104. Interview with Jeff Kinsey: Part 2
27 June 2011
– Man, way he was acting, was like he was on acid or something and having a bad trip.
– I’m driving and looking through the rearview at this guy in my back seat and he’s looking out the back window at the street, all edgy and shit. Excuse the language.
– Honestly, though, I should’ve expected it, don’t know why he had me so spooked. Once I saw his picture at that gallery, I should’ve known he was a nutcase. It explained everything.
– I’ve been in Boca my whole life, almost thirty-seven years now. And if there’s one thing I realized, it’s that these artist-types aren’t any different from the crack heads that hang out over beach side, begging people for cash. Just so you can get a little peace and quiet.
– They’ll tell you that over there, won’t bullshit you—excuse my language—they’ll just tell you straight up that they’ll leave you alone if ya give ‘em a dollar, boss, just a dollar, boss. I’m fiendin’, ain’t nothin’ but a little ol’ dollar, boss.
– Not true, though. Reality is, crack heads’ll bother you more after you give them something than if you’d just kept walking and ignored them. They’ll figure out how to get their fix eventually. Remember that. Only difference between artists and crack heads is artist’s addictions are legal.
– Other than that, it’s the same shit. Excuse the language, but it is. They’re all twitchy and sensitive, get riled up easily over things that ain’t even there.
– This guy in my backseat, he was no different. So I told myself he’s just another artist slash crackhead, kept an eye on him just to make sure he wasn’t gonna go all van Gogh on me, and pretty much minded my own business otherwise.
– Not at first. He didn’t say much for the ride, just kept staring out the window. We’re almost to the address he gave me though when suddenly he pokes his head up front and he—I tell you, he acts real artist-like, that’s what he does.
– I mean, the guy just confirms everything I believed for years. Looks at me, breathing all hard with one of his eyelids kind of twitching, and asks me if I’ve ever tried to run from my past. Then he looks out the window again then back at me and says, it’s like running in a circle. You always end up back at the beginning.
– That’s what he said. I’ll tell you right now, I was damn glad to get that guy out of my car. Messed me up, the look he had in his eye, mouth twisted around like his insides was on fire or something, like he was in physical pain, you know?
– Couldn’t sit still. I’m telling you, just like a crack head.
– Routine hasn’t been exactly the same since. I mean, for the most part it is. Still got the vanilla body spray, the air freshener, the brush-down of the seats. Still rev the engine and take my deep breath and back out the depot real slow like.
– But sometimes now, some days when I just ain’t up for the challenge, you’ll see me heading back that way, opposite Antique Row, over by beach side.
– Sure I got to deal with the crackheads playing Frogger in the middle of the road and the drunk college kids who only come out at night, like they’re fucking vampires or something, excuse the language. But at least they’re predictable. I always know what they’re going to do next, whether it’s throwing up in the backseat or sticking half their body out the window.
– It’s a lot easier to adjust to something when you know exactly what’s going to happen, let me tell you.
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