prelude to Carmel

Here I sit at a corner cafe in San Jose. To my right at oh, 2 o'clock is a Chevron station; at 8 is a vast expanse of parking lot. Cars rush down the street just past both landmarks. Everyone here is either in a hurry to get somewhere or moving extraordinarily slow: oblivious to those who might be trapped behind them. Everyone here drives foolish cars, those type that are so unnecessary for the climate, altitude and terrain. All the men have goatees and beer bellies and look as though they might be harboring tobacco in their cheeks.
I find it hard to get out here. Where to go? Everywhere is sidewalk and strip malls intersected by roads with fast moving cars.
I pretend I'm abroad on vacation. I listen to the siren wail and interpret it to sound like a European wail. Instead of the irritating RAIL RAIL RAIL, it's EEEAAW EEEAAW EEEAAW! and somehow that's better. I look past the concrete buildings to the foothills and imagine them sudded with vineyards and villas instead of multimillion dollar mansions.
My brother knows people who take crystal methamphetamine. I mean they smoke it. I wonder how they live with themselves knowing they smoke crystal meth. How they can sleep soundly or look at themselves in the mirror: "Everything's OK," they tell themselves and they believe it.
I took my father and brother out to lunch on father's day. I sat next to dad and noticed he kept his distance. Couldn't hardly look at me. Suddenly I worried that I smelled bad.
I want to go to the mountains and do a lot of drugs. Like the Indians do at religious ceremonies. I'm of the impression that drugs are the only true religion. Everything is exposed to you without ego. The futility of logos, the silliness of society and politics - what's really important. It gets your mind straight, you know. It's like you're really living your life then.