Another time, much later, I lived with Richard in the big old house about twenty yards from a railroad track. Outside the front of the house it was like a train station. Except ther was no station, just openess. Just the dirty street and down a ways old rusted out truck. I see the color of that truck.

I don’t remember the name of the town. I remember everything about that street. I remember the dust, almost like every grain of it. If I was an old photogragh, that dust would be my sephia tone. But I forget the name. It had two a’s in it. I remember that. Richard had a way of saying it and pronouncing both a’s. Ah ah something.

I’m stalling. I don’t want to talk about that time. Not that I ever liked Richard. Which sounds very stupid because he was a “best friend”. I hate saying “best friend”. What was it? It was a love hate relationship without the love.

Ok, so I was living there first. That sounds wrong. I was living there with the owner for awhile, or the owners kids I think. There was so much wierd stuff in this house. There was stuff in the basement for cutting big cubes of ice. Monster cubes. Out of a lake. And boats. And it was funny cause the street was so dusty. At least it was that day.

Oh, the owner had a juice machine. That’s right. And he made every goddamn vegitable into juice. Fucking lettuce juice. Every possible shade of green. All the shades I don’t like. And he smelled funny from it.

But he moved out and Richard got to rent a room there. Ironically it was around then when we came closet to being friends. Real friends. Not just always saying ‘fuck you’ to each other all the time. I hadn’t seen him in a long time. He moved in with all these books by Nietche. We read them and got high and argued about them. I don’t think either of us had any real clue. We probably read a fair amount of the books, maybe half of ‘em. Beyond Good and Evil was one of them I think. I can’t remember much of that shit now. I doubt Richard even read half as much as I though he had twice as much to say about it. Mostly bullshit I thought but since I can’t remeber the stuff I can’t say it wasn’t him that was right most of the time.

But the book didn’t cause the trouble. It was the spices. We had agreed to go in half on the expenses. I took that to mean half of the house experience. We’d split the groceries and the pot and those sorts of things. I guess for me “split the pot” meant the whole pot. But he had all these spices. Some cool looking shit too. Tons of bottles and stuff. He was into cooking and I guess I was too.

He wouldn’t keep the spices in the kitchen. I had all these cast iron pots and pans. I don’t how I had come by them. I had all this kitchen shit then. And he cooked a lot and had those spices. But he wouldn’t put them in the kitchen and I almost thought I’d store my pots and pan in my room. And it was that thought that kicked me off. I was convinced that would be stupid and it followed that he was being stupid. So we ended up in a huge fight and he left the next day.