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UNDER CONSTRUCTION

     
         

 

     
 

“Stop the fucking car!”  I kicked at the door or the cab demanding the driver to stop.  This was ridiculous, why on earth was this happening now!  “Stop this car!  Goddamn it!”  The driver pulled over nowhere close to the curb.  He spoke, “That’s five bucks.”  I opened the door, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding!  You’re lucky if I don’t report you, you jerk.”  

I got out of the car, didn’t bother closing the door and tried to hail another cab.  My hands were shaking.  I had less than  40 minutes to get home, to catch my limo to the airport.  I didn’t know if I would make it.  I quickly checked my belongings to see that I had everything still intact after ‘idiot cab driver boy’ scared the bejesus outah me. 

I had 10 minutes ago dashed out of Dennis’ apartment, hopped into this cab with Den’s freshly burned CD’s still warm in my bag to take to England and deliver them to REAL WORLD and Hit and Run.  An errand of fun.  I settled into the cab, a little flustered but happy that I was on my way.  I was casually looking out the back window musing that I was leaving the city behind again and wondered how this trip to England would change me.  I stared out the back window and up at the building all brilliant lit after dark.   The driver asked me what I was looking at. 

‘What?”  “What are you looking at?” He asked, his voice kind of concerned.  “What do you mean?  I’m just looking at the cars.”  “I don’t like it that you are looking out of the back window.”  “What?”  This was weird.  “Oh, because sometimes the police will suspect that you are being kidnapped if you look out the back window.”  Now, I was really confused, “Are you kidding?  Why are you saying…”  Wrong Jack.  Get out of the car, this guys a freak.  Get out of the car NOW!  

I was getting used to listening to what I call my ‘Jiminy Cricket’ voice and so I did just that.  How stupid is that, to be kidnapped and sold into the slave trade on my way to the airport for ten days at Hampton Court Palace.  You gotta be kidding.  How embarrassing is that?  Now, on a normal day, (as if I have any), I would be willing to listen to someone’s troubles, or in this case to do a little good-natured counseling.

Now shivering a bit from my scare, I climbed into another cab and zoomed back to Queens just in time, the car was waiting outside the house.  Right.  Full steam ahead and all aboard for merry old England!  Vamos!  Off to the land of Kenneth Branagh and Peter Gabriel.  Fog and fatty food.  Ahh, civilization at last!  

The next morning had all the glamour of a wet sponge and more humor than any of my traveling companions had after an overnight flight.  I stopped caring right after I exchanged money at Heathrow in my effort to beat the Christmas rush.  We arrived to the Hampton Court Station later that morning and made the trek to the castle just over the bridge next to the station.  The morning was cold and clearing and I was grateful for no rain.  We settled in without much fuss and I made it my business to stock up on coffee and coffee.  This would be a long 10 days and I would need the boost to bump me firmly into the time zone.  Two, no three  other things to do and then I could relax.  

I called Dennis and gave him the phone number and mailing address  at the palace.  I then informed the guards at the palace that  a FEDEX package would be coming and to keep a look out for it.  I was then wrangled into giving them the reasons why and wherefore, not out of protocol, they were just dead excited that I had come to England to get someone to listen to Den's CD.  I was a little stand-offish at first but they were all completely charming and I was glad to spend over an hour telling them the tale of the adventure up to this point.  I also was able to glean from them some highly useful information on where the best pub was located and luckily only a two minute walk from the gate.  They actually walked me to the side gate to show me the phone box and point me to the pub.  I called Amanda, who would be my angel of mercy -- checked in with her and then called Mike Maloney, former boss of sorts and big brother.  Now to the pub with journal and CD player in hand. 

 

--To be continued --

 

 

          

                              

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

         
 

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"white whisper" composed and performed by deep forest

Don't Steal It!  Pay For It !   ASCAP  membership pending 2002

© 2002, 2003 jacqueline christina noguera

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