In my free time I’ve begun a traveling journal that logs the experiences of my lawyer, Shifty Horowitz. Aside from being an expert journeyman, Shifty is also a sort of dingbat theoretician.
Being that you’re interested, I’d like to share a passage from one of our travels:
*Aug ‘19 *
Shifty greased his car seat back and struggled to find the perfect notch. The chair shook violently as he jolted it back and forth. He kept one hand firmly on the wheel but it provided me little comfort as his head was fixed downward and his anger grew at every jerk of his uncomfortable seated exchange.
He was suddenly calm and his eyes locked forward into the blazing sun through our rental car window.
“Comfort can’t be purchased…” he began. His voice was reserved and easy. He sounded like a man cruising at 45 on a sleepy town Main Street. I wasn’t doing as well and my reaction reflected the fear of chasing 90 miles per hour in the danger of our open road.
“What!” I yelled over the cruel noise of Tom Petty on the radio.
“Comfort,” he restarted, “it lives in your bedroom. It’s the right pillow. It’s the place on the floor where the chair sits perfectly. I’m talking about comfort Mooch.”
Shifty’s tone was clear. It was as though the Heartbreakers knew not to play loudly over the top of him. *
“Yeah? Comfort. So?” I batted away his unjustified annoyance.
“Comfort dude. Comfort…” More agitated now, “ We live in this strange time of safe spaces and worried speech. Every mistake is tabulated. Nothing is a growth moment. No one can have a learning experience. We demand change and we condemn people for past actions after the fact. We pitch all this uncertainty and sadness and fear … all in the name of comfort. But we ain’t got no comfort! We make it complicated. Life and death. Right and wrong…”*
Speeding uncontrollably now. The car flinching from the lines.
“…that ain’t comfort hoss. That ain’t comfort and it won’t be. Comfort is the shirt you thought you’d lost. Comfort is the way she smiles in your dreams. How she used to. Comfort is a song you forgot about. It’s the towel that’s always soft. It’s free. Comfort can’t be bought in a luxury car. It can’t be cashed from emotional extortion…”
Suddenly, we were spinning. Awful screams poured out of our tires
And then silence.
Shifty didn’t motion. His hands were relaxed on the wheel and his eyes expressed no surprise behind his midnight dark glasses.
“Comfort.” He muttered to no one.
Shifty opened the door and escaped the vehicle - I assumed to check on the health of his battered rental. As he surveyed the damage I couldn’t help but feel confused. What was it all about? How could it matter that deeply? It was ugly. Brutal and deranged.
Suddenly Shifty appeared at the drivers side door and fired sickening shots deep into the cushions of his empty seat. He shrieked wildly, as he fired, and his face twisted into a lifelike Munchian nightmare.
In the heat we let the insanity pass above us, until the air was still and the moment was gone.
“Comfort.” Swiftly stated. An amused expression played over his visage and soon we would be back into the thick air from which we came…
Anyways. So - just journaling and stuff. Hanging out. No biggie.