THE DAYS ARE LIKE PEOPLE TOO

JANKINS
Where am I going?

MR. LINUX
You don’t know where The Scene is?

JANKINS
No, I’ve never been there.

MR. LINUX
Left on Saticoy.

I nod, then it’s silent. As the summer light dies down, gray, we turn into a small parking lot, where a shin-high brick wall is falling apart at the corners, the asphalt is old and cracked, and in the front there’s a group of people, they all stand next to an old van with a flat tire and they look worried. We get out.

JANKINS
You guys need help?

MAN
No, we’re okay.

You wouldn’t expect a bar here, it’s a dirty side street in Pacoima or maybe Sun Valley. Mr. Linux and I grew up here. If someone asked de donde eres or where you from I’d say nowhere. We walk through the heavy wooden door into The Scene.

It’s small and mostly empty. Two people at the bar, another one at a table. Mr. Linux gets a pitcher and we sit down at a small round table.

MR. LINUX
You don’t care what your school says?

JANKINS
You mean about contract?

MR. LINUX
Yeah. What’s it say, you just can’t drink?

JANKINS
You can’t drink, you can’t smoke. You can’t dance. You can’t – what else? There’s more. I can’t remember all of it.

MR. LINUX
What happens if they find out?

JANKINS
You get a talking-to. Maybe you get kicked out. I depends if you’re repentant or not. As long as you act repentant, you’ll be okay. My problem is I don’t know if I can act repentant, or if I’ll just say, to hell with all your bullshit rules, you brood of vipers.

Mr. Linux grins,

MR. LINUX
So you can’t have fun, in the name of Christ. You have to be boring for Christ.

I raise my glass.

JANKINS
To boring Christians.

MR. LINUX
I don’t know. I won’t drink to that.

We drink.