So here I am…at the laundromat. Standing up at a counter writing my blog. Had to drive around the city looking for one that was 1) not full to capacity and 2) open. Found one.
And guess what?
This one has a car wash. A car wash. At the moment, my car is parked out in the rain being washed by nature, but that doesn’t ruin my fascination with the car wash. There’s something psychedelic about car washes. And sometimes scary…with all that noise, like turbines from hell (Look at the picture…see the turbines?) The giant brushes and scrubbers and foams and rinses. It’s like LSD for the teetotaller. The trip without the buzz.
A psychedelic trip for those seeking to expand their horizons.
My brother and I used to get high and go through the car wash, sometimes spending an entire afternoon going through the car wash over and over. It was the safest place in the city to smoke a joint.
It was a blast. And we had the shiniest car in town.
On one of these outings we left the windows open. Boy, were we high that day. It took a while to figure out what was going on. You’d be surprised how long a minute is when you’re suddenly taking a shower in your car and nothing makes any sense. We rolled up the windows and rolled up another joint. And laughed like crazy for the next hour.
And the next three car washes.
My brother lives in a group home now, after a botched suicide attempt that blew the circuitry in his brain. He gave up on life, but life didn’t give up on him. Funny about that…the randomness of it. Some people love life…and lose it under the most pointless conditions. Some don’t want to have anything to do with it, but it clings to them like gum on their shoes.
Maybe if I’d taken my brother for an afternoon trip to the car wash back then. Maybe we’d still be laughing. Maybe we’d still be going through that damn car wash, joint after joint.