PRISONER EXPRESS

Smoke swung inward from the suddenly opened front door with dim lighting crusading with the bright blue sky just beyond the door. The new arrival let his smoke ridden eyes adjust to the hazy little pub, which was not even eight blocks from where he and his young wife lived.

As the door closed firmly behind him, a few older men in the bar looked up to see if they may know him or not. No recognition was made and so they went back to sipping their drinks. Walking across the room, passing three pool tables and a few small tables scattered around the room, I made my way to the bar. Watching the bartender talking with two guys at the bar, while still keeping an eye on the rest of the room, I spot some kid watch my progress and unconsciously made a mental note of it.

Reaching the bar, feeling the movement of my black trench coat come to a swaying stop, the bartender looked up from his conversation and his eyes locked in with mine and with a questioning look.

"Budweiser," I responded. With a swift knowing movement the bartender turned around and pulled the beer out of a cooler, taking my attention from the thought of a the cool refreshing beer, I reached in my back pocket and grab a five dollar bill. Turning back toward me the bartender says, "Hey, buddy I'm going to need to check your identification just to be safe."

"Ain't no skin off my back pal," I said and handed it to him. After the bartender gave me my I.D. and beer to me I turned to look for a lively spot to kick back and drink my beer. Finding a spot at the back of the room at a long table that five other people were at, I kick back the seat with my black combat boots and take a seat.

Jonathan watched the new guy walk across the bar and grab a beer taking in the dude's black clothing and a swastika of Nazi Germany covering the back of his skull and two cloven hoofed goats "one as red as the fires of hell, the other as black and pitless as Satan's gut wrenching stare," climb up his neck and decided that he would see if the dude was up for taking a ride to burn some weed. When the kid started off my way I had to brake my attention from the smoothly cool beer, and I couldn't help but wonder what the fuck he. I mean he didn't look but fifteen or sixteen years old.

How's it going?" Jonathan asked. Looking at the kid with a skeptical stare I responded, "Alright, but I'm trying to enjoy this beer."

"Wanna smoke some weed?"

Choking on his beer the new guy responded, "God damn, kid, you're worse than Satan with the Holy fucking Grail in the palm of his hand, and ain't but fifteen or sixteen years old, and hell boy, I don't even know your name or anything about you." With a silly smirk in his face, the kid said, "Jonathan, 16, and my grandfather owns this bar."

"Well the name's James Evens, Jonathan. It's nice to meet you, but even if I did smoke I'd be stupid to do it with you, hell, your people would kill me. I'm twenty-two years old. They'd haul my ass off to jail before Satan could win the Armageddon with his legions of immortal souls." Taking a breath, James said, "Look, Jonathan, I don't have anything against you, it's just I don't care to get locked up when your mommy and daddy find out you smoked a little pot."

Before James could tell Jonathan anymore about how bad this idea was, Jonathan proved that he was a magician with a trick or two. Looking as if he was his little brother, James was about to go on when he saw Jonathan reach down to his pocket and pull out a bag of weed. Luckily, this time James hadn't just taken a swig of beer. Eyes bulging and a quick glance around the room was the reaction James had for the moment. With a deep breath of someone on the verge of losing his patience James softly said, "Jonathan, you must be the craziest dude I've ever met. But I swear if your young ass get's me caught up in some bullshit I'll sure and enough to make you wish you didn't."

The same silly little smirk reappearing on his face Jonathan said, "Chill out old timer, ain't nobody going to fuck with us in here. A sleek smile appearing on his face, James said, "Alright, then where do you want to take a ride to?"

After leaving the bar we hit the highway in my jeep to Jonathan's grandparents' house in Angleton. We put our bags together and Jonathan started rolling them in joints and sweets for the party. Jonathan wanted to kick off. Looking over at Jonathan as he rolled up the weed, James asked, "Hey, Jonathan, how much beer is there in your grandparents' house?"

"I don't know…maybe four or five cases," Jonathan said.

With a shake of his head James said, "Unless you're planning on inviting the whole neighborhood, that should do." The party turned out great, the only bad part was that it was dangerous to mess with the chicks because there was no telling how old they were. So, I kept myself busy with drinking, and smoking, and friendly conversation. When James looked at his watch and saw that it was already past ten o'clock he realized that if he didn't get home his lady would kill him. Spotting Jonathan with a group of teens to the side James stumbled over his way.

"Hey, how's it going?" Jonathan said as I stopped at his side.

"Jonathan, I'm going to hit the road, my old lady will kill me if I stay out too late," James said.

Giving his friend a weary stare, Jonathan said, "Damn, dude, I think you’re little too plastered to drive, aren't you?"

"Shit, man, I think I have a few more years on partying and driving than you."

Jonathan's only reply was a shake of the head s James moved off through the party to the front door. Pulling out of the driveway I made my way through town looking for the right highway to take to get home. After driving for twenty minutes I started to wonder why it was taking so long to get home; it should only take fifteen minutes. My answer came when I saw a sign that said fifty-three miles to Houston. I was going the wrong way. This was a little experience I had after a few too many; luckily the roads were clear. It was in the year 2002 a few months before I got locked up. Take it as you will, but I plan on making it a point to not drive when I'm too loaded.

But, fuck it, who really cares, right?