It's 1 a.m. Sunday morning. The temperature outside is probably about 50.F but inside I've cranked up the AC. To keep me alert. You need to have your wits about you when you're traveling 70 down residential streets. The engine of this BMW feels great in my groin. Such a feeling of biting road and snarling pistons always get me off. There's this joke... What does BMW stand for in Oakland? Break My Windows. Never mind where this car came from. That's another story.

I park on a hill and step out into the brisk night. Take a deep breath and let the cold snap through my skull. Makes me almost feel real. Almost like my actions have repercussions.

Something strange happens to a person when they get away with everything. They begin to feel like nothing can ever catch up to them. Maybe only their conscience but what good is that when your ambitions are so blinding?

As I stroll down the street putting on my gloves on, there's a nipping in the back of my neck that makes all the hairs stand on end. A feeling of familiarity but also distrust.

I've been here before. There's a certain person I've been... Let's not get into the details but suffice to say that they aren't very good people. They're like me. Don't think about what their actions cause. Certainly they're not evil or even mean people, but their short sightedness has moved me to action. What action I'll not disclose. You understand.

With the knowledge gained I move back to my vehicle. I slip in the cockpit like interior and slowly cruise down the street, up another street, down a one way street and out another until I come upon a certain street familiar to me.

I used to live on this street. Here was the first house I lived in when I moved back to California. It was a small, dark, and old place. Full of spiders and funny smells and all sorts of things I don't like to think of.

Those where sad days. Dad was dead and I was living with two women who where basically in denial of their own feelings. That environment tended to stifle my own emotional development at the ages of 12 and 13.

The only bright spot might have been my dog. I loved her with all my heart. My parents bought her for my birthday when I was in the second grade. She was probably to help my sister and, in particular, myself cope with the loss of my first dog. He was a German shepard just like she was. They're amazing animals.

As I drive past the house I began to shiver. Not like me. I enjoy extreme cold. Seeing this place makes me think of my real first house in Cali. Up in the Oakland hills. With a full tank of gas I decide I might as well go see what the place was like.

Driving up the hill took much longer than I remembered as a youth. Maybe because I hated school and going home was always so looked forward to. I had a great life looking back. Better than most. My family was together and loving, we had a place to keep warm, and food to eat. Silly for me to want more but I did.

The hill is steep in most places. I don't know where street luging started but, back in the 80's, I'd see kids laying on their skateboards and playing down this street. They went skeleton style, though. I can understand that type of destructive behavior. I live for it.

The route is instinctive. Burned into my brain with connections that will never break. Practically every day until I finished 2nd grade I made this trip. Some of the pot holes were new but it was just like I remembered it. As I make it up the final leg a thick layer of fog rolls onto the street.

This is summer to me. Night time, no city lights like in the flat lands, and fog. I've always treasured the fog. I think it's the reason I love the cold so much. Reminds me of happy times.

I pull up in front of the house and stop. I don't even recognize it. There's a new garage door and some new fence and - I can't tell - but I think new plants. The shingles seem to be the same ones my father put up before we moved.

Back then the housing market here was dead. Kind of a bizarre thought now that it's so hot. People are actually buying million+ dollar houses and tearing them down to build new. My father had to sell the house to his company for next to nothing. He build it himself. Not single handedly, mind you, but I don't think many people can say that. The job in Florida was a huge boost so he felt he had to take it.

I don't know anything about the people who bought the house, other than that they worked for the company and kept their poor dog in a caged dog run.

With nothing to see, I decide it's time to go home. At 2 a.m. I'll be getting sleepy soon. On the way home, to the home I live in now - not a home that I particularly enjoy - an odd feeling of peace and thoughtfulness comes over me.

I don't have any friends. No real friends. I don't let people know me to protect myself from them. Everybody seems to leave me. Especially girls. They say I'm too abrupt in my moods and actions. I have no sense of balance. They're right of course. Just two seconds ago I was feeling sad and angry.

This story really has no proper ending and I'm sure it doesn't exactly invite conversation.

Dude, get it published. Get a little something out of it.

Nah. Who would want to publish this junk?

<--what you should do here.

A. Ridicule Z3m

OR

B. Describe anything that is not talked about here. Grandmas nightgown, Hersheys chocolate, Tiger Woods, shifting tectonic plates, etc.

Hahahaha!

Rubble, you're such a pussy.

Stop by your library and look for Writer's Market 2000. Look up Regional California magazines and send it to those addresses. There's a whole process you have to go through to prepare the manuscript for submission if you want them to think your serious of course, but I'm not gonna waste time typing that unless your really intrested.

Hey Y'all of course it is a very
nice post! Ding dong duh, how does
one go about complimenting the great
Apazilla?

Apazilla? Please explain to the unenlightened...

Z3m kicks so much ass!