And it’s true we named our children after towns that we’d never been to.

April 21, 2011 § 1 Comment

 “Your just like Crosstown traffic.” – Crosstown TrafficJimi Hendrix.

By the time the hangover passed Sacremento was a headache memory and the roads were empty when we hit a town in Nevada called Lovelock. It was in Lovelock that I would learn a lot about Rosey Graham. A belief I have always had is that the definition of being comfortable in the presence of a person was not the end of awkward silences but in fact, for me, it’s when you are comfortable in the silences. We went hours without talking, just the chit-chat of the changing local radio stations which came in and out of signal. I wasn’t even sure if I had a job anymore. I thought as that old dodge ate up the miles about how I was ignoring a job that a few years ago I would have killed for just so I could drive a stolen car with a strange girl in a different county. Anyway, I’m rambling, the incident at hand. So we pull at a small shop in Lovelock, I needed some alcohol and food to take the edge off the lack off sleep. I asked Miss Graham if she would be alright and if she wanted anything, she was looking away at a man pruning a hedge with a chainsaw on the garden to our right, “I’ll be fine.” she said. I went into the store and bought crisps, bread, beer, whiskey, coke and a pack of cigarettes for Rosey, she smokes by the way, Malboro Red. I was in the store for all of three minutes. When I emerged what should I find? just guess? in your head now, guess. No, your wrong. Miss Rosey Graham with a chainsaw above her head just finishing the job on the roof of the dodge, taking it clean off it Nevada sun, making our stolen car a convertible. I just watched as she cut clean through the back passenger side. She pushed the roof clean off the car. Then she saw me. “Hey, it looks better like this. Also, the cops aren’t looking for a convert.” We smiled. Flawless logic if not a little drastic, she passed the chainsaw back to bemused gardener and we both took our first opportunity to jump into the car. We left the roof where it fell. The car was a real beauty, it was a classic, even if it was a little beat up. We started heading south onto the desert roads towards Vegas. Vegas isn’t our destination, we’ve been there, we’ve done that, we’ve lost all our money. We don’t have a destination. I suppose you could say our destination was the road, and we were already there.

As the hangover started to clear we started to think clearer and clearer as we got further and further into the desert. The car was a beauty and someone would be looking for it but we just didn’t care, we would cross that bridge when we came to it. The lack of roof would maybe buy us time. We pulled over to the shoulder to sleep. If you’ve never slept in the middle of the desert it’s something I can’t recommend it more. There’s no light pollution and no people. The stars are all yours. Night was starting to draw in and the sun had just disappeared when I pulled over on the long stretch of road in south Nevada. We could see for miles, this is a good thing in a stolen car. No roof meant we could see the sky from the comfort of our seats. When we left California Rosey had tried the glove comparment in the car but it was locked, obviously with the keys in the ignition we had to wait until we stopped. It had slipped our minds in Lovelock and that petrol station near the Nevada Cali border. I passed her the key and she unlocked it.

Cocaine. Lots and lots of cocaine. Now I’m a gentleman who has seen a lot in the nature of drugs and this was a lot of cocaine. Easily a kilo, wrapped tight. I was shocked to say the least. We dug deeper into the glove box. A small black sports bag filled with $100 bills and a Mac10 sub machine gun. We had stolen the wrong car. We had fucked up big style. There was easily 20 grand in the bag. The kilo was worth around 20 grand. The car was an easy 5 grand. And a Mac10? People who carry mac10’s in their glove boxes are not to fucked with. Those of you unfamiliar with guns, it’s a gun for very bad people, it’s small and can unload a 30 bullet magazine in around 4 seconds. Now I know what your thinking, why the fuck would you put all this up on the internet, well firstly I was bored, but secondly, honestly, of all the people who read this, it won’t the owner of the car, I’m sure of it, and if it is, fuckin‘ a, what a story, hey there fella, I got your coke your car and your gun.  Someone will be looking for this stuff. Someone will be looking for us.

“Holy shit.” She said. “I fucking know.” I said. The conversation went round in circles like this for a good hour. During which time the gun and the drugs totally clouded the fact that we had around $20,000 cash. We relaxed a little more as this kicked in. We had a head start on the people we stole it from. We started on the whiskey. “You know what this means don’t you?” She asked after her first sip. “We’ve got enough for a new car, something shitty and second-hand, pay in cash, no questions asked. We torch this one and we’re scott free.” The girls logic was flawless again. She was becoming useful to have around. “Wait” she said. I turned. We both clocked it at the same time. “The boot.” we said together, well, she said “trunk”, she’s been in the states too long. We nervously walked around the car to the back-end. Key in, lock turned, it clicked open an inch. Nervously I started to lift the lid.

It could have been worse. I was seriously bracing myself for a glass-eyed body to be staring back up at me. But, it was still pretty bad. Cocaine, not much more, about 5 gram bags in the center of the boot. Laid across it, a pump-action full barreled Beretta shotgun with a couple of boxes of around 25 cartridges. Far be it from me to predict the line of work this person was in but they were a drug dealer, at best. Needless to say they would not take kindly to us stealing their stuff. Then it dawned on me I had just driven hung over, probably over the legal limit, in a stolen car full of cocaine and unregistered guns. Despite all my bad luck I have been a very lucky boy. It’s really extraordinary circumstances. We bitch and moan about how boring our lives are then things like this happen and we just want a warm chair to sit in. It’s never boring.

Much love.

Simon Blake

No longer an astronaut.



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