I wound up selling everything I had to put the down payments down on this new venture in life. It was a rocky start. It really was. 
    I sold my cars.
   They really didn't bring in much. Not having a car in Tucson Az isn't really a problem. They have a dependable transit system. And I didn't live far from my shop. About 3 miles away.
    The city bus came every 15 minutes and if I skated over a half mile to the bus stop it was usually a straight shot from there to my shop.
    I started gaining some momentum immediately and it was nice for a change. With a handful of possessions and a dream, I believed anything was possible. All I had to do was open the door and people would come in.
    If they came in, all I had to do was sell a tattoo or a piercing.
    There were days that nobody came in. And that was cool and all. I would spend the day drawing up work that I wanted to do. Clean stuff and paint my shop up the way I wanted to.
    I would do just about anything I could to keep my mind off of my family matters.
    My voices were never stronger then. It seemed they had a direct line and were swarming me from every direction. I remember getting caught talking to them all the time.
   I would say, yeah, it's normal for me to talk to myself from time to time, when I wouldn't notice someone walking in.
    The landlord really didn't want a tattoo shop in this strip mall but he needed that space filled. He was worried that the tattoo shop would attract a bad element to his property.
    Our argument ended when I pointed 4 doors down at the AZ SMOKESHOP.
   Evidently money was more important to this man. So, "As long as your rent is never late, you help keep the parking lot clean of cigarette butts and trash, and your respectful to your neighbors, I don't see why this couldn't work out."
   I had no idea of the amount of paperwork I needed to run a business in that town. Business licenses and parking permits were the start.
   Then sign permits and building permits. I even had to get a permit to put a sign on the window.
   Decorating the shop was tough as well. I didn't have a lot of stuff. Most of the stuff I collected over my few years in tattooing were just a half dozen sheets of flash and a few paintings I had at home. Furniture was a whole other subject.
    I was already in the hole very deep when I got the permits and so interior decor was going to have wait and I would have to do with just what I had.
   This place used to be a bar school. They taught you how to make drinks and be a bartender.
   It literally probably was very much a party in there everyday of the week.
    The little lobby I had, had two white leather couches for the first few months. They were cool to have. I spent a few nights on them.
    The shop was long and narrow very much like the clubhouse way back in the day. And you know, now that I think about it, I mean literally like just now, do I see the connection of time like repeating itself.
    Crazy.
   The back of the shop was the bar and it had a bunch of bar stools. It was built for teaching people to pour drinks, not tattoo. The area behind the bar, didn't really have much room really.
    Your friends were right there though. Belly up to the bar and could watch you as I worked on you.
   There was a window in the wall over looking the lobby so I could see people pull up or close the blinds if the AZ sun was going down as I was on the east side of the street.
    Oh man, how ached in that shop. But it was the best cocoon I could ever have at the moment.
    I didn't work with anyone at first. I just did my best everyday to get into the routine of being there.
    I was hungry. But I had a job.
   I had a shop, but I had an investor. So the shop and the job weren't really mine. I had my name on the window, but I couldn't make major decisions on my own.
    And at the time, I didn't much care to make decisions. I turned my money in and kept enough to eat.
    It was a rough start. A rocky start. But it was one of the most freeing feelings I ever had.
    I was good at wearing masks. I would mask everything I could and everyone that I knew, was all new to me.
    I got a new shop. A bunch of new friends and a few that were from my old relationship. You know how that goes though.
    They get pushed to the side.
     I could never rely on them to tell me the truth about anything. Mostly because they wouldn't choose sides and they wanted to remain friends with us both. They were spy's. Jajaja even they were not.
    Old friends had to go to the curb. They could see right through the mask and I wanted to show them I was past it. I was trying to be past it.
    But getting to know how to do things that people my age already did was a lot on my plate. I had enough there without hearing what she said or what they thought I should know. And their words affected me.
    Old friends had to go to the side. All but a few.
    Days went by with me building a shop like the little rascals. Basically junk that I would refurbish and make cool enough to go into the shop. If it fit. If it didn't, it went into my house.
   One day, these guys came in and wanted a tattoo. They didn't have what I wanted for it, but they had some money and a set of house speakers that could be wired into the stereo I already had for the shop.
    That day, the shop was never the same. Subwoofers and tweeters plus some six inch mids. Music got loud after the shops closed next door to me.
  During normal business hours, music just sounded good.
   It was the beginning of some awesome stories and the start to a few rad friendships.
   I wasn't making any where near the money I was projecting that I would. Tattoo money is fast. It comes quick. And is gone quicker than a one night stand wishing to leave before the walk of shame to her car in the parking lot.
   Money was important. But I didn't have what I used to. And luckily people remembered my generosity when I did have it. Otherwise, the hell I was in, could have been dryer with nothing to quench my thirst.
    The first month of shop owning and things were starting to shape up. I traded a rad Polynesian tattoo for those rad powder coated spider webs in the windows. This shop was beginning to look more and more like a tattoo shop everyday.
    When we split up, I landed this rad two bedroom apartment across the street from the Tucson Mall. It was nice. It had carpet and all that, but I had no furniture in it.
    I started looking for things to keep me busy man. I was working on furnishing both places. I kept an eye out for unwanted furniture and other things. Starting over from literally nothing.
    Skateboarding home was always a search and destroy mission of taking different paths all the time to find it. Sometimes I would find stuff on the curb and sit on it.
   If it stank or was too dirty, I didn't even do that. But sometimes it was usable. And since I just need to fill a living room or something like a bedroom. I didn't need much. Couches coffee tables or nite stands.
    Sometimes I had a few bucks in my pocket and would run into a yard sale or something in my neighborhood. But it and take it home.
    I never posted hours up at the shop. If I was there, I was there. I tried to get there by ten everyday, but sometimes made a showing at noon. I was always there very late. So it didn't matter to me when I showed up. It mattered more to make sure I was there very late.
   That's when my favorite people showed up. Night people.
    I worked just six blocks north of the university of Arizona and so college kids weren't out till around seven o'clock. I advertise in their paper so, I didn't expect much to happen before then.
   One tattoo a day was enough to break even. But I needed four to keep up on the roll I was on. And it just wasn't going to happen for me.
   Realistically, this location sucked. Just another hole in the wall tattoo shop.
     I wanted to be good. I wanted to be successful. I wanted to be respected by my peers. But I also had an insatiable hunger for balance. And I was drying out a little bit more everyday.

4-12
Let me tell you a little about Gus.
One night on my way home from the shop I detoured down a couple streets that usually didn't go down. Almost as though...
Well, I just wasn't ready to be home yet. So I traveled the long route back to my apartment on Wetmore. I wasn't searching for anything really but it may have looked that way.
I was crossing through neighborhoods I don't usually travel and to be honest, it was late and I seemed be just pushing my long board anywhere but to my house.
I would do this a lot at night.
I was lonesome as fuck.
I didn't want to show it. I didn't really trust too many people and I didn't know how to interact with new folks outside the shop. It was better to just push that board until I was exhausted.
I had a little bit of stuff that day too and so after a long day of bottled up energy, it felt great to alleviate it with long strides and smooth rides in the dark.
I went over a couple blocks to Oracle and headed north to Miracle Mile.
Miracle Mile was a shifty street with a couple strip clubs and a bunch of hotels attracting some notoriety for the creme de la creme of Tucson's awesome nite life. Jajaja. Not really.
Once in awhile you might see a hooker or two. It would be a miracle if you found a noteworthy lay on this street.
There was a corner entry to the cemetery. It really wasn't an entry. But for me, it was just that. An easily climb over and I was in.
I had a friend that was buried there last year and it had been awhile since I visited him.
When I pushed my skateboard I had a flashlight on a key chain mad from a bicycle chain. I thought that chain was so cool. I still have it.
Graveyards are creepy to me. They always have some secret to them. I really cannot put my finger on anything in particular except there is an erie sense that takes me over when I'm in one.
Like shadows moving. Or maybe you hear people in the darkness that aren't there. It's almost as if you want some creepy shit to happen or expect it.
This cemetery is pretty old. It has some history in it and you can tell when you drive by. Even in the day time it's got a feeling about it.
In the dark, it's even more twisted. I turn off my flashlight and I begin walking to Junior's grave. It's kind of breezy and I can hear the branches scratching each other. The way the grass whips when my shoes scuff the ground.
Junior was one of my first friends in Tucson. He was a little black dude who was a straight up typical old dude. I couldn't tell you how old he was. I never asked.
Maybe older than 60 years old though. I was introduced to him through Cyndi and he had been a friend of her parents way back from the old days.
Everything about this guys was awesome. He looked like Sammy Davis Junior. But his name was Junior.
The first day I met him I came to his house and we got stoned together and he had a bunch of broken things around his house. I started fixing them.
He said, "I like this guy. He is handy."
And we were good to each other over the years.
Months before he died I had a vision about his death in a dream. It was quite vivid. I remember waking up and telling Cyndi but she laughed it off but I never forgot it.
In the dream, shortly after he passed she wasn't with me anymore.
And so, here I am passing through gravestones in search of a certain tree further in the back left corner I used in memory to mark the area.
You know the feeling of creepy. I'm walking through and the cars passing the roads behind me and to the left are casting shadows. I seem to easily think that there are children playing hide and seek behind the gravestones and other tombs.
The grass is wet here now. As if just watered. Water whopping up on my calves sending shivers to the bone.
What was I doing here? These aren't cemetery hours.
I feel like I'm being watched by more than a few sets of eyes. I'm sure you know the feeling.
It's like when you come home and the front door is open. You don't remember if you closed it. You go room to room looking for someone who isn't there. Stopping for a weapon of sorts before entering your bedroom or further in to your closets.
Maybe it's a broom or a kitchen knife. Maybe a golf club or a hammer. Or perhaps you may even pull a gun before you room check the whole house.
It's funny how the closets and the shower curtain are always the creepiest.
As if it's somehow ingrained somewhere in your DNA that this is where people hide from you when they break into your house and you catch them.
I'm a burglar or a rapist. I just got caught inside your house. Where do I hide???
Yep. The bathroom. Right behind this sturdy shower curtain.
I need not go into all that. But you get it if you haven't ever walked through the cemetery at night. The feeling is close to the same.
Every big gravestone could have somebody just waiting for you to drag you straight to hell.
"HOW DARE YOU STEP OVER THIS GRAVE?!'"
They grab hold of your ankle and start pulling right into the belly of the beast.
Maybe I suffer from an overactive imagination. I am an artist.
I've always thought, the closer you are to the doorway of death, the more you see. Or hear. Or feel.
Maybe I was close. Maybe, I've been closer. But not this night.
There it was. A lonely little tree surrounded by a few small bushes. A newer part in the cemetery added on just years before. New plots for sale or something like that.
Junior was here. So was someone else and just recently.
Someone hung some wind chimes over his grave. Even with all the weird noises of this place, I didn't notice them.
While smoking a joint with Junior, I talked with him. Just like the old days. He was silently dead. Evidently just listening attentively. Cold chills and goosebumps. That's all I got.
I must have got a lot off my chest. Junior is a great listener now that he lets me get a word in. Thanks Junior for all the great times.
Even in his old age that guy pulled chicks. He always had someone taking care of him or living with him. Sometimes two girls. He was just cool as fuck. Some of these girls were still 20-25 years younger than him. I don't know how he kept up with them. Those old black guys just know how to talk to woman.
Anyways. I jump the wall and I get to kicking that board back over through the neighborhoods and over to First Ave. there was a favorite dive bar of mine called The Boondocks.
One of the coolest things about this bar was that they had these beer bucket pales above the bar. People claimed them for themselves if they were regulars of the bar and I had been coming here awhile now.

This Tucson landmark is an easy find. I came in usually on my way home and would have a rum and Coke to quench my thirst and make conversation and then bone out. (Leave)
The pale was a mailbox. And luckily for me, someone had seen it and dropped a couple bucks in it. Bought me a drink. Nice.
I've done it for some other people too. Made me feel like this bar was home to me. A band called Neon Profit was playing there and that reggae sound was quite relaxing.
This bar was full of people. I was lucky to get a seat for me and my long board.
Eyes red. Mouth dry. Rick, the bartender, knew me well and made up a 151 and Coke.
"You going to be here long?" He said.
"Probably not too long. What's up?" I said.
"Just a busy nite buddy. That's all"
I didn't realize it was just a small talk situation, and I downed my drink, tipped him five bucks and said, " your a dick, Rick. Have a good nite!"
"Aye, be safe out there shit head. Don't get run over riding that stick!"
So I'm headed north again past an old shop I used to work at for a short period. They've been closed hours now.
Just past midnight and I'm pushing that board past this small apartment complex and cross the street and take the first left.
A short stop just down the street.
I stop under a street lamp and sit on my board. A little winded. A bit sweaty. Dirty. I pull a cigarette from its pack and light. Illuminated by the street light, my exhale looks big and white.
I'm listening to some Slayer in my headphones and I pull one of my earbuds out to listen to my environment. There are cars running over the asphalt and people in their living rooms with the doors open enjoying tv time and the cool early morning breeze.
I look in the direction to which I want to travel and I see him.
I look to where I came from and the street is calm. I look to my right again and there he was.
Close up to my face.
A yellow lab cross breed of some sort. Yellow labs are such horn dogs.
He sits there under the light with me.
It's a picture of the dude and his dog under a street light. Could be an urban postcard. Welcome to Tucson written underneath.
I look over astonished at how relaxed this dog is with me.
"What's up dude? You got a name?"
He looks over to me and pants with a smile.
"As if! I don't exactly speak doggy, dude." He has a collar on. So I reach over and ask, "do you mind?" I turn the collar over to see but there isn't a tag.
"You seem nice man. What's your story?"
He just looks over to me with this corner eye and smile. A little tale wag but calm. I scratch his ear.
He gives me two eyes and pulls his tongue back inside his mouth.
At that moment I felt compelled to get to pushing off.
"Alright man, what do they call you? Herbert? Bruno?" I laughed a little, he gave me little response to any of my name suggestions. I didn't move though. I just went down a list of dog names. " Rusty? Johnson? Gypsum? Alright well Gus, I think I'm gonna get going now. It's been fun chatting with you. I have this place around the corner if your hungry. I'll feed you and I could use the company. Either way, I'll see you around."
I got up and stood on my Skateboard and began to push off. "Knee Deep" by CKY in my headphones and started rolling.
Riding my longboard was so fun. There is a slight incline on the roads around here and heading towards home, from my shop was basically a down hill. I could make some pretty good time getting home. Usually only like twenty minutes if I didn't make any detours.
I look back to check my six and there is Gus. He's got a good speed to him. A trot really more than a run. I'm kind of surprised cause I feel like I'm really moving. Snake curving the asphalt making big g-turns into the next streets.
I get home and Gus must have been hungry. Or maybe he was many of path crossings we make in life. An angel in dog form.
Gus got Bacon that night. Gus and I were late for work the next day. We made many stops along the way cause Gus shouldn't eat bacon. Jajaja.
Good times. Thanks Gus.

4-14
     Oh Gus.
    Days went by and Gus would walk off. He wasn't my pet. He wasn't my dog.
    He was my friend. I don't know if Gus was his name ever. He did come to, Gus. I'm not sure if he ever liked that name though.
   Oh the long days and nights we would spend together. They were a short two weeks but they were a dark two weeks.
   My ex decided that she was going to move closer to Flag Staff Az. That was nearly 4 and a half hours drive away. And that she was moving that day. And,
"If you would like any of your shit, you should go to the house and pick it up."
    My time line is blurry but not the feeling.
    She ripped me apart.
    She was taking my son with her and with no notice. She even had some of our close friends  help her pack the U-Haul.
    No notice.
    When I got to the house, if I hung it on the wall it was still there. If I brought it in, that's where she left it. If she couldn't use it, she broke it. And left it.
   If I bought it and it was sentimental and she couldn't pawn it, she left it. If it was something I made for my son, she left it behind.
    Pictures of my son and I; thank God she left them.
    Her game was strong. I taught her well. She was possessed! I was sure of it.
    Thank God for Gus.
    Those same friends who helped her out on me, showed up to see my reaction, and since they showed up, I made them help me move this shit to my apartment.
    Hindsight, I should have taken anything that would have fit in my backpack and pushed that skateboard off and acted like I didn't care.
   But I did care. My intention was good for me, and maybe our relationship could have been worked on if I wasn't such a dick about her being okay with what I thought was best with no explanation. I didn't want to fight anymore. But I didn't want to be left like that.
    I was dumb too.
    I did my share of stuff. I crossed some boundaries. I deserved what I got. And I had no choice but to eat crow.
   I showed up to work. But I wasn't at work.
    Knowing that my dude was so far out of my reach was an emotional knock out. I was devastated.
    I learned loss.
   It's defeat, a lesson taught in my life twice already. And although, I learned it from another few angles, I was eating it again. Big Black Crow.
   Oh Gus, the tears you licked away. You ran with me. You clung to me. You walked with me through some of my darkest times.
    I couldn't smoke enough meth.
   No amount of weed smoked was enough for me to break free of the grasp that this demon of depression had on my heart. When you know your child. And he or she is your best friend, and then he is taken legally from you, nothing hurts like that cut.
    No amount of self deprivation would have consoled me like the warm sweet kisses of Gus.
    I was so dark, no friend would have had any words that could help.
   One, everything I was dealing with was at some point, a consequence of my own actions. And two, I'm really bull headed and there isn't any way I would have listened.
   Not everything was my fault. Everything is a cause and effect of another effect, because, whether violent or kind, vengeful or merciful, the lesson I needed to learn was being taught.
   It wasn't by her. It wasn't by me.
    It was by God. By Allah. By Buddha. By Krishna. By whatever your God is. I think they all got together and were playing rugby with my ass.
    Maybe I didn't know what it meant to have loved ones. Maybe I didn't have what it took to know how to treat someone who "loved me". Maybe I didn't know how to treat things with love and care, because I didn't understand what all of these things were until they were torn from my life.
   How could I even trust my closest friends who helped her pack that shit up without them even texting me or calling me with a heads up.
   I didn't need friends like that.
   I dropped some acid. Acid usually will get me up. Maybe I needed a walk in the desert. I went into the wash.
   The wash is where all the water goes when there is a monsoon. The monsoon is beautiful chaos in the summer. The streets fill with water and and it needs to disperse quickly. Otherwise it will flood the streets.
    Yeah. I'm on acid walking through that sand filled bottom heading north west. Lost in the early morning darkness. Walking the wash trying to find some beauty.
    Even as the early morning sun rose, and I was walking on the bike path, the trees made movements. The sky seemed to vibrate. The dust devils in the distance dancing with the trash blowing in circles may have had my attention but the magic of it was not there.
   The whispers were faint even. There was nothing guiding me. Nothing in my entire life had felt like this.
   I had four kids. And I had none of them. I rarely spoke of them. Shameful distaste and no amount of any pocket magic was going to work the same way again.
    While walking past some cactus I looked up and the sun was just behind this saguaro with its shadow casting down on me. I must have talked to it for minutes.
    This roller blader passed me, and made a sharp 180 and stopped. I don't know how long he was listening. I don't know what I was saying.
   "That's pretty profound, dude." He said.
   Puzzled, I realized it was a cactus. I turned and there he was. Just standing on his skates. Hand on his hip and sunglasses.
   "How long have you been there?" I said.
    "Long enough to know you need to go home dude. You're either still wasted from last night, or you're crazy as fuck! I've been listening to you talk to that cactus now for awhile.  I just thought I would remind you, that you're awake. There's people out here. Go home. Drink some water." He laughed at me and started skating off.
    Gus wasn't there anymore either. He was gone.
    Must have walked off.
    Now I felt very lonesome.
    The dude was right though. I wasn't alone. I was fucked up still from the nite before. I was crazy as fuck. And I probably did need some water.
     I went back to my place. Plowed myself on the floor. Cried into the carpet and tried my best to be still.
    My mind was set in motion. I, all of the sudden had emotions. And they were overwhelmingly powerful. Especially on LSD.
    I didn't like these. It may have been just what I needed.
    I had found a medicine cabinet in the trash once on my way home. It fit in the corner and it wasn't in the bathroom. It was a mirror hanging funny in the corner of my bedroom.
    I kept stuff in there. Drugs. Alcohol. Whatever fit. Only a few knew what it was.
    I went to it.
    I looked at myself in the mirror.
   Who the fuck is this shell? This carcass? Who was this meat sickle looking back at my eyes.
   I looked terrible.
    It was time to take my inventory and I wasn't talking about my emotions.
    I opened it up.
   Two pints of whiskey. A bunch of Vicodin and some more weed. I closed the cabinet. There was nothing to make me of sound mind in there.
   My secret stash that nobody knew about was these milk crates.
   I know, you're thinking, "milk crates?"
   But yeah. I had like nine of them holding my bed up off the floor. Nobody knew that they were holding it up. I didn't have bed boards and stuff like that. I had some crates holding up my bed.
   I had it pushed up against the wall. So I pulled the bed out and the center crate had a shoe box. I kept a little stuff in there. I needed to get into that box.
   Inside it, was my real stash. I had a little gold in there.
   I didn't want to feel fried anymore. I took a little bit, and hid it all back where I found it and went to my living room and grabbed an oil burner and commenced to wake up.
    Turmoil and back to the medicine cabinet for some whiskey. I looked my self in the eye again as I drank a swig and winked at myself.
    "I guess I'm going to fuck you up today, buddy!"
   I hit that oil burner while sitting on my bed staring at myself there. I kept starring in hopes to see my face change and with each hit, it did a little.
   I went from fried to spun and then the words resonated with me.
   "Drink some water."
    I went to take a shower.
    I must have drank a gallon of water in that shower. I had that gut wrenching feeling when you drink from the hose. Water keeps coming so you drink till you're full. Yep. Except it was shower water.
   I went over to my chair after the shower and started drawing shit. I had very little motivation really. But there was nobody in the room to judge me.
    None there to give me any ideas.
   People, I need them.
    I have no purpose when I am not at work. None.
    Hey, I was in no shape to be there though really. I may have taken a long shower but I was really still dirty. So dirty. Filthy.
   I realized Gus was long gone. I had the door open with the screen closed but no Gus.
    Hours passed.
   Still no Gus.
    By that time, I guess I just realized and accepted that things were going to come and go. And that I needed to get back to routine.
   I really haven't had one except fucking off for awhile and it was time to get back to real.

  4-15

   I was had many friends in this new adventure and Angie in the picture above is one of them.
    This little lesbian was one of my best friends in the those first few months of the shop opening and it all started with the Dirty Jew tattoo. I don't know if it's anti-Semitic or if could be if it's something she wanted because she is a Jew.
    Can you be racist if your talking about yourself? I have a few truly faithful Jewish friends and I have a lot of friends who are Jewish  but don't live
Traditionally with their religion.
    I'm teetering here.
   Anyways, DJ here was my first employee. And she stuck around for awhile. Maybe gave me about 3 months and it didn't pay off to be a piercer in my shop. Piercings were way cheaper than tattoos and I knew it was going to be tough for her and u was upfront about what she was getting into.
    She didn't know exactly what I was into. It wasn't long before we got to know each other well.
    Not sexually either.
    Just friends and Angie had a lot of friends.  She really did. I got to pass through their lives and give them tattoos and piercings and just be cool.
    Ange introduced me to that Minnesota underground. You know.
    If you don't know you should figure it out. It literally saved my mind. I didn't have much direction and I pushed all my friends back and started the adventure of new pals. New beginnings.
    My Minneapolis Underground album of that time was POS. The name of it was AUDITION.
    There was this song called the Kill in me.
   I will try to make it easy for you if you're in the app.

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Seems easy enough.
    You cut easily with a shaky hand.
    It's how I felt about my whole life.
    This was the first time I ever heard of DOOMTREE and I knew it was the first time ever hearing rap that didn't talk about violent street living.
    I identified easily with it.
   Indi-rap. Who knew?
    It wasn't about getting fucked up or slaying vaginas across the land. It was about getting up off your ass and making something out of yourself.
  Becoming what you can be from what you know you're not. At least that's what I took from it.

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   I lived in a half cocked concept.
    I was between metal and punk rock this time in my life.
    Anyways. Having a girl in the shop was good for me. She softened the blows when I got them. And Angie was one of the guys as far as I'm concerned. She drank and smoked. And I could leave my gold alone for awhile.
    I needed to get up, go out and kill it. This became an inner mantra of mine.
   I started gaining momentum again in the shop. I had to do some tattoos cheaper but I got to tattoo.
   Angie gave me POS and DOOMTREE. This would eventually turn into a whole genre of music that would pull me through the war with myself.
   Angie was like my sister. She talked very nice about me to friends who felt good about spending time with me. She was a rad wingman.
    But it all had to end when she needed money. I couldn't provide that.
    Being a piercer is a rough job. You have to have a following for you to succeed. It's just the way it goes and how that went for me, was ange got a job at Circle K.
    Thanks for your time Angie. You happy little lesbian Dirty Jew, you.
    She wanted to be the next Odessa.
     She was a talented indie-rapper. She rapped about some of things in her life that were bogging her forward momentum. She did some shows.
    She even got to open for Rihanna who seemed less appreciative of it than Lil Dead. (Angie's stage name on soundcloud)
    She did go far. Maybe she's still going, but she's keeping it quiet.
   She used to write her heart down in a black book. I often wonder if she goes back to read those lines and looks back to where she is now and how far she has really come.
   She moved away to Albuquerque and now I see her on Facebook from time to time. Living a good life. I wish her the best.
     After she left, I was on the up.
    I wasn't exactly making money, but my investor was telling me that I wasn't losing any either. Even is better than less.
    I was primed before even walking into the bar that night. I must have on my most gravitational vibes going. People were happy to see me and I was happy to see them. Many drinks were down my gullet before I realized I was going to have a bad night walking home. This skateboard wasn't gonna make it.
     I had to call a cab.
    It must have been a great night cause I was in very rare form. I usually get the same cab drivers that work just in my hood around here but I dunno.
    Was I drunk as fuck? Yes.
    But this cab driver wasn't another scruffy crack head or a washed up druggie with a license. It wasn't my usual cabby.
    I know it sounds weird but she was kind of cute.
   "wow," I said, " are you from heaven?"
    She giggled, "where you going Romeo?"
    I told her my addy. And I said, "So, you know where I hang out, and you know where I live!" I was laughing. It's kind of contagious.
    "Yeah, I know." She said.
    "What you don't know is, I'm a fucking mess! I'm a mess because I'm on a vacation and if you like vacations, I would suggest that we get reacquainted sometime." I gave her magic business card and said, " see that phone number?"
    She's fully laughing at me, but I had her attention and I couldn't tell you how quite honestly.
   "Maybe when I'm better suited mentally, we can take a vacation away from our everyday and go eat something, drink something, or just escape our everyday bullshit together. You're pretty. Don't be dumb. Take the card, call the number, and we WILL have a good time."
   I got out of the cab and she waited for me to get to the door, I dropped my long board, I dropped my keys trying to catch my longboard. She got out of the cab and picked up my longboard rolling down the drive.
   "Dude, you are a mess!"
   "Yep, but I'm having a great time!" I found the key and thanked her and went inside.

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Yep. This was my theme music for many years. hed PE was one of my favorite bands of the era. If you don't know, it's okay.
   This punk Rap is abrasive and true to my heart and life for the moment. I just wanted to fuck, get high, get drunk and most of all, just die young.
   I was hurting and trying to fill a void.
   I went to bed easily that night.
   I knew, I wanted to just pick up and run. But I couldn't.  I was tied to this shop and the routine that allowed me to be happy.
    Yeah, I did tattoos. But that wasn't my life like it is today.
    I was invested in people. I needed them. We needed each other. It was just my understanding of how things worked.

4-16
This old dude. This dude right here!
Oh how I loved this guy.
When I met Gary Munez he was in a dark apartment. Drinking with my exes mother and and another friend. Six years before.
The first thing he asked me was about my tattoos. "Did you get all those in prison?"
Everyone laughed.
I looked at him sharp. I had no idea who he was. I had no idea what he was going to be.
All I knew was this old bastard was some dickhead who really offended me in front of a lot of people and I was in no position to call him out on it.
He was an old family friend and had heard all the nasty things about me. Truth be told, but none of the other stuff.
Gary is a spaniard not a Mexican.
I love everything Mexican. There women are beautiful, the color of their culture is bright and the music is as wonderful as there many flavorful foods. Their values on customs and family are second to none.
If I could, I would probably live somewhere down there in American Mexico. Places like Cabo or even the island of Cozumel.
Not Gary. He liked the food and the women, don't get me wrong. He was risen as a good old fashioned American Cowboy.
At first meeting, he was just another drunk redneck.
I had no idea how cool he really was.
In the 70's he was a drinking cowboy who ran heavy machinery and did well for himself. Born to raise hell, and could spit fire and a hell of a fighter.
A pussy slayer!
And in the 80's a little slower than that. More of a lover. Less of a fighter. And in the mid 90's a drinker like Toby Kieth. A music lover of anything classic rock and old country.
A bar drinker who drank at home. And then in the mid 90's picked up the awesome disease of Parkinson's.
It was like a Mac Truck really. It took over him and ravished his nervous system making it so he couldn't work anymore.
He was basically handicapped in the course of year.
Reading my shit, you may think that I've been through a lot. But fuck dude, I was ignorant to it. I thought I was having a rad time. I was doing what I loved to do. Tattoos, fucking, and drinking and drugging.
I wouldn't take one of this guys best days for one of my shittiest.
He couldn't sit still. He would shake sometimes very badly. So bad that he couldn't go anywhere. Do anything. He had very little control of his body.
And yet sometimes he did. He took a couple different meds that helped with it but sometimes, he would drink a little.
What would people be without their vices?
I would still tattoo him. Over the years I covered 3/4 of his body one tattoo at a time.
He would jerk.
He would kick.
He would sway.
He would cuss and tell stories of his youth and twitch.
Tattooing this fucking guy was a nightmare.
He taught me more about how to handle people. He taught me how to be patient and relax when I have a person who twitches and kicks when I tattoo them.
I would yell, "Dude! Could you sit still?"
"I'm fucking trying, damn it!"
You know what you and Michael J Fox have in common? Every fucking thing! Jajjajajajaja!"
"I wish I had his money!"
"Yeah? Me too!"
When people are tough to tattoo because the pain takes the best of them, I think about how this fucking guy did it ten times worse than them.
His memory makes me smile.
Sure I was high or whatever. But I wasn't. It was normal for me. I was having a great time with people and they were having a great time with me. I have a lot of return clients.
A lot of them have become friends.
Gary Munez hated me calling him a Mexican. Jajaja maybe it's racist somehow. But between us dudes, it was a funny thing really.
He would say something about how he used to work hard.
And I would say something like, "Yeah you did! Just like a Mexican! Jajaja!"
He would say, " When I was young, women loved me!"
And I would say, "yeah, cause Mexicans are suavè!"
And he would scream, "I ain't fucking Mexican!" And he would shake and jerk and cuss some more.
He didn't hate Mexicans. He married one when he was younger.
And I said, "she thought you were Mexican too right?"
Oh the good times.
One day, I decided it would be a good idea to take Gary out to lunch. My bro, Brian and Stew took Gary to a place where they served a good lunch.
Gary didn't. Shake very much earlier in the day so after another tattoo of a naked girl, we thought it would be a great idea to go to Tens.
Tens is a classier gentlemen's club located on Speedway Blvd and they aren't very busy in the early afternoon but they do serve cold beer and decent hamburgers. And beautiful women. A perfect combination, right?
So we smoked a blunt on our way to the spot. Not Gary. He doesn't do drugs.
We start to drinking beers and get our order taken. And as soon as that's done ladies start walking around asking us if we want lap dances.
I'm in. So are my guys. And we are all having a great time hanging in the club.
Our food comes.
Gary didn't want to eat anything but it had been awhile since he had been in a club. So he started to have a good time.
He started shaking though.
His shakes aren't like DT's so much as they are quick repetitive movements with his hands and head.
He started alarming the girls and they kept asking Stew and I if he was okay and we let them know that he wasn't high or that he wasn't weird but that he had a condition and it was my Dads birthday.
So they were like, "It's your birthday?!! Oh how sweet! You brought your dad here for his birthday?"
And he was smiling ear to ear! Shaking his head yes. And he would look at me with those "you mother fucker" eyes but with that, "Thank fucking god I know you! " smile.
The funny thing was, we were all eating. And these girls would ask us for lap dances but we would throw them to Gary and say Happy Birthday.
Happy days!
10 dollar lap dances are better when you buy them for someone else. It's hilarious to watch an old dude have a great time.
And then she was there. Dressed in white. Ultra lit with a black light. Long white boots and 23/25 in age. Long black hair. A very well endowed sexy Latina. I fell in lust with her. I did. Immediately.
She was sexy as all get out. Her long black hair was an extension of her personality. I seen her walk on the stage. I watched from a distance as she walked off the stage. And then she walked over to us.
Long and slender. Hips switching.
Her eyes were dark and smokey and her lips redder than the blood in my veins. She wore her bangs just evenly around her face with the rest falling in front of her shoulders and over her back.
I made eye contact with her and she was b-lining to me.
Her confidence was so intimidating. She knew she had me. She knew it.
I gulped. And reached for my beer.
She stopped my hand from lifting it with her soft gentle finger tips. She ran her hand up my arm and came around the table and fell into my lap ever so gently.
I was rocked.
She whispers directly into my ear.
"I can not hear you." I said.
"Is it really your dads birthday?"
"Oh, yeah. It is." I laughed.
"I will make his day!" She said.
"You have already made mine!" I said.
"The girls are all talking about this sweet man. My name is Carmen. Carmen Saint."
"Saint what?"
"That's it." She said, "may I dance for him?"
Lap dances are generally 10 bucks in the strip club here at the time. But I gave Carmen Saint a big 20 and introduced Gary to her.
Gary was red in the face. He was already over stimulated. You could tell. He was over joyed.
But when Carmen climbed down his leg and blew hot air into his pants he was really enthusiastic.
That was the day I learned way more about Gary than I ever planned to.
A minute went by and Carmen's head popped up. In surprise really. She screamed, "what do you have in there for me?"
Gary's dick had convulsions of sorts as well. We could see his pants moving. Without him touching them.
The bouncer was alerted by her sudden movement and they flashed lights on him.
Poor guy.
It was embarrassing for him. But after a little feel up by Carmen, she told the bouncer it was okay and sat back on Gary's lap. She laid back on him and grinded on him while talking to him mouth to ear. He was red.
It was gawd awful of me to find entertainment in this situation. But Gary was ear to ear for the next week.
When we left I had to ask him if Parkinson's affected his junk like that.
He said, "No, It happens to have been able to do that my whole life! You know why?"
"Tell me!" I said.
"Because I'm a spaniard! That's why!"
Oh Gary.
I miss you dude.
This guy would become a father figure to me and I tattooed him over the years. I always tattooed him on Father's Day.
It was our thing. Cowboy skulls and naked ladies. Drinking tattoos. Horses. And trucker tats. He is rad.
He seen me go through the fire.
He helped me out throughout my days in Tucson. Even some of the best ones.

04-17
   I have had a couple of best friends in my life. My first one you've already been introduced to. He is still one of my closest.
   Scotts been with me many years.
  Sure as I became older there were a few more.
    They say you have three different kinds of friends in your life. 
     Friends for a reason.
    Friends for a season.
     And the best are the friends for a lifetime.  
    Trust me, I am way more selective these days. Some friends came and went. Not all of them went into the night and left a sour taste in my mouth.
   Some came and went like lightning. The good time we had, and all that is left, is a sweet memory if anything at all.
    And I think that's what I'm talking about here.
     I first met him in tattoo-thousand.

From left to right is Brotha James, myself, and Brother Charlie.
   They're far from saints. And far from priests but not far from my brothers.
   Brothers do things that you don't like but that doesn't ever change who they are to you. And I mean that with all my heart.
    Charlie came in my life like a lightning bolt. Sometime in or after 2001 these two guys walked into a tattoo shop where I was working.
    Charlie and his brother James were looking to get a tattoo and I was there. It must have been one of the luckiest days I ever had.
    I remember making friends with Charlie. He was stressed but very charitable. He was buying his brother a tattoo.
   But he had a lot going on. His phone would ring and he would be pissed when he got off or his Entourage he was with, wouldn't do as he asked.
   There was something very different about this guy and anyone could see that. His brother was laid back and chill and was definitely the the opposite demeanor that balanced out this duo.
      I cannot honestly remember what tattoo it was that I did for Charlie our first meeting. It may have been his last name across his stomach or I fixed it or something. And James got a couple tiger faces with some tiger stripes on his back from a guy that I tattooed with named Michael Gardner.
     I could see some stress on Charlie. I asked him if he wanted a smoke break and he said yeah.
     I went out the back door with him and we chilled,  smoked a cig and then we smoked a little weed. He totally relaxed and I was able to finish the tattoo.
   We must have connected well.
    I went on for sometime as there primary tattoo artist and after some time, luck changed for Charlie and his family when he wound up doing a little time.
   He went to prison for many years.
    Luckily for me, I did tattoos and not "construction".
    I kept doing what I was doing and in return, I got to pal up with brother James when he needed tattoos.
   I felt privileged to tattoo already, but to be a part of the family? That was something unforeseen. Years went by and from time to time our bond became something all its own.
   Many things that happened over the years that could have tested any friendship. But I believe we are all brothers still.
   These pics are all I have at the moment, but this is when I went back to Tucson after Charlie got out of prison.

  I don't know what to write to you most about these guys.
   We had some great times together.
   When Charlie was in prison, James did everything a guy could do to help me out from time to time.
   We did tattoo parties a few times  James would have co-workers and family members buy work from me so I could make a few bits of money when I was in between tattoo shops.
   In Hindsight, I should of given him a cut. Hell I should have payed him for all the counseling he gave me over the years.
   He always was there when I called.
   Sometimes months would go by without words and then he would show up and it was like we never split.
   It's been nine years since I've owned Young Kev's Tattoo Parlor and when I go back to home, I go to James House.
   James and Hillary, James' wife, have seen me through the fire and never got involved or took sides in my relationships. Forever friends is what we are.
   Charlie too, but I don't think he knows it.
  These guys changed with me in life and I will forever be grateful that I had them.
   I will tell you more about my brother in awhile. I just wanted to introduce him to you.
    James was level headed. Always. Still is. And when I was out there during my Young Kev days, I would tell him my stories and most of the time it was, "oh yeah? Tell me more!"
   He never judged me. He never passed judgement on anyone I was fucking or anyone I was hanging with.
   I learned from him, that everyone starts at the highest level. They knock themselves down after that.
   They will always show there truest intention with time. There's no need to judge anyone.
   It's hard to write tonight. Later.

4-18

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   Disengagement was one of the things on my character defects list. And I did it a lot. Oh the many days I was on a routine of go to work. Meet with people.
   Do tattoos and use my medicine.
  I really don't know what to tell you. I loved what I did, but I hated what I was doing. I wanted so badly to change my direction but I loved my course.
   I was between a rock and a hard place. Trying to hold on to what I had left and wanting to just lose myself.
   The days were filled with HED PE and at night, I would skate home to CKY in my head phones.
   Sure, I was not alone all the time. Hell most of the time there was someone there for me. And if not, I made my rounds from bar to bar on my way home. Check my mail at the boondocks and then head to my local circle k where I would buy a fifth of whiskey or rum and go home.
     Feeling buzzed and carrying that 12 pack of Coke and a fifth in the other hand on that skateboard was the most freeing feeling in the world.
    I know it sounds weird to most, but it's near impossible to get a DUI on a skateboard. Most of the time the cops just tell you to get back on the sidewalk and if you just listen, they drive off and let you be.
   I lived very close to the Rillito River wash and there was a bike path that followed it. And often if I was tweaked and restless still after a few drinks, I would head to it and push whatever was left right out of me.
    So here is a map of my eco system.

My shop was on First Ave and Grant Rd. and my apartment was on Wetmore a crosse the street from the Tucson Mall. And I would push from Grant Rd all the way to the mall. And then sometimes after wasting away in my apartment, I would push my skate as far west as I could and then back.
    It wasn't unusual for me.
   I escaped when I went to work, yeah, but when I was at work, I was pretty much stationary and stuck inside four walls and pent.
  My stresses and angst had to be bottled. I was angry as fuck and had to release it. So yeah my feelings were like a steam engine and if I didn't let go, I would not seem happy.
   I balanced everything I could. I wanted to not live how I was but I was having a terrible time of it. Suicides were contemplated on the daily. And it wasn't that I was a coward, and it wasn't that I wasn't trying to do anything about making my life better.
    I was caught up. I was in this rut that I was trying to climb out of but I didn't have the gas to run up the wall.
   I found solace in a cab driver. In a hair stylist who worked next door to the shop. In a girl named Elissa who helped me move to a smaller apartment over on Limberlost.
    Oh the good times we had.
   Elissa was a good time and took me into the end of the year.
    I am no dancer. I'm not at all. And even if I'm drunk, I feel awkward as fuck doing it.
    James took us out on New Years to this honky Tonk country bar and I remember being just tweaked enough to move but never drunk enough to let my self go.
    James is an awesome dancer and he and Hillary have been together long enough to make it look good. Elissa and I?
    Well, I'm sure nobody was looking like I thought they were. Jajaja
    We drank, we ate. We went home and did things. And the next day, it was like a whole world of issues crashed on me.
    Living on Limberlost was a whole other era of fuckery.
    I was popped on the first day of the year drunk in public at 12 pm crying in a gutter with some LSD in my pocket. Elissa came and tried to pick me up but didn't get there in time.
   Oh, Crown Royal. How you fuck me up just right. Me and the king were at odds. I don't remember much, but the police report sounds ridiculous.
     I wound up in the hospital until I sobered up. And they sent me home in a cab and I was back to work the next day.
   Mike Mc Guinness, my investor, had purchased me a tattoo chair for the shop and God was I grateful. I tried my best to look like I had it together, but before cannot be retrieved, man.
   I had a story and it was written all over my face. Those days, he must have been wishing he hadn't got into business with me.

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Reading everyone's stuff in here has changed my method of writing. I now am posting YouTube videos with everything I write. I really should stop it but it's like way easier for my reader than just posting CLOSE YET FAR by CKY.
   I FELT LIKE THIS ALWAYS.
   I was so close but I was living in the paradox of far away.
   I am thankful, I had bros like James, who listened to me and encouraged me on the things that made me happy. The first year at Young Kevs made me feel old.
   So, drop me a line like the song says.
  Thanks for reading.

4-19
   Talk about emotional stress. What didn't I have. I had any one of these aches and pains on any given day of the week if not all of them. I was medicated.
   Thinking too fast?
   Have a drink.
    Thinking to slow?
   Smoke some meth.
   Started to have feelings?
   A bag of forget.
    Not dealing with emotions?
   A bottle of distention.
   Wanting to feel more?
   XTC was the cure.
   A mixture, of dismissal.
    I wasn't always fucked up. Not me.
  I always had someone to point at who was worse off. I wasn't lying cheating or stealing to get mine. I wasn't stripping wire for copper.
   I wasn't selling my body for dope. I wasn't in the strip club with my kid in the car.
   I was dumb.
   I was cheating every person who I tattooed while working for myself there. I cheated them out of my clear minded best effort. I didn't put my heart into the work. They got a tattoo. They didn't get my best.
    In that regard, I was stealing. Not just from my client, but from myself.
   My reputation as a decent artist was spinning down the toilet as all I could do in a day was a tattoo, and while doing so, think about all the things hexing me. My attention was maybe thirty percent.
   Owning your own business is tough. But if you're heart is somewhere else, your mind can only do so much.
   And with my hands in everywhere else it's hard for me to find reason why things were in a decline.(sarcasm)
   I was fucked.

   I didn't know where to begin.
   My buddy, Aziz worked a few doors down from the shop. He owned the smoke shop. Naturally you know why he would be my bro.
   During my open hours I would go in and visit with him. Buy an Arizona sweet tea and chill for a minute. Hang out talk about stuff. See what new.
    Once in awhile he would break out a whip-it and we would hit CO2 and I would get my bell rung and go back to my shop. Maybe buy an oil burner or a glass pipe for my weed. Little ones are what I prefer. They're easy to hide and you never care to throw them away if you need to ditch one.
   Just reading what I'm writing here, I'm shaking my head.
   Anyways.
   I'm missing my son. Him living so far away, I'm lost without him. I never knew what it was like to have been apart from someone you love so much.
  This lesson hurt. And I masked it with anything that came to hand.
    I felt like a piece of shit and I hammered myself more than I really care to admit here.
    Every passing birthdate of any of my kids was another blow on top of it. Just another shadow grabbing at my soul in a late night walk through the graveyard.

  Aziz was this big ass 350 pound Arab man who had this smoke shop and a wife who was Mexican American. And they had a beautiful baby girl together.
  I think Aziz and I were in the same boat. Really just hanging on to a shop that was tanking everyday. I'm sure the whip it's weren't all that was messing him up.
   He was selling Salvia. That shit was messing up people's minds. I never did any of that stuff. But there were other signs that I had to know things weren't going well for him.
   Somebody stole his car and set it on fire.
    Then he got popped for selling stolen cigarettes.
   After that, he stayed open amazingly somehow. But the parties went on over there for months. He was having people hang out and so was I. 
    I was trying to build my tattoo shop into a shop people wanted to come to. And I was starting with my floor.
    We were always under slow construction. My investor Mike was having this guy help tile the floor. The monsoon season would be here before I knew it and our shop was on a flood plane.
   It had to be done.
   There was so much blue in the shop. It felt like you were under water and so we painted over it.
   All the while this was going on, I would get a few visits from friends and stuff.

My friend Stew is standing in back. My friend Jason was getting tattooed. These guys helped me in many ways through the years.
   Stew and I aren't friends for a lifetime
    He knew stuff. He didn't tell me about it. He didn't tell me till years later. But he knew stuff and I just couldn't trust him anymore. Not going to shit talk him.
   Just kind of miss the dude.
   You ever have an exfriend? You miss the times but not the friend they became? Yeah. It's like that.
   Jason on the other hand, this dude? Bros for sure. If I make it back to Tucson, I usually make a visit with this guy.
   Anytime Jason came to hangout we did a tattoo which payed really well and then to top it, we would ride!

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Theme song.
    I was pretty much here.
    If you don't get it, it's cool. Jason and I would ride out after the tattoo totally blasting this out! Head to the strip club and grab a couple dancers and head back to the shop and have some great times.
  On my worst days, this dude would help me escape my world and bring me along for the ride to a whole other one. When I was with him or James, these dudes never once let me get too deep into myself and my problems.
   They flew me away on magic carpets and threw magic dust over my eyes and the obstacles disappeared. Only for a moment. Just long enough to avert my attention from everything going on.
   Even in hell, God shows mercy through the drops of grace.
   I had friends. I will always be grateful for.

4-20
Smokem' if you got them.
This time in my life is hard to write about. Most of what I have written in true history was written in anger and a broken heart.
Most of the words written in my spines are pathetic hate poetry's dealing with the break up with my girl and my son.
I wrote everything in code as well. That was dumb. So if I talked about real stuff I didn't go into details of anything. So, everything I'm writing here is about stuff that I already wrote about in another spine from different eyes, so to speak.
I was down. You guys get that.
And reading my bullshit to write another more clearer view of it here is hard on me emotionally.
I wish I had a picture of Kenny.
Kenny was this skinny white guy about 5'8" and about 150-160 lbs. he worked I think. Well he did something always. Maybe day labor or something.
He always showed up around 5 or 6 and he was always drinking. He lived around the corner from my shop. I never went to his house, but he would always show up at my parlor with a couple or more of those orange flavored energy beer drinks in the tall can. And we would listen to music and talk about our days and once in awhile if we were buzzed enough, we would battle rap.

Some of Young Kev's best days were in these moments when we would throw on some instrumentals and free flow out bullshit. He liked to dance when he was drinking and some of the stuff we rapped about were actually pretty good.
I'm no rapper. My shit was always whack with some tribute to my abandonment issues and broken heart. I often wonder what Kenny is up to these days. If he ever found another tattoo shop that let him be himself and rap and dance like some b-boy.
He was cool with me. I miss that dude.
He always had a knack to pick me up on the down days. He would always interrupt me at some of the wildest points in the day.
I had met this angel who completed me somehow. I was 30 and she was 19 years old but in a lot of ways, I was crazy about her.
Her name was Veronica. She was this heavy metal broad who walked into my life one day while I was chilling to a little Devin.
You never heard of the dude? Well the dude does all the same shit that I do. He smokes weed. Drinks beer. And fucks a lot. And that is all he raps about. Here you go.

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Yeah me and the dude go way back.
She walked in and was like, "this is what you chill to in here?"
"If you don't like it, you could leave." I said. I was having a moment where I had been alone too long.
"No, it's not like that. I love Devin."
"My names Kevin. Kevin the Dude!," I laughed confidently. "What brings you in?"
"I'm just in the neighborhood and Aziz told me that you listen to metal" she giggled, "but this isn't what I was expecting when I walked in here at all."
Maybe there was like magnets pulling us. I don't know. 19 year old girls weren't out of my range yet. I didn't think so.

Vero was a metal moshing bad ass. She asked me if I wanted to go to a concert that she had extra tickets for. And I had never heard of the band before but if this chick was going to be there I was going to show up.
I hadn't been out for a while and maybe a pit was just what I fucking needed. So I put on my best skull t and headed out.
I had no idea what I was getting into.

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This pit was the first one since seven dust and avenged seven fold a year earlier. It was comparable. I looked all over the place for her with my beers in hands.
Some how I wound up downing them before finding her.
There were people pounding each other in the pit. And at first sight, I thought it would be a good idea to get in. I did.
I found her.
I said, " let's go smoke!"
There was a fire in her eyes. She said, "THIS IS LAMB OF GOD!" And she shoved me right through a crowd of seven dudes. Dudes never pushed me like that. Jajajja not even in a fight!
I was in love.
I tried to hang but out of shape I was. For sure couldn't hang in this pit. Defeated I climbed some stairs and landed at the top trying to catch my breath. First time I was defeated by myself.
I needed this pit. I needed to feel actual pain. I was screaming for it.
I yelled at myself for being such a puss. And then I downed another few more beers and went back down into the depths.
To just feel another blow. To feel another person hit me. To hit, push, and shove. To get hit, pushed, and shoved. To give damage and to receive it.
I was overwhelmed by this pit.
Now round two! I owned that pit. I grabbed hold of someone and swung away with them sling shotting people into other people. Every song came and went.
I couldn't understand any of the words. I didn't care about them. All those people at the top of the stairs looking down on a show were watching the stage as well as the pit.
I knew this. I was just up there.
I was part of the show.
On my way out, I bought a hoodie and handed it to Vero and said thanks for the ticket. It was just what I needed. And went home.
The next day Vero came by and thanked me for the hoodie. And a kiss on the cheek turned into a full out make out session in the shop.
Vero wasn't a girly girl. She was Mexican Native and other than her titties, she had less feminine features. But she was all woman. I promise.

She was tough and rugged in a lot of ways. She looked like a cross between a gangster at times to a heavy metal queen at times. But she took a lot of my pain away.
A true homegrown, from the south side of Tucson none the less.
Kenny walked in with his beers. And seen us together and was like, "Kev, are you for real?"
"What bro?"
"Dude, you know that's a dude right?" He laughed, " for real dude, that chick is a dude! I'm your real friend bro, I will tell you what nobody else will!"
"I'm a chick, dude!"
"Yeah, a chick with a dick!"
I was taken back. Not that I didn't think Vero had a dick but that Kenny couldn't see what I knew. Vero wasn't only a woman, but this bitch could take him.
"I don't have a dick,fucker!"
"Oh yeah? Prove it."
She pulled her panties down and I wasn't surprised really. All pussy
"There dick head!" She was confident. And Kenny was still confused!
Now that that was established. Kenny still thought I was queer. I didn't care. Vero was working graveyards at McDonalds and she would come see me before she went in.
I think James had a reservation at first but I would tell him everything and eventually with time, she grew on him. Even Jason.
Little did I know, something was up. But I was blinded by what I saw. I was the other guy. I was a part time dude.
But I didn't mind too much.
We got together from time
To time and played well and then she would leave. She came in and out of my life like a tornado. People did that.
I began to understand what a mess I was becoming. Even the people that came and went were quick out as they came in.
Just gypsy voyagers romping and crossing the seas where ever the wind would take them.
Every song has an end my friend but the song with Vero played time and again. We had some adventures.
Kenny? He came and went too.
Bowl for Two by The Expendables

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Happy 420 fuckers. I hope this finds you in good spirits and thank you for reading. Drop me a line.

4-21
We were painting the shop in February and things were coming together.
Jason had purchased me some t-shirts using this logo I created. I had painted it on the door leading into my tattoo room.

It had cracked blood painted and I don't know if you can see it at first but this would become my "BRAND" so to speak.
My personal signature. I YOUNG KEV.
The shirts and hats were embroidered and silk screened and looked like this.

I still sport the hat.

I had a YOUNG KEVS uniform.
It was cool to sport something of my own.
We were finishing up painting.
I was finishing up a tattoo on a mans chest. I came, I saw, I conquered.
And Gary Stewart showed up. He was having an argument with his lady and needed to go somewhere.
He came to my shop.
These guys, Jenn and Gary, were friends of old. What I mean by that is that they were a couple who used to hang out with me on the daily and they got hung up when they helped my ex pack up the U-HAUL and move to Presscott Valley.

Some friends. I had cut lines after that. They went from friends to acquaintances real quick. And because of that they were withdrawing.
I was generous with them. I got them high a lot. They usually scored when I did. And without me, they had to find another means.
When I cut ties, I cut ties.
I would never get these fucksticks high again. And I meant it.
I told Gary I wasn't getting high anymore. But we could go have a drink after work at the bar across the street called the Home Den.
It was the first bar on my way home many a night after work.
One drink became many and he said he never knew I could drink so much.
That I must be high.
I was. But not with him.
I ordered another Crown. Then we left.
Oh, words between drunks.
Words escalated into an argument and I was like whatever dude and I started to skate off. "Don't get a DUI man." He started walking the street on the other side of me.
Yelling to me across the street all about all sorts of shit. And then he said it.
He thought that my ex and I had a threesome with his wife Jenn. And that's why me and Cyndi broke up.
Come on man, face it. Jenn was a piercer who I worked with over the last four years. These people watched my son for me. We did dope together. We did stuff like fixed cars and tweeked out together. But I wouldn't ever fuck Jenn.
Not my type.

I was clearly more Jenn's friend more than Gary's. She just knew me better.
I pushed that skateboard across the street and confronted him with nothing more than a good old haymaker to his mouth.
There was a party going on and he invited nothing more than my fist. All my weight behind it. It made this sound that stunned me.
"You deserve that shit. You should of shut your trap Gary. I told you it was coming. You just stood there. Dummy!"
"Fuck you." He said, "You gonna get more than you asked for, man." He looked back to my shop.
I got the Erie feeling that I had to protect my shop now. So, I skated back to it. He was going to call Jenn to pick him up.
He wound up back at my shop.
More words exchanged. And again. Escalated into blow for blow. He pulled a rock out of his hoodie and we scrapped for a minute.
"You're a pussy Gary."
"I'm a pussy?"
"Yeah fuck head! You pulled a river rock out of your hoodie and hit me three times with it! You didn't knock me out!" And then I stuck him right under his left eye.
"Tomorrow you're gonna wake up and think about what happened here. And you're gonna know who started this. I hope you feel like shit."
"I'm not going to feel anything!"
"Well you will know it's done. And I finished it! I'm outta here pussy!"
And I started to walk away.
"You finished it? You want to die mother fucker?"
"Whatever fuckface! I'm out of here."
He started digging in his truck.
I heard him running up behind me.
You know, you can probably ask him about any of this and he can argue with you about any of it. Except this. He intended to end it for sure. And he was not going to bed that night feeling as though he lost this fight. He did lose the fight.
He lost it. I won.
He was a pussy. I didn't have a weapon. He used one on me. He didn't win with it. It didn't have any effect on me and I still dotted that eye.
I heard him running up behind me. I turned around and was ready to confront and protect myself but not with what he had coming.
I now have a scar two fingers from my heart. I often tell people that it was my third nipple I had cut off.
Gary finished the fight with a stab wound. I turned around and seen him. If I didn't turn around he probably would have stuck it in my back.
He was possessed. It was something else. It wasn't him. I can see that now. But then, he was wild eyed and teeth gritting as he shoved that knife into my sternum and he twisted it!
I turned and was stuck. "Did you just stab me?!!"
I felt the wetness drip down my belly.
"FUCK YEAH I DID! You're GONNA DIE NIGGER!" And he smiled as he twisted the blade. I dropped my skateboard.
I think I started feeling the shock of it immediately.
I watched as he pulled the knife from my chest and he got into his truck where Jenn was standing watching the whole thing happen.
Reading what I wrote down in real history is hard to read. It draws up emotions I had buried deep. I don't think I've faced them like I'm doing here.
I went from feeling great and on top to feeling the part of a lonesome victim. The light shines and these friends showed there true selves.
   Driving off with a side window check as they pulled out of my parking lot.
And then justifying even more of the reason I had cut ties from them to begin with.
I watched them both get in their cars and flee and I was alone. I had to call the police myself. I was bleeding. I didn't know how bad I was fucked up.
I was spun out. I was drunk. I had stuff on me. And I had to lose it. I smoked up what I had left in the pipe in my pocket and just as the ghetto bird was lighting up the parking lot to my shop, I threw the pipe into the shadows of a bush just under the sign and I heard it shatter.
Cop cars started filling up my area and I seen Turtle, another tattoo artist from the area come out of the Home Den to see me getting helped up by police officers.
I was ashamed knowing that this news was going to burn through Tucson Tattoo artists throughout the land. I got stabbed by my friend in front of my own tattoo shop.
Aside from being physically painful, the emotional ones probably hurt even worse.
I called all my close friends and they showed up. I called Cyndi and she showed up and I finally got to see my son. She had me thinking she cared for a minute.
But it was only to smile on my situation and not for anything else. I'm sure she was over there at Jenn and Gary's drinking and partying with them hearing the scoop.
Whatever. Man I was having a come to god moment. I really was.
This moment in time changed me forever. It dimmed my shine for a long time. And still I showed up to work the next day to answer questions and tell stories to people who were so bored with their own lives that they needed something from my life.
I have never felt so alone. Brother James was there to lift me first and then Jason was his back up. And My investor Mike, was probably questioning me in every moment wondering what the hell he signed up for. God Bless him.
People were using me too.
The hairdresser next door was coming around for my pain medication and there was this other chick who was using me for obvious reasons but I didn't care. I could see right through their caring words but I was lonely.
Lonely like old people in an old folks home listening to visitors because it beats playing pinochle and watching tv. I was just happy to take sympathy fucks and get people watered on pocket gold.
My veil was lifted and I could see right through people. And they would come. And they would go.
My last two closest friends were there from time to time never wavering always sitting with me. Feeding me. Making sure I was taken care of. And checking in on me.
In the pits of hell and I had two brothers who lit candles in the darkness.
I was not too alone.
My lungs were collapsed from my stab wound and they had to cut through my ribs and split them to put a draining tube in. And they released me back into the world.
I still pushed my skateboard back and forth to work. It helped to feel that burning in my chest. I was in one of the lowest of depths and there was no where to go.
My reputation was dwindling and the work wasn't coming in while I was recovering. I was losing money and I really couldn't work too long.
A lot of things changed.
As time went on, I started to lose myself and a lot of weight. I got thin. Really thin.

Even Brody would notice when he came to visit.
"You changed a lot dad." He would say. Sometimes they were the first words out of his mouth.
I didn't see what everyone could see.

4-22

This shop was my life blood. The days after I got stabbed sucked. They really did.
But after that, I had a notion that cleaning my life up was the only way to make a comeback. My son came to visit again and just looking into his eyes, I knew I wouldn't last like this.
Changes had to be made. They did.
I just didn't know how to let go.
Let go of my resentments. Let go of my painful lessons in life. My abandonment issues. Let go of my past and move on to the best parts of it.
Mostly how to let go of the things that somehow made my life worth living. Like drugs and alcohol and women.
I was allowing Cyndi to come and go. I believed that there was hope in that we could get together again and work things out. I was holding onto Vero thinking she was going to sign up to fix me. I was still in an out with a few other girls who spent time with me.
I was man slutting trying to fill the missing void in my life. Relationships.
How could any of these things be real? And yet I held to them.
Vero walked away for awhile. And like a lightning bolt came Mike Ball.