slab city, and slab city. The one I met when I first came there and the one I said goodbye to. In Slab City,
there is always someone yelling somewhere. after a while you disregard it. The same with the dogs- there is always one barking, and another barking back at it, somewhere out of sight. There is always someone walking past. Call them over to your camp, where you are sitting on a folding chair. Do they have a cigarette? I don't smoke. Nate asks the question. In Slab City,
it's always either too cold or too hot. This is just a function of being in the low low desert. There are two hours, just after sunrise and just after sunset, when you'll be fine no matter what you wear. how tired does this heat and cold make you? In Slab City,
someone is always burning plastic in a barrel somewhere. Don't breathe in. The inhabitants of Slab City are not allowed to use the Niland landfill. They don't pay property taxes. You have to care a lot to drag your trash such a long way off that it will go to a place that can deal with it. far easier to dump it into a barrel and light that shite up. Oh, yeah, the same with shite, incidentally. In Slab City,
there's always somebody to talk to. Keep walking til you find them. Hi Allie, how's the family, Hi Ian, how's the business, Hi Karen, Hi Vince, Hi Rudy, Hi Lynn, if I do dishes at the Oasis Club can I get free pancakes? Hi Moccasin people, Hi Raven, Hi Hack, Hi Jimmy and Hi Jeff, Hi Pyro, that's a lot of beers you got there. In Slab City,
I hear meth is a big problem but I don't see it. I don't hear drinking and eating crap food is a big problem, but I do see it. Hell I join in. When someone says "pudding!" I don't ask "Is it sweetened with fruit juice, organic ingredients?" I say "Hell yeah!" In Slab City,
somebody's always giving away food. I can't figure this one out. There just always seems to be a good reason. In Slab City,
people are constantly rolling in to taste that American freedom, and the only ones who stay are the ones who have comfortable RVs or are fine with freedom being uncomfortable. This second group is constituting a whole lot of traveller bums who previously were annoying dirty people to me and who are now the most indispensably beautifully spirited people who I want to learn from. That their hair is unwashed and pants crusted and casual addictions unconcealed is nothing but something that makes it shine brighter. This is a cliche, but that's OK, I'm on the level. In Slab City,
let's get drunk tonight. In Slab City,
let's go to the hot springs, it's dirty but it's free. In Slab City,
I could sit here all day and so I do. In Slab City,
Folks are just folks. In Slab City,
your stuff will get ripped off. Look out. In Slab City,
everybody's got a certain regard for everybody. They may not like each other or they may love each other, but dammit they look at each other in the eye. They'll talk to you. They won't walk past if you call out unless they've got a damn good reason. In Slab City,
be ridiculous, there's no reason not to. In Slab City,
what are we going to do with all this garbage? We are faced with the fact of our own taking up space. In Slab City,
I never watched that movie "into the wild." in Slab City,
let's get out of Slab City. In Slab City,
wait. Now I want to stay here,
In Slab City.
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But of course now I'm in Los Angeles. And that's totally fine. The first Slab City scared me away. The one I left, I wasn't scared of. I'm at Whiskey Kelly's house, she has some photos of us here: http://bangbangclick.wordpress.com/
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