Bill is the only one up in the morning, so I invite him out to breakfast. I like Bill, but we’re both quiet and don’t have much in common to talk about anyway. He likes sports and music and holds a different low-paying job every time I’m here. This time he works as bagger at a grocery store. I’ve never seen Bill complain or get upset. I buy and ogle our smiling, muscular waitress.
Bill is curious about the recumbent, so I send him off for a ride. He gets it right away and cruises around for a few minutes. I go off to make some phone calls. Bill waves as he takes off to work on his bike.
Russ and Sean take me to the beach. Sean appears to be Russ’ lackey. He holds the money and forks over whatever Russ asks for. Then again, Russ has a way of making everyone seem like his lackey. There are no girls on the beach. Sean sells a bag at a skate shop in exchange for a T-shirt. They smoke a blunt with notorious “Hemp Dave”, who kicks a one-armed Mexican riding by on a bike, saying he owes him $1500. We talk to an English guy working on an expansion of a fashion shop. Sean climbs into a car with someone, leaving Russ lackeyless.
We go home, then Mike and Dan pull up in a blue Chevy Malibu with tinted windows. We go out to happy hour in it. Even though Russ has no money, he orders whatever he wants. I guess we’ve become the lackeys. I try to figure out how he does it. He has some way of making it seem like he would always share whatever he has with you, so of course you won’t mind doing the same for him. He offers no gratitude. It works. Mike, out of the blue, offers to lend Russ $100. Russ takes 20. Later he uses some of it to buy me a beer.
We spend the night scouring bars. Many of them are closed on Monday. Mike is depressed about breaking up with his girlfriend and has a pocket full of valium to console him. They tell tales illustrating the brotherhood of the Pacific Beach (PB) neighborhood. They sound like gang stories to me. Fights with outsiders, parties, escapades. Fighting and fucking seem to be the two things they care about most.
They take me out to my first titty bar. I try to enjoy it, but it just doesn’t do it for me. The women are gorgeous, but I know they’re not for me and only care about getting the bills out of my pocket. Leave it to me to have a dull time going out to a titty bar in a tricked-out Malibu.