a year before the war

it's 102 degrees.
humid.
mosquito bites pepper the skin.
a sociopath -- who doubles as a US Marine, yells orders off-camera.
he's hung like a light switch (i assume).
can't be more than 5'4".
and wants me as his gunner -- because gunners' get it first. 
cobra attack helicopters circle the adjacent savannah.
baboon brains betwixt the Humvee's grill.
it's Kenya 2002.
near Mombassa.
about a year before the War.
marking a target with my ma deuce.
-- the .50 caliber browning machine-gun.
incendiary rounds standby for deployment.
the gun is lubed thick and sticky.
CHUNG-CHUNG-CHUNG
firing like a champ.
a salty dog honed smooth since the Gulf.
the hellfire missiles sail in, go...KA-BOOM!
the choppers egress.
all is quiet on the African front.

later, we drank warm dark beer amongst the African grass.
just dumb kids talking Thai whores and war.
neither a reality...yet.

Everyone Looks Sad in Koreatown

and they do not look up, usually.
but if they do, it is past you.
with hard eyes or lust...for who knows what? heron? meth? some...body?
it's diverse for sure. there's a Mosque down the street -- biggest one in Los Angeles. and Koreans, of course. many, many Koreans. Asians of all sorts. Phillipinos. African Americans. Mexicans, El Salvadorians...Hispanics from every nook and cranny -- descendants of Aztecs and the ancient Maya. "Made" white folks -- suppose we can just lump them into one nebulous doughy ball.
cruising by in air-conditioned cars, shuffling past the concrete and pigeons...hoping to reach their doors without incident.
and white folks or lesser means.
homeless. many, many homeless.

there are the angry homeless -- they wander the streets yelling profanities. arguing with long lost lovers or mothers who never cared...fathers who maybe cared a bit too much.
the mentally disabled homeless -- with their shopping carts turned gypsy vardos. armed with grocery bag bombs filled with god-knows-what. tarps to keep the wet out.
i give them change when they ask. sometimes even a buck.
once, a man came up to me and said: "gimme a buck."
"why?" i said.
"i'm hungry."
"i have a granola bar," i said.
"i want a buck."
"well, what's your story?" i said.
his eyes were bloodshot and his face hard. this man was not to be fucked with.
"i just got outa prison," he said.
so i gave him a buck, he walked off.
most of the time the homeless don't really look at you -- just like everyone else in Koreatown.
but the mentally disabled homeless, they're in a different world.
they can't be concerned with you...or the 10-ton metro-link buses speeding by. the posturing glances from 18th Street gang-members. or anything.
they've got a a secret plan and they're keeping it all to themselves.
goodbye Koreatown, farewell and good luck...