…This story is about a character who’s name I won’t use, because speaking his name or typing it usually causes him to pop up and try to contact me in some way. It has happened, almost without fail, for all the time I’ve known him. I’ll tell a story about him, or mention his name, and suddenly I will receive a text message or phone call from him. It’s not that I never want to see him again, but rather that he’s the type of chaotic crazy that belongs in a long-closed chapter of my life. For my purposes here, I’ll simply call him the Captain….
…So she offered me a reading, which was no small task inside a tiny convertible, but we pulled up under the street lamp at the edge of the pharmacy parking lot and she produced a deck of cards wrapped in an ornate cloth, with an honest-to-goodness crystal ball, and proceeded to read my fortune….
We took the long way there to allow time for pot smoking, and on the home stretch of Franklin St I saw her – a tall, pale woman with curly hair in a polka dot dress, standing just enough in the road to be alarming. She appeared to be soaked from head to toe and she gazed at us from a tilted forward neck position as we approached. I was holding a hit and had just passed the joint when my friend swerved around her. It took me a second to realize – wait, he saw it too?
“Damn!” He said, “did you see that chick? She’s gonna get hit standing there!”
I informed him that she wasn’t there. At least, she wouldn’t be if we went back. Just another Road Phantom…