Episode 5: The Diet Part 1- The Marked Man

Day 1

Mid-Morning Snack

Celery and Carrot Juice

Lunch

Tuna with Spinach and Arugula Salad

Mid-Afternoon Snack

Celery, Cucumber, and Yellow Pepper Juice

Dinner

Poached Chicken in Ginger Miso with Bok-Choy

Why, did I agree to this torture, again?

Looking down at the cancel-culture cookbook in disbelief, I attempted to process the menu for the rest of the day, even while I was struggling and had reached a standstill, with what I currently had on my plate, for breakfast obligations.

I had already choked down a glass of warm water with a squeeze of lemon, a cup of nettle tea, one bowl of quick oats with rice milk, and an entire fucking tub of blueberries! That was just to lay a baseline though, and I still had to finish another bushel of raspberries, and a basket of strawberries to boot.

This is beyond insanity, I had bit off more than I could chew this time. The diet… might be the craziest chapter, in my life, to date!

“I’m done,” I shook my head, “I can’t eat anymore berries. I quit.”

I was sitting at the rectangular, wooden, dining room table with Alan. Teddy was in the kitchen cutting up vegetables, already prepping for the next few meals. This had become his full-time job for the duration of the ill-fated, flavor deprived, debacle.

Teddy had gotten pulled over by the police, leaving a dispensary on a delivery, and the cops claimed that they had probable cause, to search his car. Subsequently, Teddy was incarcerated in Orange County, just outside of Santa Ana. Alan had personally footed the bill for Teddy’s attorney, because he didn’t think the business could afford to float the liability, as we were still knee deep in recovering from Johnson’s untimely arrest, during the High Holidays.

Things moved lightning fast in our world though, and our finances were already starting to look a little better now. Despite the additional setback with Teddy, we were slowly, but surely, coming back up, albeit with several pending court cases to deal with, amongst our personnel. Teddy though, on the advice of his lawyer, was laying low for a while, and staying off the road.

With all the start-up hours, all of us had been eating lousy for too long, and drinking our way to obesity, sucking down beers like candy, on a nightly basis. Alan had pitched everyone on the idea of paying Teddy to be our personal chef for one month, as the whole household shaped up, in what amounted to a 31-day, crash-course, consumption challenge.

Though this gig had been more or less, a bone, thrown to Teddy by Alan, it did easily take him well over forty hours per week to shop, prep and cook for this many people, on our extremely restrictive, fresh-foods meal plan.

“If you don’t eat everything that’s served to you, then you’re disqualified,” Alan didn’t pull any punches.

I had discovered that the Slender Forever: Detox Diet, was really less of a diet in the traditional sense of the word, and more like a month look, clean foods, eating competition. The plan called for swallowing down a sickening amount of filling, but unsatisfying, water filled, and fiber based, fuel. No sugar, salt, or spices, and definitely none, of everything nice. And of course, on the sadistic chopping block was… caffeine.

“Fine, I don’t care about what I eat anymore,” I waved the white flag, “Let’s compromise? I just want some coffee. I can’t focus. The business is finally rolling again, and I’m legitimately worried that without sweet lady, coffee, our productivity is going to slip big-time, from this… starvation therapy!”

“Listen, to this guy,” Teddy clucked, mocking me from the cutting board, “he’ll do anything to get out of eating green, leafy, vegetables.”

“It’ll be fine,” Alan patronized me, “you should give it at least a week. You don’t want to be outlasted by Johnson, do you?”

“I don’t care if Johnson beats me.” I played it cool.

“Who do you think, you’re talking to?” Alan tried to call my bluff.

“No…”I doubled down, “seriously, I don’t care about besting Johnson, anymore. Maybe, the old Gabe would be bothered, but I’ve become enlightened now.”

“Sure, you don’t care about losing to Johnson,” Alan raised his eyebrow, “anyway, you’re the one who’s been having the medical problems.”

I had been disturbed by a mysterious ailment for a few months now. At first, I had been totally panicked, and thought for sure that I had cancer, and that I was going to die.

Find the way through a jungle of competitors.

It all started on my 30^th birthday weekend, when I made the foolhardy decision to go binge drinking after hours with Hanson and his buddy, Gene. At this juncture, I had been feeling like I really just wanted to cut loose and do something for a change. I was stir crazy and had no personal life and while Hanson and I had our differences, he and Gene could be lively, and entertaining characters. I should have known that anything I tried to do with Hanson, would inevitably turn out to be cursed by the gods.

I had followed their lead, as we had bounced around the Metro, passing around a bottle of whiskey until late, when we stopped at the above-ground, L-line, train station in Highland Park.

It was dark out as we walked under the overhead lights on the pedestrian platform. Hanson spotted a sexy senorita on the street below, and started bellowing down to her.

“Hey there hottie!” Hanson hollered, crudely cat calling, as she looked up at him.

“How are you doing tonight, baby?” Hanson, drunkenly bayed.

“I’m doing ok,” she folded her arms across her chest, “you?”

“We’re just partying up here,” Hanson crowed, “hey Gene, be a nice young man, and get ol’ papa somma’ dat der’ booze ‘o yers.”

Hanson’s henchman, handed him the hooch.

“So, do you want to hang out?” Hanson beckoned at the babe.

I don’t want to be a part of this anymore, I was ready to bolt, Hanson is such a rude asshole. It’s 2010… this offensive, sexist shit, will never work!

To my surprise though, this female seemed flattered, and just shrugged.

“Sure,” she submitted, “I don’t have anything better going on right now…”

We got increasingly lit, as all the three of us dicks, vied for her affections. Hanson had kept himself in the running for a little while, even though he already had a woman, waiting at home. Gene though, eventually seized an opening, and outed Hanson, double crossing him with a strategic mention of his significant other, which knocked Hanson out of contention.

And then there were, two…

The Hispanic honey’s name was Rosy, and she agreed to head over to the house to kick it with us. We took the Met to Vermont/Beverly, hopped off, and then walked about twenty minutes to our pad on London Street.

We got back and proceeded to blow up the place, first waking Teddy and then Alan, with our clamor. Despite their irritation, we soon dragged them out to join our drunken jubilee on the front porch for a short spell. Meanwhile, Johnson and Lauren remained sequestered in the master bedroom, uninterested in mingling with the commoners.

Rosy had never tried an infused beverage before, so she mixed some weed lemonade with whisky, and got quickly plastered. Outside smoking a cigarette, after Alan and Teddy had turned in, Rosy leaned against the iron railing by the front door, and lifted up her t-shirt, showing Gene and I, her tits. She then pulled down the waistline of her sweatpants, and flashed us, the upper ridges of her pussy.

“Hey guys” Rosy, propositioned, “let’s cruise out to the beach. I want to see the sunrise, in Santa Monica!”

“Sure, I’ll drive,” Gene immediately jumped, “let’s grab a blanket and go, man.”

“Woah, woah, slow down there, sport,” I rained on his parade, “it’s 3am and everyone’s totally shit-faced, already. Now, normally I wouldn’t try to stand in the way of someone and their bad decisions, but unfortunately for the both of us, Gene, you work for us sometimes, so I’ll get in trouble, if I let you die.”

A little grouchy, Gene agreed to go on living, as he and Rosy, went off to sleep on the couches in front of the TV. Compared to Hollywood, our living room now was enormous, with two big sofas, and a lavish love seat. Teddy had already laid claim to one of the couches though, so Gene being a gentleman, gave up the open sofa to the lady, and twisted himself into the chair, as I shut off the overhead lights, and retired to my room.

I was a little disappointed that I was going to sleep alone again, although at least, I had actually gone out somewhere for a change, and gotten that much closer, to a real, live woman.

The room was kind of spinning a little bit, a I wobbled over to my bed, and faceplanted onto my mattress. I hadn’t even taken off my jeans yet, and I threw in the towel on the idea of getting up to brush my teeth.

As I was attempting to cacoon myself, underneath my bedsheet though, I heard Gene’s loud, boisterous voice, booming out across the house.

“Hey, what are you doing? Don’t do that!”

Finding my rainy day reserve of fuel, I shot up from my bed and rushed out, flicking on the lights, only to find, Rosy appearing to be blacked out drunk, and squatting, with her naked fanny, sticking out in the air.

What the hell… is she… no…

Hunched over in the center of the living room, I caught on, that she was in the process of pissing all over the hardwood floor.

“Rosy,” I clapped, trying to get her attention mid-stream, “wake up! The bathroom’s, right around the corner.”

She looked over at me, as the last of drops of urine dribbled out of her vagina into a pool, by her feet. Rosy shimmied up a pair of boxer shorts, and then climbed back onto the couch, passing out immediately.

“Holy shit!” Gene looked at me astonished and started cracking up, “Oh, my God…”

I went and grabbed some towels to soak up the pee, and then left the rest of the mess for the morning. While I might not have gotten what I wanted out of my adventure that night, as per my usual, at least I’d have another weird and funny story to tell…

* * *

I woke up in the AM with a splitting headache, only to find that Rosy was curled up, asleep in my arms in the bed. She must have crawled in and cuddled with me for warmth, in the middle of the night.

It was so nice though, just to have a warm body next to me. It had been at least two years since the last time I’d been with a woman. I was beginning to think it would never happen again.

Maybe she’ll still like me when she sobers up, I daydreamed of happiness, maybe once she remembers how much fun… remembers…

All of a sudden it all came flooding back to me, hitting me at once and impaling me, like a harpoon through my core, as I recalled, oh no… the piss…

I wasn’t sure how to digest any of this, and I felt like shit, so I snuck out of my room to see if I could give my brain a jump-start with some coffee.

Maybe it’s not, so bad? I tried to gain perspective, as I poured the stimulating, piping hot liquid, down my throat, it’s pretty humorous, actually…

I deposited the last drop of dark roasted, goodness down my gullet, and then refilled my mug.

“What? Somebody peed, all of over the floor, in the living room?” I was startled by Alan’s woeful, shriek of rage from the other room, “on the hardwood?”

“Who the hell, peed on my floor?” Alan demanded answers.

Maybe Alan’s overreacting, a little bit?

“Gabe!” Alan stormed into the kitchen, shattering my solitude as my head continued to pound, “do you know about this? That trashy bitch that Hanson brought back, fucking pissed all over the living room!”

“I mean… you shouldn’t be so… judgmental,” I objected, “we don’t really know her that well, and to be fair, she was… pretty wasted.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Alan was in a mood, “she got drunk and went home with three strange men, exposed her naked breasts, and then whizzed on the floor like an animal. Pardon me, if I jumped to the wild conclusion, that this girl, doesn’t have a lot of class!”

“Can you please, just keep it down?”

“Why,” Alan flipped his lid, “is she here, still?”

“Yes,” I quietly conveyed.

“Are you, fucking kidding me?” Alan’s cheeks were full of blood, and glowing red.

I begged him for quiet, and peace with my outstretched palms. “Will you please, just calm down?”

“Hanson brought home some hussy that’s not even house broken,” Alan ranted off, grumbling as he climbed the drop-down stairs, into his haunt, in the attic, “that peed, on my fucking floor, and Gabe wants me, to calm down?”.

I tip-toed back into my room, and quietly closed the door, as Rosy sat up on the edge of my bed, yawning.

“Hey,” her lips were half pursed, as came to her senses with a painful look of dawning awareness.

“Good morning,” I felt the disconnect, as I tried to make her feel at ease, “do you want some coffee?”

“Maybe…” Rosy looked away, as she flung her chestnut hair back, and covered her eyes with her hands, “did something happen, last night?”

Shit…

”Well… truth be told… there was, a little… incident.”

“What kind of incident?” Rosy looked like she was stuck in a bad dream, “did I do something… embarrassing?”

She turned her head, disarming me with a touching innocence, as she searched for clues. I was angry at Alan for carrying on, and making things so very, very awkward for me.

“I mean… um… yes.”

“What happened?” Rosy demanded.

“Well, you kind of got a little drunk…”

“And…”

“And you must have gotten blacked out or you were confused or something… but you…” I rubbed my fingers through my hair, as I struggled to find the right words, “you somehow mistook, the floor… for… a urinal.”

“What?”

“I know how it sounds, but it’s really not, that bad.”

“I heard your friend yelling before,” she started crying, “oh my God, this is so humiliating.”

“It’s going to be ok,” I assured her.

“I have to leave right now, where’s my pants?”

“I have no idea,” I took a step back, creating some distance, as the optics of the situation began to hit me, “I don’t even know how you got into this room… I just woke up a few minutes ago, and you were there, and I went out… like… immediately, to get coffee.”

“This is so fucked up.” She gathered her things together and rushed out of the room. I followed as she marched through the house, avoiding eye contact with everyone, and with indignation, she slammed the front door behind her. I knew it was probably a mistake, but I went after her, anyway.

“Wait,” I called out, as Rosy turned around, “I’m really sorry about what my friend said. I was just wondering, if I can call you, sometime?”

“Are you crazy?” Rosy put me on notice, “I’m never coming back here again.”

Later that day, in order to try and recover from my never ending hang over, I accompanied Teddy to a nearby taqueria. There I ordered enchiladas with spinach in an attempt to re-enrich myself with nutrients.

As I was waiting for my plate at the window though, I suddenly felt a rumbling in my stomach, and inadvertently released a truly horrendous, heinous, and putrid fart.

“Jesus, God almighty,” Teddy held his nose, “it smells like something died, inside of you!”

It felt that way too. That evening, I started having acute and what felt like phantom pains, all over the place, down my lower back, along my left leg, in my groin, and even around, my left testicle.

It all seemed so strange, and I couldn’t shake the sensation that there was a dark cloud of negativity, hovering over my head ever since Rosy had run out of our house, humiliated. It was as if, a hex had been placed on me, though I didn’t even really believe in that being a possibility, per say. Most likely, at any rate, was that the twisted moment with Rosy, had just coincidentally, run concurrent, to my reaching a critical crescendo of engaging in, an unhealthy lifestyle.

A few days later, all of my pain, had only gotten worse though…

“I’m not sure what to do…” I confided in Alan, “I have all these mysterious pains, and my ball hurts, man. My sweet, sweet… ball! Won’t anyone, please, think about my ball?”

“It’s ok,” Alan counted out cash on the table, as he counseled me, “just go see a doctor.”

“I don’t have health insurance,” I was at a loss.

“So, see a doc in the box,” he sought to simplify things, “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll mention it to my dad, and see what he says.”

Alan’s father was a pulmonologist, and agreed with his prognosis, that I should seek a professional second opinion, from an expert that I could pay in cash.

I went through a series of different tests for weeks, from MRI’s to a colonoscopy, and despite the pain in the ass of dealing with all of these procedures, they still hadn’t found anything wrong with me. Finally, one doctor suggested that I see a chiropractor, postulating that I was most likely suffering from deferred pain caused by a pinched nerve.

I went to the back-cracker, who confirmed that my spine was twisted out of whack and most likely, encroaching on my wiring, and compressing on my nerves. He asked me, if I had been injured recently.

“No,” I answered honestly, “I can’t think of anything.”

“You would probably remember something this severe,” the chiropractor ruled out, an accident, “what about work? Do you lift a lot of heavy stuff, regularly, at your job?”

“I mean not really,” I scratched my head, “sometimes I carry a few things around, but not that much, I think.”

“How many things? How often?”

“I don’t know…” I thought back to the box incident on the Metro, “there was this one time, I was carrying around a box, on top of a cooler, and that was pretty heavy… but… that was just one afternoon…”

Ostensibly, I had solved the puzzle and figured out what was wrong with me, but I still felt unsure, spooked even. Alan leveraged my paranoia to shame the entire household, including Teddy, Johnson, Lauren, and myself, to join him on this hell-bent, death-parade, to better health.

* * *

I sluggishly, begrudgingly, finished my berries, and then helped Hanson load up his car, to drive me to deliveries, downtown.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I jumped, as Teddy crept up from behind, startling me.

“Just going to hit, some stores with Hanson,” I imposed, a forced smile over my gums.

“Not without your meals.” He was stern, “that’s against the rules.”

“What do you expect me to do, skip work? This stupid slimming scheme, is costing us already… because of the coffee!”

“Don’t worry, I got you covered.” Teddy was kind enough to ensure I that I had my mid-day drink to go, and a heaping portion of tuna fish with arugula, lunch-salad, in a Tupperware, along with a plastic fork and a paper towel.

Day 5

Why… do I continue… to punish, myself?

I felt nauseous, as I tried to gulp down a formidable mug of unsweetened dandelion tea, that tasted like warm, liquid dirt. This was coming on the heels of a large glass of lemon juice, and I somehow still had to consume a gigantic fruit smoothie, that was lingering, in my breakfast queue.

Who cares if I lose? The internal debate churned within my stomach, I can give up, at any time…

I knew that I was just fooling myself, though. Not only was I competitive by nature, particularly where Johnson was concerned, but even more so, it just wasn’t in my DNA, to quit anything.

To that point, I had read Alan and Johnson the riot act, when they had talked about bailing out of the business, after Johnson got busted.

“You guys can give up, if you’re so inclined to accept defeat so easily,” I had taunted them, while tempting fate, “but you can both mark my words- I will keep moving forward, or die trying…”

* * *

As soon as this fat-flushing, fiasco is over and I get my mojo back, I’m going North, I pledged to myself, Johnson and Alan, be damned.

Maybe it was my migratory background and transitory instincts kicking in, but I was already getting stir-crazy from living in Los Angeles and I had my sights set towards my next adventure. It wasn’t just a physical relocation to Boulder or San Francisco that had struck my fancy, but also the idea of being able to scale the business, and position ourselves with a platform, to be prepared for a national rollout of cannabis products, down the road.

“Are you going out with Hanson this morning?” Alan perturbed my pontifications, “I mean, after you finish your breakfast, and midmorning snack.”

“No,” I snapped, “not a chance.”

“Oh, why not?” Alan looked concerned.

“I’m on strike,” I picked my battle, “until we agree to add coffee to the atrocious, toxin and chemical devoid, diet menu.”

“Sorry,” Alan chortled, “no caffeine. It’s an iron-clad edict of Slender Forever.”

“My hunger strike, continues then.” I cried, from atop my soap-box.

“So, you’re just going to make the business, suffer along with you, then?” Alan tried laid on a guilt trip.

“They say, misery loves company,” I rebutted, “but I’ve noticed, that for some reason… misery seems to especially love, our start-up company.”

“Touché.” Alan gave me my due.

“Actually,” I slammed down the rest of my bitter beverage and moved on to the next in line, “I am… going out with Hanson later, but first, I have to hit a deadline for the screenplay.”

“Oh ok, that’s really cool,” Alan cheered me on, “I just want you to know, that I support you working on this, one-hundred percent.”

“Why…” A red flag flashed, through my imagination, “did Johnson, say something?”

“He’s thrown around a comment, here or there.” Alan reported.

It was naïve of me, to take, what my partners told me, at face value. I should have known better…

I had gotten a gig through another high school friend, a producer out in West Hollywood, to rewrite an abhorrently bad movie script about the Jewish mafia. The plotline I had inherited, was nothing more than a fourth-rate rip-off of the Godfather, beat for beat, but with Jewish characters, and atrociously, terrible dialogue.

It was going to require a complete overhaul and word for word revision, but I was supposed to make over thirty grand for the project, when all was said and done. On top of monetary incentives, this opportunity, additionally gave me an outlet to revisit my neglected writing aspirations, after pausing, for more than a year, as I had put my focus into the start-up.

When the screenwriting opening came up though, I thought I could juggle my responsibilities, and after discussing the idea with Alan and Johnson, they had appeared to give me their full throated endorsements, to dedicate some of my daylight working hours to this dual endeavor.

“Alright,” Alan offered, “I can let you get back to it, but just know that I’m going to be watching you like a hawk today?”

“Why?” His comment completely threw me, “I have no idea, what you’re talking about.”

“No problem,” Alan smirked, “I’m just going to make sure you don’t try to cheat and throw out any food.”

“I didn’t throw out any food.” I disputed.

“You tried to.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I saw it with my own two eyes, last night,” Alan read his damning deposition into evidence, “you tried to dump your cabbage salad, so don’t play coy with me.”

“Oh, come on,” I quarreled, “there was like half a shred of a cabbage leaf, in there!”

“I don’t care.” Alan was indifferent to my arguments.

“I couldn’t even stab it with my fork!” I continued to make my case against his slanderous mischaracterization of my motives.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alan admonished me, “it’s a violation of Forever Slender Diet-Code, Chapter 2, Section 5, under ‘Mandate to Finish Meals’.”

“Why don’t you just lock me up, and throw away the key, then?”

* * *

I ate two whole grapefruits for my next course, as I worked on creating a new character, a mystery shrouded, cold-blooded, Kabbalah practicing, Hassidic hitman, known only as- the Gollum. Chaim, who is the patriarch of one of the feuding, textile industry families, unleashes this monster on his competitor Mordechai, leading to a series of unintended, and deadly consequences.

After a few minutes though, my mind was really started to wander, and I just couldn’t keep my brain functioning, anymore. I was skeptical, how safe this shock, fat-shedding strategy, could actually be, for my body.

I need some fucking carbs… for Christ’s sake!

My phone vibrated, rattling on the wooden table, and disturbing my disquiet. It was a number I didn’t recognize. Every time I got a buzz now, I had to pick up, because even though, it was often it a scam, it could also, theoretically be money. At any rate, it was a good excuse to distract my attention away, from fatigue induced, writer’s block.

“Hello?” I put the call on speaker.

“What’s up, dude?” A familiar sounding voice, rang a bell.

“Big-Mike? Well, I’ll be damned…”

“What’s up, brother, how’s life, selling out, in Hollywood?”

“Actually,” I took umbrage at the suggestion, “I’m not in Hollywood anymore, I’m selling out on the East side now, instead.”

Big-Mike and the hobo brigade had passed through once, and stopped to visit with me, when I was still living in the apartment with Johnson on Loma Linda.

I had taken the Metro out to Hollywood to meet the motley crew at a bar, armed with a care package of edibles. Johnson had been alarmed when he heard that Big-Mike and co. were passing through and made me promise that I wouldn’t bring them back to our place. His apprehensions were misgiven though, as I had already known from a preponderance of past experiences, that I didn’t want these crazed degenerates, to have any notion of our whereabouts.

Amazingly, hanging out with them, for better or worse, had almost been, anti-climactic. Sure, as expected, they drunkenly howled a few obscenities at tourists, and such; but this behavior, frankly, was par for the course, for the freakshow in Hollywood. My group of gnarled and outrageous gutter punks, barely even registered a reaction, from most of the pedestrians.

“I’ve got bad news,” Big-Mike’s gruff, alcohol ravaged voice, blared up at me from speaker phone on the table, “Pizzy’s dead.”

“Shit…” I was shaken, “what happened?”

* * *

I had to admit, part of me was wondering if Big-Mike had finally killed his longtime traveling companion. The last time I had seen Pizzy alive was in the passenger seat of the filthy, trash filled Kia Spectra, on their way to drop me off at the Met station after we had our fill of overpriced drinks on the strip. I was squeezed between hiking packs and trash bags in the backseat. To the left of me was a dirty, stanky, goth girl, wearing coveralls. Her bushy, hairy, stinking armpits, were sticking up in the air, and she held a medium sized black mutt across her lap.

Big-Mike was driving drunk, while Pizzy was in the passenger seat. They started arguing about directions, when Pizzy, abruptly broke down into hysterics.

“Let’s not get into this again,” he roared, “I’m not nearly drunk enough yet for a new scar.”

Pizzy had fresh stiches stretching down from the side of his temple above his ear to his chin, and his cheek looked it was caved in.

“Why?” I was afraid to ask, but I did it anyway, “what happened?”

Pizzy picked up a bicycle chain with a combination padlock clasped around the loop from the center console and held it aloft it his left hand like a trophy.

“What happened,” Pizzy cackled, “was Mike repeatedly beat me in the face, with this smartie, while he was driving.”

Even though, he’s lost his head, at least he seems to have kept his sense of humor… I had admired Pizzy’s positive disposition, in the face of getting his face pulverized.

“Why did he do that?” I dared to ask.

Big-Mike turned back at me from behind the wheel, with a big shit eating grin, “because this fuckhole started hitting me in the head with a lead pipe, while I was driving. I had to do something… so I pummeled his face in, with the lock.”

“That sounds… dangerous.” I took this development in turn, as it seemed like I was becoming desensitized to shocking situations.

“This might be a stupid question,” I petitioned Pizzy, “But, why… did you assault Big-Mike with a lead pipe while he was driving?”

“I’m a crusty, hardened, grizzled veteran of alcoholism,” Pizzy gave his perspective, “and I just suffered from a serious head trauma. You can’t reasonably expect me to remember that sort of thing?”

* * *

“What the fuck do, you think happened?” Big-Mike barked up from my phone on the table, “fucking heroin. Just like everybody else…”

I wrapped up the call, as the finality of my friend’s fatality started to sink in. Heroin… of fucking, course. There goes another soul, that I used to walk this earth with…

My old crew had been dropping like flies. Pizzy’s ex, Terresa had already crossed over, as was Jack, his former old lady, Little, our acquaintance, Stephon, and it had been over two years, since I’d lost, Ben. All of them, had been taken from this life prematurely, and sucked into the underworld, by opiates. I had barely escaped from the same fate myself, when I was just a dumb kid, and didn’t know any better.

It appeared like almost all of my oldest friends now, had in one way or another, fallen prey to, and were eventually overtaken by their personal demons. I was the only one who seemed to have gotten away, Scott-free.

Speaking of, my demons…

“Good afternoon, bitch,” Hanson stood in the dining room, reporting for duty, “wow, you look like shit, today.”

“I feel so much better now that you’re here, though.”

“All this time,” Hanson laughed, “here, I thought that my charm had no effect on you. I was beginning to think that there was something actually wrong with me, if you can believe that?”

“I can’t. Your story is incredible. As in, lacking in, credibility.”

“It’s clear now though,” Hanson harangued me, “that all along, your passive aggressiveness, hostile comments, and general bad attitude, have been nothing but a smokescreen, to hide your true feelings for me.”

“And what sort of feelings, would those be?”

“Feelings of longing, obviously. You can’t keep it a secret, anymore, admit it… you are madly, in love with me.”

“You’ve got the mad part down right, and I would love for you to pick up some boxes of lemonade, and load up the car, please.”

“What’s wrong dear?” Hanson ignored me, “are you getting a little hangry?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I squabbled, “who needs to metabolize energy to live, anyway?”

“You know what I’m going to do, to help the situation?” Hanson offered, “I’m going to eat pizza in front of you.”

“How is that supposed to help me?” I fired back.

“Who said anything, about helping, you?”

* * *

“I’ve had it with Hanson,” I whined, “I’m serious this time.”

Alan was sitting on his bed in the attic as he stared at his lap top screen.

“No offense,” Alan belittled my concerns, “but we have this conversation, if not every other day, than at least every two days. You’re a little bit, like the boy you cried wolf.”

“What if I cried rape?” I retorted, “will you listen to me then, because Hanson won’t stop touching me inappropriately. It’s kind of funny, I get that. But at the same time, it really isn’t funny at all.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Alan continued staring at his screen.

“I want to trade you, Hanson for Bredley.”

“No way,” Alan got animated and shot me a look of defiance, “I’m not working with Hanson, we have a long history together, it’s not a good idea!”

“He’s your friend, motherfucker!”

Bredley had been running local deliveries and production related errands, for Alan and Johnson. He was annoying too, to be honest, but not even in the same stratosphere as Hanson.

“Fine,” Alan accepted defeat, “I’ll take Hanson, but just be warned, Bredley’s no picnic either… have you heard his obnoxious, Mike Tyson impression?”

“Only, every time he comes over.”

Arguing in Alan’s room was challenging for me as a restless, and chaotic pacer. I was constantly moving around, but dangerously constrained in spots, where the ceiling got shorter and slanted at a 45-degree angle. Very often, I absent mindedly bumped into things, with my head.

“Well,” Alan warned, “be prepared to hear it many more times, throughout your experience working with him.”

“Speaking of preparation,” I changed the subject, “do you know what’s for dinner tonight?”

“Baked whitefish with minted, mushy peas.”

“Whatever the hell that is, it sounds like it’ll be the low-point of my experience, so far, on the planet earth.” I was pretty pessimistic about our prospects.

“It will ne,” Alan conceded, “I’ve had it before.”

“Oww! Fuck!” I saw stars as I whacked my head against the white overhang.

“Are you ok?” Alan respectfully did his best to hide his amusement at my expense.

“Notice, I qualified my statement a moment ago,” I directed Alan’s

attention towards my disclaimer, “when I said that I was only expecting the whitefish to be the worst chapter of my life, so far, I fully anticipate, more trauma to come in the very near future.”

“We’re only on Day number 5.” Alan helpfully pointed out.

Day 13

“Tomorrow is the big day, guys,” I rubbed my hands together as I puffed on e-cigarette in the backyard. Quitting smoking, seemed like a necessary part of my overall transformation, if I was to be reborn again, as a healthy, more robust dude.

“What’s going on?” Johnson was curious, “got a big sale lined up?”

“Even better,” I beamed.

“What’s better than a sale?” Johnson was confused.

“Something that money, can’t buy?” I clarified vaguely.

“What’s that?”

“Why of course,” I made the big reveal, “it’s chicken burger, night!”

“Money can, buy chicken burgers,” Alan kept me on my toes, “how do you think we’re getting the meat for the burgers tomorrow ? The barter system?”

“My point,” I argued, “is that under our strict nutritional paradigm, you could have all of the dough in the world, but that can’t buy you the pleasure of eating a Philly Cheesesteak sandwich, spicy buffalo wings, ice cream, or pumpkin pie.”

“I’m not even going to be here.” Johnson slipped in, “Lauren and I need to be in Santa Rosa, later today, we probably won’t be back until tomorrow night, or maybe even the next day.”

“What are you going to do about meals?” I called him out, “there’s no way, you can stay in compliance on the road!”

“We’ll do our best,” Johnson dodged, “and hem as close as we can to the spirit of the Slender Forever manifesto… heck… maybe, we can get a turkey burger from a restaurant, somewhere.”

“A restaurant, turkey burger? That’ll be a million times, more delicious, then what we’re having,” I threw a temper-tantrum. “That’s not fair!”

“Do you, want to pick up the trim, then?” Johnson batted my objection, back in my face.

“Ok,” I conceded, “I mean… no.”

“That’s what I thought.” Johnson opened up the double French doors leading back into his bedroom and disappeared out of sight.

“I bet you any amount of money,” Alan wagered, “that Johnson drinks beer on his trip.”

“Lauren’s on the program too, don’t you think she’ll keep him in check?”

“Nah,” Alan gave a thumb’s down, “you really think she’ll be truthful when it comes to Johnson? And besides, I think Lauren’s going to be the first one out, anyway. I already heard her complaining yesterday, about not getting enough calories.”

“Well join the fucking club!” I had very little sympathy for the princess.

“And this is exactly why,” Alan fingered the problem, “that we couldn’t put anything of financial value at stake on contest.”

“A lack of mutual trust, amongst the participants.” I shook my head and made a ‘tsk,’ sound, “what a shame.”

“The honor system won’t work with Johnson,” Alan spiked the ball on his partner’s reputation, “Johnson has no honor.”

* * *

The voice was nasally, with a weak-lipped lisp; and at best, a passing resemblance for the public persona.

“I’m Mike Tyson, nice to meet you.” Brendon endlessly continued to repeat himself, as he drove. I was held captive, in the passenger seat, as we cruised in between deliveries in my old stomping grounds of Little Armenia.

“Hi, I’m Mike, Tyson.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph will you stop that, please?”

“You don’t like, my Mike Tyson impression?”

Bredley made a left on Hollywood, as we transitioned into Thai Town, and passed our former favorite, happy hour sushi place, on the right-hand side of the street, in a Pan-Asian, strip mall.

“No, if we’re being honest,” I didn’t mince words, “it’s terrible.”

“Like, who asked you for your opinion, anyway?”

“Very bad.” I elaborated.

Bredley drove around the block, on Hobart Blvd. looking for a parking space.

“Fine, what’s wrong with it then? Give me some notes at least, don’t just throw bombs, without any constructive criticism.”

“Ok, you want some feedback,” I played along, “for one thing, Mike Tyson wouldn’t keep saying, ‘hi, I’m Mike Tyson’, over and over again. He would talk about a subject matter that he is knowledgeable of, or has some kind of interest in.”

“Mike Tyson, says his name sometimes.” Bredely quibbled.

“No, he doesn’t,” I disagreed, “everyone knows who Mike Tyson is. He looks very distinct. He has tattoo on his face and owns a tiger.”

“Well… I still think the voice is good.” Bredley kept reaching.

“No…” I offered up a heaping portion of reality, “no, it isn’t.”

* * *

Day 14

As the dining hour approached, I was on a cloud, that not even Bredley’s awful impression the day before, could bring me down from. After the psychological beatings I had taken throughout my life, not to mention surviving, white fish the week before, my ego had long since been toppled, and reduced to ruins. Now, run down by this figure flattening plot, my goalpost for achieving happiness had been proportionally reduced. In this weakened and diminished state, it seemed that the only joy that I could feasibly hope to attain, or foresee on the horizon, was dinner, that night of Day 14- the long awaited, Lemon Chicken Burgers, of legend.

In truth, I knew that it wasn’t too much to hang my hat on, and I was probably setting myself up for disappointment. Under normal circumstances or in the time before the Slender Forever Fiasco, this would be nothing at all to get excited about, but here I was, and this was all that I had in the pipeline, to keep myself one step ahead of my pending depression.

Bland… Flavorless… Chicken Burgers… I came up with a slogan for the best thing to happen to me so far this month, They’re Marginally, Better than Dying.

Compared to stuffing myself with spinach, water laden lettuce, cabbage, and other leafy greens every night to the point of near evacuation or beyond, tonight’s supper would be like an office Christmas party, the Fourth of July, and my birthday, all rolled into one happy occasion.

Or maybe, not? I did a double take, as Teddy put down a plate in front of me.

“What the fuck is that?” I was in shock, and beside myself, “where’s my burger?”

“That is your burger,” Teddy chuckled, “it’s wrapped up underneath the leafy-green, veggies.”

I poked around with my fork, pulling out a wad of white, lumpy, lemon scented, breast meat.

“It’s kind of disingenuous to call this a burger.” I complained.

“Would you prefer, more white fish?” Teddy threatened, “we can make a last-minute substitution, if you’d like?”

“Mmm,” I chewed on my cud covered, bunless, ground chicken chunks, “this is… a… bigtime, let down.”

Day 15

I was a little bummed, after my buzz-kill with the burgers, and was really starting to question my commitment to this food restriction regiment, as I stubbornly stared at a bowl of cod and kale salad sitting uneaten, in front of me.

I fucking, hate fish… and vegetables too, for that matter.

Just as I could feel myself slipping off the ledge, though, I looked down on my caller ID and saw that I had an incoming communication from a surprising source.

That’s a little weird, I got nervous, why is she calling me, if Johnson is up there now?

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” Something was off about Hana’s voice.

“I’m in Los Angeles,” I laughed, “is this a trick question?”

“How long have you been there?”

“Going on my second year,” I snarked.

“No, how long have you been there today? Have you been there, all day?”

“Where, at the house?” I scratched on the side of my skull.

“In Southern California?” Hana narrowed down her search field.

“I’ve literally only left LA once in two years, and something horrible happened, while I was gone.”

“Something horrible, happened again,” Hana sounded distraught.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I emphasized, “what’s going on?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Where’s Johnson?” I was starting to get a little worried, “isn’t he up there, with you still.”

“Yes,” Hana acknowledged, “we… have him here.”

“Can you please explain?” I could tell that there was more to this story than she was letting on.

“Do you think Johnson would… steal from me?”

“What?” I was completely sandbagged, and stunned dumb, by her curve ball. “No, of course not!”

“I mean he did, just recently get pinched… and I know he has a lot of legal bills ahead of him.”

“Our business is paying for it,” I provided some context, “we’re actually doing quite well, right now.”

“Gabe,” her voice was serious, “what about, you? Can I trust, you?”

“Hana,” I was incredulous, “not only was Ben my best friend and brother, but I’d challenge you, to find one person, anywhere, ever; that would report to you, that I stole from them, or even fucked them over, in any way, for that matter.”

“I know,” she granted my point, “listen I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back later…”

After Hana hung up on me, I tried Johnson but it went straight to voicemail. Same with Lauren.

* * *

“I mean, I’m getting kind of concerned. We should maybe drive out there and try to like… save him… don’t you think?”

It had been over two hours since I had heard from Hana, and now her line had gone quiet as well.

“It’s a waste of time,” Alan shut me down, “that’s over five hours from here. Johnson will be long dead, by the time we get there.”

I wasn’t sure what to do, as I anxiously waited for some kind of word. Eventually, I fell asleep sitting upright in my clothes, on the sofa. Johnson finally called, waking me up after 2am.

“We’re on the way back to our motel.”

“Are you ok?” He seemed a little rattled.

“We’re being followed,” I could hear the tension in his tone, “they’re going to search our fucking, room.”

“Who’s going to search your room?” I was dumbfounded.

“A hippie kangaroo court,” Johnson relayed, “there’s still at least half a dozen of them, on my tail.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I was having a hard time following along.

“It started yesterday evening when we got here, a little late for dinner with Hana and her mom…

* * *

Lauren, who at this point, was head over heels with Johnson, had agreed to drive up in one of two cars. As the both of them wore their Sunday best, on a Wednesday, Lauren had accompanied Johnson to a court appearance as his moral support. While they were in Santa Rosa anyway, they were going to kill two birds with one stone and buy a big, fresh, stony load of trim from Hana and her posse.

Johnson had gained the trust of Hana’s circle from previous visits and was going to negotiate the deal, while Lauren had agreed to drive the contraband back down, since Johnson was still potentially facing legal peril, and didn’t want to risk aggravating his offenses.

Johnson shared how he made it to Hana’s first, just before dessert. He was chatting with the mother, and asked how long she was in town for. Hana’s mom told him that this was her last night, and that her daughter would be giving her a lift over to SFO, the following afternoon.

Johnson and Lauren made plans to meet up with Hana again, the following evening, after she’d returned from the airport, to grab our order.

The next day, to kill time, Johnson and Lauren went to see Shutter Island, in a local theater, a new release which was over two hours long, about mental patients, by Martin Scorsese. Johnson got a call from Bredley during the movie, and everyone shushed him, so he put his phone on silent. That evening when they got out of the theater, Johnson saw he had missed a few calls from Hana.

Hana said it was an emergency, and asked Johnson if he would come over right away. Lauren and Johnson went in one car, and got out at Hana’s house to look for her. They got cornered though, by two thuggish looking hippies, who began quizzing them as Hana approached, carrying a baseball bat.

Hana had been holding thirty pounds of pot, for these two not-so-gentlemen, Mitch, and Dan. Apparently while everyone was gone that afternoon, someone had kicked in Hana’s door, and made off with the stash. Strangely though, the perpetrator had nabbed the hippie horde, but had left the other half of Hana’s inventory unperturbed, which just so happened to be a front, on IOU, from the Mexican Mafia.

“Why didn’t the Mexican Mafia weed got taken?” Dan got in Johnson’s face, “Were you afraid of Hana, getting hurt, is that why you left that stuff alone?”

“Hey man,” Johnson plead not-guilty, as he realized that he had become the prime suspect, “I had nothing to do with this… I would never…”

“I did, tell Johnson about the Mexican Mafia flowers,” Hana testified for the prosecution, “and he was sure asking my mom a lot of questions about what day she was leaving, when I was taking her to the airport, and even, which airport I was taking her to.”

“That’s not how it happened!” Johnson protested, as he grew increasingly frustrated, “I was just making casual, fucking conversation!”

“If you went to the movies, do you have a stub?” His inquisitor inquired.

“Well,” Johnson seemed relieved, “I think, I still might actually have it.”

“Ok, let’s see it, then.” Dan stepped in to take a closer look.

“Here,” Johnson produced a paper out of his pocket, “it says right here, 2:15pm, the same time when this crime was supposed to have been occurring.”

“How convenient,” Mitch, Johnson’s other antagonist, wasn’t convinced, “you just happened to save your ticket. I never save mine…”

Within minutes, another dozen angry villagers, had arrived to convene an all-in-one, makeshift investigation, and trial. A ripped, tank top wearing, mean-mugged, bald dude, showed up to work security, wielding a snarling, Doberman pinscher, which he held back on a leash, barking in front of their faces. As icing on the cake, he told them that he used to be an aikido instructor, and demanded that they surrender their phones, to be searched for clues of the crime.

Having basically become prisoners now, Johnson and Lauren were further interrogated, until eventually a dreadlocked dufus, dressed like a druid, came over, carrying a deck of tarot cards on a silk cloth, in the palm of his hands, as if cradling a sacred relic.

“Choose a card,” the martial arts teacher directed as the ‘High Priest’ spread out the deck in front of Johnson.

“Is this a joke?” Johnson heckled his keepers.

“Choose.” The bare-armed psycho, insisted.

“No!” Johnson was obstinate, “this is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever seen; I didn’t fucking do, anything wrong.”

“If you have nothing to hide,” growled the bald, battalion commander, “then what are you afraid of? Let the tarot, suss out the truth.”

“I’m not playing this game.” Johnson stood his ground, “this is complete and utter bullshit.”

“Pick, pick, pick,” a chorus of voices, called for judgement.

“Johnson for the love of God,” Lauren laid her face down into her right palm, “will you please, just picking a fucking card, so we can go back to the room?”

“Fine,” Johnson was pissed, “this is ridiculous, just give me a fucking card.”

Johnson drew his destiny, from out of the fan in front of him.

“Oh shit…” The martial-arts guy analyzed Johnson’s selection, “That’s like a really, really bad draw bro…” The bald brawler, flipped the tarot card around in front of his face, to show a picture of a man with his arms tied behind his back, and a bag over his head. The character was depicted swinging from a tree by a rope.

“It’s the Hanged Man,” Dan pointed at Johnson, condemning him, “he’s guilty!”

The hippie-police swarmed around Johnson and Lauren, separating them for questioning, which lasted for several more hours, before they finally resolved to ransack Johnson’s room and rental car. If the pot wasn’t there, the lynching party promised, that they would reluctantly, leave them be, after that.

Maybe Johnson, I had an epiphany, is the one who’s been cursed all this time? And maybe he’s just been dragging the rest of us along, on a hell-bound basket ride, powered by, his bad juju?

“Hey Johnson?” I grilled him further, “I’m glad you’re alright, but more importantly than that, I want you to tell me the truth? Did you cheat on the diet? How many beers, did you drink?”

* * *

Day 18

Breakfast

1 Cup of Warm Water with a Squeeze of Lemon

1 Cup of Slippery Elm Tea

Carrot, Celery, and Ginger Smoothie

My three beverages were already lined up in a row for me on the table, when I got out of the bathroom. I had slept in and was feeling especially spent, and dead on the inside, that morning. I was suffering from what could only be described as a systemic and compounding, lethargy. This formidable force of fatigue was catching up to me, and I felt defeated, deflated, and exponentially exhausted, going into my third week of this deprivation diet.

They say, that the road, to health, I reflected, is paved with good intentions,

Groggy, I ambled aimlessly around the kitchen, eyeing the empty coffee pot with envy, even as I processed the group of Lauren, Madison, and Emma at the table, labeling an order for a big fish of Lauren’s, way out in Woodland Hills. The store was flying through our brownies at an insane rate and now had a standing ticket for 400 units, every two weeks!

“You’re late,” Lauren broke my balls.

“I’ve reached my limit,” I belly-ached, “I don’t feel any better, and it’s like I’ve been sleep walking through a trance, for weeks on end!”

“Well, you’re starting to look a lot better.” Lauren complimented me, “your skin’s starting to clear up.” The other girls agreed.

“You do, you look a lot thinner,” Emma nodded, “you should, stick with it.”

“I can’t I keep this up,” I objected, “at the very least, I need caffeine, for Christ’s sake!”

“Why don’t you just, have a fucking cup of coffee, then?” Johnson called me out, from the couch in the living room, “you’re an adult… allegedly.”

“Your opinion holds no currency here,” I hissed back, “you, already tapped out and got disqualified in Santa Rosa, when you had to drown your sorrows, after the locals tried to tar and feather you!”

* * *

For my mid-morning snack, I slowly sucked down another two, plus-sized, pink grapefruits, as I worked on putting together a new account opening route on my computer. I wanted to hit up any new stores that had opened in the last month or so, in the LA, metro area.

I checked my email and saw a craigslist notification in my personal inbox. I opened it up and discovered it was a reply to a message that I had sent out to some chick’s online profile. Most of the women I interacted with on the web, turned out to be fake, but every once in a blue moon, a real gal would reject me, through email.

I opened her response though, and she commented that a recent picture of me, looked cute. Appealing to my narcissism, she had caught my attention, and we proceeded to chat back and forth over the next few hours before…

* * *

Lunch

Adzuki Bean Bake on Raw Leads

Sprouted Seeds of Your Choice

“What are my seed choices?” I questioned Teddy as I studied the menu in the infernal Slender Forever book.

“You don’t get a choice, I already chose everyone’s seeds today,” Teddy broke my illusion of free-will, “you’re getting flax.”

“Flax? Fuck, flax!”

“I just wanted to mention,” Teddy grinned over from the kitchen, and laid it on thick, while he was slicing onions, “that it’s been a pleasure to serve you throughout this diet, and that I really appreciate how wonderful and oh what’s the word… cooperative… that you’ve been… Gabe? Are even listening to me?”

“Apologies…” I again became aware of Teddy’s existence, “I got distracted.”

I was eagerly checking in, on my email, and saw that I had a new message from Shannon.

“Want to get a bite later?” She asked me out on a date.

I didn’t want to get into an awkward diet situation with dinner, so I pivoted and suggested that we go see a movie after supper, instead…

* * *

Mid-Afternoon Snack

Beet and Fennel Juice Smoothie

“Jesus, fine I’ll drink it,” It wasn’t worth fighting over, “but I fully expect to have to break my foul-foods fast, this evening.”

“Why?” Sitting at the table, Alan didn’t even bother to look up from his computer screen, “what kind of bullshit excuse, do you have today?”

“It’s legit,” I contended, “believe it or not, I actually have a date.”

“That’s fantastic,” Alan was underwhelmed, “but what does that have to do with cheating on a detox and carb cutting plan?”

“Why does it seem like you care so much more about me being on this Fit from Fatigue journey, than I do?”

“Hey buddy,” Alan seemed offended, “I’m just trying to look out for your wellbeing.”

“Ok fine… I just don’t know how I can stay clean, if I end up at a bar or something. And just to be clear- I’m not willing to sacrifice sex for the diet, no fucking way!”

“Why do you need booze, to get laid?” Alan tested me, “just use your charm.”

* * *