on the streets or dead I guess. How can someone live in Brighton today in a single family home without 2k a month to burn on rent. That’ll change the class of people living in an area real quick.
Yeah, that’s not going anywhere!
Anyways, back to my buddy’s toolbox! Well, turns out, his friend is not around so he grabs the key from its hiding spot and we begin to pick through this guy’s garage. In my haze, the only thoughts I had involved seeing someone running out of the residence yelling, “HEY MOTHER FUCKER, GET OUT OF MY GARAGE MAN, I’LL KILL YOU!” All in a terrible redneck Boston accent. The only remaining thug left, living on some bullshit settlement and his dead mother’s social security check.
No such luck, but my friend’s toolbox turns out to be a double-decker and a tool cart along with some miscellaneous tools. Not the least of which was a 3 foot long crowbar complete with a green handle! No shit, the only reason a crowbar exists to these dimensions is for no good. Things like scaring or killing people, it was a BEAST weighing in at least 40 pounds on its own, without the handle! So we get all this in the truck but the only way the tool cart fits is by leaving it standing up with some tools in its bottom tray. I threw that big ass crowbar in there to help it stay put.
Somehow, we manage to get out of there without some overgrown hoss coming out beating on us and head back to Q-Town. My friend is telling stories of back in the day growing up in Brighton, but I say though, can’t recall anything he was saying because all I can think about in my paranoia was gloom and doom. I envisioned us hitting a big pothole on the pike, the tool cart bouncing out and onto the road making the car behind us swerve, go flying and the passenger soaring out while the big ass crowbar flies through the air as if purposefully thrown, impaling the passenger against the side of the 90E, 93N tunnel wall, like a crucifixion gone wrong. My vision included attempting an explanation to the trooper as to why an 80 year old asian lady was stuck to the side of the tunnel with a 3 foot crowbar right through her chest. Oh she wasn’t dead yet, she was alive and suffering. All the while, cursing at me in some chinese english dialect which was only understandable when she spit another curse word out.
Thankfully this is mostly fiction and everything went much better! Yeah, I don’t know why I think these thoughts, its just what I do, why be positive right? Damn weed…
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