I’m standing at a pedestrian crossing, in a small rectangle of shade cast by a traffic light, when a very tall man with curly grey hair and the largest human nose I have ever seen walks up beside me and says-‘I’m okay today, thank you, because my Morgellan’s isn’t playing up,’
Not knowing what Morgellan’s is, I don’t know how to reply so I just say ‘oh’, and wait for the man to go on.
‘It looks like I’m a tweeker,’ he says, pointing to red spots on his face and neck, ‘but I’m not. It’s the chemtrails,’
‘See?’ he says, tilting his head backward and pointing upward.
I look up at the sky and then back at the man who is waving his hand back and forth at the sky.
‘NASA and the Illuminati have been putting those chemtrails there for more than 40 years, and they drop down fibres and the fibres rain down and burrow into your skin,’ he says.
‘Goodness me,’ I say, staring at the mans nose, trying to think of a way to describe it.
‘It’s bacteria that they’re dumping on us,’ says the man, who is wearing a dark blue short sleeved shirt, knee-length brown checked shorts, red trainers and a pair of red socks with baby’s bottles embroidered on them, ‘like worms that burrow in and live in your skin,’
Still not knowing what to say, I let the man continue.
‘They drop it out of automatic planes,’ he tells me, ‘planes without pilots,’
‘Like drones?’ I ask him.
‘EXACTLY!’ he shouts, ‘EXACTLY!’
Then he tells me that the bacteria that’s dropped are like caterpillars, and that they have the NASA logo on them.
‘If you look at them under a microscope you’ll see the NASA logo,’ the man says.
‘Goodness,’ I say, as the light changes to ‘walk’ and I start to cross the road.
The man crosses at the same time, repeating his story about the chemtrails and the Illuminati, until we get to the other side and he stops and stares down at me.
‘Look,’ he says, ‘go home and Google it,’
‘Okay,’ I tell him, ‘I will,’
‘Promise?’ he points at me and says as he starts to walk off.
I tell the man I promise to look it up.
‘There’s going to be a lawsuit starting in 2 weeks,’ he shouts back at me, ‘look it up,’
I wave to the man and tell him I will, and then I walk off through the petrol station forecourt.
Then I hear the man yelling again.
‘It’s NASA and the illuminati,’ he’s calling out to me , ‘and NASA’s logo is all over them…ALL OVER THEM!’

I’m standing in a line in a hot carpark on Dell Street, Venice, California, waiting to have my photograph taken by a wardrobe person, when a tall young man in the line in front of me turns to me and starts up a conversation.
‘I really like your look,’ he tells me, ‘you got some style,’
‘Thanks,’ I smile and say.
‘I’d like to shoot you,’ he says.
‘Oh,’ I say, ‘really? Are you a photographer?’
‘Among other things, yeh,’ he says.
Then he tells me his name and I tell him mine and we shake hands.
‘I have, like, 14 thousand followers on Instagram,’ he says, ‘You should follow me’.
Then he asks me if I am free tomorrow for the photoshoot and after I tell him I am not sure, he continues to talk.
‘I’ve only been here for like a month,’ he says, tapping his chest and doing a subdued jig, ‘but things are really happening for me,’
‘Oh,’ I say, looking up at him with my arms folded, ‘that sounds good,’
Then he tells me he has just made a promotional video for a tattoo artist who is about to be a celebrity.
‘He’s folk now,’ the young man tells me, ‘but he’s, like, about go big,’
Then he holds up his iPhone and shows me a video of the tattoo artist being interviewed on a red carpet by a long-haired pretty teenager.
Then the young man, who is dressed in black track pants, a red tee shirt and ochre Caterpillar boots, tells me he has a manager who has gotten him some acting work, and that beside being a photographer, he also does stand up.
‘Oh, yes?’ I say.
‘Yeh,’ he says, tapping his chest again, and frowning, ‘I’m, like, a pretty funny guy,’
Then he tells me that even though he is only 21 years old, he has his own production company, and that he is self taught in everything that he does.
Next he tells me that he was living in West Hollywood, but that his roommate had started to act in a strange way.
‘He’s bisexual,’ the young man says, ‘which is cool because my uncle is, like, bisexual, but this guy was acting, like, like I was his wife,’
Then he looks at his iPhone again, scrolling up and down, looking for things to show me.
Firstly he shows my some images of him posing with his shirt off while 3 girls in very little clothing hang on to his various limbs.
Then he shows me a video.
‘Here’s a video I made of an androgynous,’ he says, and for the next few moments, we look at the screen of his iPhone where a person wearing a head scarf, is walking along a street in high heels, singing.
Finally the video finishes and hoping that I can get away from the young man, I tell him that I am hungry and that I’m going to get some food.
But the young man says he needs to put on a few pounds and that he’ll come with me.
And so we then stand in front of the french fry tray and, while dipping the tip of his french fries one by one in ketchup, the young man tells me more about himself.
‘I’m like excellent at imitations. Like, after about half an hour with someone I can sound exactly, like, like them,’ is one of the things he tells me.
And that he has a friend whose uncle is a big Hollywood agent who has taken an interest in him.
‘Have you heard of him?’ he asks me.
Hoping that soon the young man will stop talking to me, I don’t respond, and instead I, while I eat my french fries from a paper plate, I stare out into the car park, to the spot where the portable toilet trailer is parked.
‘I’m a good salesman,’ says the young man, who has a wispy beard and acned cheeks, ‘I worked in car sales for like 4 years. And even though I’m, only 21, I was the manager,’
Suddenly, I realise I am clenching my jaw, so I tell the young man I am going to get coffee and I throw my paper plate in the bin and start to walk away while the young man continues his solo conversation.
‘Things are happening for me out here,’ the young man calls out to my back, ‘things are, like, really happening.’

 

 

I’m on my way home from the supermarket, by foot, and I am just about to cross Ventura Boulevard when I see a short bald man holding a large white envelope running toward me.
‘OH MY GOD,’ shouts the man as he reaches me, ‘YOU’VE GOT GREAT ENERGY!’
‘Really?,’ I say, ‘do I?’
‘YES,’ shouts the man again, raising his arms as if I have just performed a hold-up on him, ‘you sure DO!,
Then, suddenly, he puts his right hand on my left shoulder, inhales, holds his breath for a moment or two,tilts his head forward, exhales and quietly says-‘I have AIDS’,
Then he purses his lips and nods his head up and down.
‘Shit,’ I say, frowning, ‘That’s very, very bad luck,’
Then the man opens his eyes.
‘Yes, yes it is,’ he says, looking into my eyes, ‘But don’t worry, you can’t catch it like this,’
‘No,’ I say, ‘I didn’t think I could,’
Then the man, who is wearing blue slacks and missing the front teeth on both his upper and lower jaw,takes his hand from my shoulder and pulls up the sleeve of his dark blue polo shirt.
I look down to see a bony shoulder on which grey hair grows in tufts, like seaside grasses.
‘I need some medication,’ the man says, holding the white envelope up to my face, ‘I need 36 dollars,’
‘Um,’ I say, ‘okay,’
Then, like a magician performing a cup and balls trick, the man makes the envelope disappear, and pulls up his shirt.
‘You see?’ he says, pointing to his abdomen, ‘I need suppositories,’
‘Oh,’ I say, bending to look at his distended abdomen.
‘You see?’ the man says again.
Then the man closes his eyes and is quiet.
I stare at his face, at his mouth that is closing and opening like a fish gasping on a river bank.
And there is a long quiet between us until I put my shopping bags down and tell him a lie – ‘I’m afraid I only have 5 dollars’,
The man opens his eyes and pokes his head forward like an emu.
‘Is that all?’ he cries as I hold 5 dollar note out toward him.
‘Yes,’ I tell the man who is now tsking me and fanning his face with the white envelope, ‘I’m afraid that really is all I have.’