Hello world. This is a re-write of a book I started to publish on the [STEEM] blockchain ages ago, before Hive was invented. I wrote a couple of chapters and then stopped after low payouts and also a bit of writers block. NOW, it's a bit easier to make a good payout on long form content. @Dibblers.dabs is also working diligently on two new writing tokens! #Scholarandscribe.

It is a nice exercise to write a story and then edit it YEARS later. First of all, I am clearly not putting in enough details into each chapter. This "short form" writing i was doing seemed so cool at the time but it kind of sucks. 🤣 I added more details to this first Chapter and it is much more readable. Some of the content needed complete re-writing.

I would REALLY appreciate any support on this post. If you can vote for this content and/or re-blog it, I can be rest assured that long form content is viable: That is, of course, if you read this Chapter and like it! I would like to publish an entire book for the first time here on the Hive blockchain! I have a dream of writing quality books that are lengthy, but readable! Books that are properly formatted with great grammar etc. I believe this will be possible with the proper tags, whale attention, Dibblers.dabs new tokens etc. Join me on my journey of blockchain authorship!

*Please do not republish. This post on Peakd is the only official copy. Published 3/26/22. This is a work of fiction and all names from any real events have been changed. Some parts of this e-book are made up and others based on real stories/events. Overall it should be considered a work of Fiction NOT an autobiography/historical work. The target audience for this book is adults +21.

Morning Glory And The Chai Shop.

Chapter 1

We were sitting in a smoke-filled room watching Don't Look Back. Bob Dylan had just thrown a glass out of his hotel window. There was a black leather couch we were all sitting on. You would think we were group dating the way we all had to squished together to see the small television near the wall.

"Yo Rain Man."

"Sup Wapner?"

"Did you get my mail or did the dog eat it?"

"Imagine time as a parallel dislocation when "God" steeped into a gopher hole in the middle of the 18th fairway at the St. Andrews. Where do you think THAT puts Tiger Wood's place in eternity?!"

"What?"

Robert had a strange obsession with early era television, Mel Brooks films, The Beach Boys and Dustin Hoffman from Rain Man. He definitely counted cards in Vegas. Around town Robert was known as "Laptop Bob." He was an angry Adderall addict who fought against his landlord by playing "Don't get fooled again" and other The Who classics at full volume until quiet time. How this man [who was basically homeless] got his hands on an iPod and a set of nice speakers was anyone's guess. All we knew for sure was Bob pretended to be Pete Townshend.

Grocery shopping with Laptop bob was like preparing for a six months journey across the Oregon trail. Half a pound of bacon, two dozen eggs, one pound of coffee, two pounds of sugar, twelve sticks of butter, large cans of refried beans, heavy bags of rice and sacks of potatoes. Bob would insist we lug all the groceries to his house in a [stolen?] shopping cart like some mentally confused grandmother and leave it in the backyard overnight or even for a few days.

We used to hang out in the old Rockstreet Records before they moved to Market Street. There was this secret room in-between shelves of records in the basement. There were several chairs; a table with some magazines and a black guitar case. There was an electric guitar inside with nothing to plug into.

"Do you have to play that old guitar? It sounds like shit," Bob would growl.

The record shop was in historic Ballard: Which was everything West of Triangle Park; all the way to the Fremont Canal. Old brick streets: Local pubs: An old bronze tower that rings by the hour: With one of those bronze plaques that tells you all about the local history.

Out past the train tracks there was this wooden dock where we used to smoke cigarettes: A thousand beer cans were crushed between the grooves of wood above the water. Bob was sitting down with his knees up at the end of the dock. He was wearing a Hawaiian tee shirt and cutoff jeans. He looked like an aging version of Johnny Depp in Blow. We usually talked about musicians. Talking about anything serious would send Laptop bob into some strange mental spiral usually. Talking about the Beatles or the Rolling Stones would keep Bob relaxed.

I held onto the edge of the dock and dipped my feet into the water. "Donivan is an underrated musician don't you think?" Bob had his nose tucked into his collar. He was lighting a cigarette under his Hawaiian shirt. "Donivan had a few good songs," Bob said questioningly. "A few good songs?!" I kicked my feet around in the murky water. "You know he was in that super group that sang Season Of The Witch right?" Bob let out a plume of tobacco smoke. "That's a good point." bob would gesture with his hands while he talked; but he would stare at the ground like he was lecturing to a group of ants.

"Donivan also sang the verses for Billion Dollar Baby."

We passed over the train tracks and headed toward Market Street. We walked passed the Pizza Parlors and the yuppies getting day drunk. The dollar stores and the Greek Restaurants. At the end of the street past the C.D store; there was this big wooden cat statue above the sidewalk with a sign that read: "Mr. Pots Chai Shop." There were two wooden benches by the front and a metal bike rack. There was this beautiful wooden piano, front and center of the building by the window. The keys were made of thick plastic. Several keys were badly chipped and the wood of the piano said: "Please ask before using! 5 minute limit! Thanks!

"Are you playing tonight?"

"Maybe. Have you seen Mr. President? He brought over his clarinet."

"Ohh geez. You're playing with that battleaxe?! He might have a Vietnam flashback."

"Good Lord Bob."

"Sorry man."

Bob and I sat there and enjoyed the silence. Behind the piano was an odd assortment of chairs, tables and couches. To the right was the bar; along with the espresso machine and the deli food. Several pinball machines were tucked into the back room past the toilets. There was an "employees only" section. The forbidden area in the very back. They were always yelling back there and getting drunk.

"Is this seat taken?"

A short man in his early thirties with big blue eyes stood there. "Hey Dana," I said smiling. "We were saving these seats for foreign dignitaries. You can butt-warm until our secret meeting. Dana smiled and sat down. He was one of the regulars. I called him Frodo sometimes because of his extreme resemblance to Elijah Woods.

We used to play baseball together: We would hop into Dana's blue pickup truck and drive North through the Ballard neighborhood. We would listen to Manfred Man and Sly Stone. We would find public lawns or an empty lot and throw an old baseball around. We would joke about how our coffee shop friends would never play sports. We planned to go to a Mariners game secretly. This idea always made us laugh. We would wear dark sunglasses and fake mustaches in case we were spotted on the game cam. We both still had our glove from when we played in high School.

"So ... did you ever steal second base?"

"Yeah. I wasn't as tall as you though. I had to be careful."

"You played short stop right? So did you ever tag somebody out?"

"One time I caught a fly ball. It went right into my glove and then I tagged somebody out."

"You got a double play BY YOURSELF?!"

"Yes! Can you believe that?"

"No."

We sat there at the coffee shop table with Laptop Bob. We were waiting patiently for the weekly open mic to begin. Just sort of spaced out at the table. The lights were being slowly dimmed down. People were starting to shuffle in from the street. The little cowbell above the front door was ringing off the hook. Young men and women began to carry their musical instrument cases inside and hang their coats up.

"Bob do you want to play some Chess?"

He looked at me with an angry expression and threw his hands up into the air. "Do I look like god damned Bob Einstein to you?!" Then he stared at the table like it was a T.V screen. I had to bite my lip to stop from laughing. "Hey ... I found $10 on the ground today. You guys want to split a pint?" Laptop Bob shook his head. "I can't," he said shrugging. "I'm an alcoholic for life."

"Okay ... Well do you want to split a sandwich?" Bob straightened his back and his eyes lit up. "Now you are speaking my language! I haven't eaten all day." He licked his lips. "Get us something with roast beef ... or turkey pastrami!"

Unfortunately for Laptop Bob; all the sandwiches in The Chai Shop were Vegan. There was this one sandwich that I actually enjoyed. It contained sauerkraut and this meat substitute called "veggie loaf" which is a meatloaf substitute that is actually pretty convincing. I received the sandwich on a ceramic plate with a napkin wrapped around a butter knife.

"What did you get?" bob was staring at the sandwich slices with hunger in his eyes. He picked up one of the slices and took a huge bite. ''YUCK!" bob yelled, spitting out the half chewed sandwich on the table. "What the fuck is that? Sauerkraut?" I took my napkin out and dropped it over Bob's regurgitated food. "Gross bob, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I asked scowling at him. "Gross?! Your taste of food is gross!" Sauerkraut and mystery meat? Is this a Ukrainian Bed & Breakfast? Bob lifted the napkin covering the chewed up food and wiped his tongue. Then he got up and walked towards the bathroom.

Bob came back to the table with a Pepsi can and a glass of ice. He stared at the glass with an excited face. He poured soda slowly over the ice so it foamed up and then slowly slurped the foam off the top. He made a very loud slurping noise. "I can upgrade that Pepsi into a Pepsi float, little boy," I said laughing. "Can I order you some ice cream?"

Bob made a face like gollum from Lord Of The rings and clutched the glass with both hands. "Fuck you," he snarled.

Suddenly the lights of the coffee shop completely shut off and the light above the stage flicked on. Everyone in the coffee shop became completely silent. A tall man in his mid twenties and a short red headed women with a barista apron began plugging electrical equipment into the wall. The P.R system began to buzz. There was a soundboard, several guitar amps and two microphones on stands. "May I have your attention please." Everyone looked up at the stage confused. "I have a very important announcement to make."

Laptop Bob, Dana and I were outside, leaning against the brick wall and smoking cigarettes.

"I can't fucking believe the fucking Coffee Shop is closing down!" Laptop Bob looked like he was about to cry, but also had an angry expression on his face. "People are going to say this is a random rent raising, but I know that this is because of the System man! Bob took an extra large drag from his cigarette and exhaled it. "It's all because of that millionaire loser Ant!"

Bob had this complex conspiracy theory about how this guy named Ant who owned the Coffee Shop was raising the rent on purpose to close the business down with plausible deniability. The "problem" with this conspiracy is that it made a lot of sense and I believed it. "Think about it," whispered Bob. "Ant owns this entire block ... and he owns the high end Apartments across the street," said Bob pointing with his finger. "The people in the apartments are the ones who complain when we hang out after the Coffee Shop closes." Bob took another drag from his hand rolled cigarette. "Do you really think the cops care about a bunch of drunks hanging outside a place that serves alcohol?" Bob laughed to himself. "The cops don't give a fuck. It's THOSE fuckers who complain," said Bob nodding towards the fancy apartment complex across the street. "And now they get to take our candy and tell on the teacher at the same time like a sociopathic Elementary Schooler."

Just then this homeless looking man started to walk up to us. He was leaning on a giant wooden stick as he walked slowly. He was wearing a knit cap and a sweater. He looked like an elf from Middle Earth who was drunk in the woods. "Hey guys." He leaned forward on his "staff" with both hands and was swaying back and forth on the spot. He had red wine stained all over his face.

"I have a dentist appointment," said Dana as he quickly spun around. Before you could say "free teriyaki" the door of his van slammed and the engine was revving up. Dana drove away into the sunset. Todd had that effect on people. He was very drunk and he smelled horribly. And we were stuck with the bastard. "I think I have a dentist appointment too," said Laptop Bob with a disgusted look on his face like he just smelled piss. Which he probably did just get a whiff of!

Todd lived in the low income apartment complex across the street from The Chai Shop. There was a rumour that the apartment complex was built on top of an old graveyard site. There was a point in Seattle history when there might have been some flimsy record keeping when it came to historic burial plots. Some graveyard plots seemed to magically disappear according to the legend and were replaced by apartment complexes, banks and other commercial ventures. Speaking of hauntings; the residents of "SSI row" certainly acted ghostly. There were many residents of the complex that I never saw. A whole apartment complex of invisible people.

At least it was a beautiful view of the Ballard neighborhood from Todd's balcony. You could see all of the historic Ballard neighborhood from above. You cold see the Ballard bridge and the canal area by the water. You could see the Queen Anne hill peaking up towards the sky with all the houses and radio towers. If you leaned over the rail; you could see the front entrance of the Chai Shop from above. I would yell someone's name and then dip down behind the metal railings and watch them look around confused.

I was sitting down on the wooden floorboards of the balcony and staring out into the horizon. I heard a weird noise behind me and turned around. Todd was bear hugging all these framed paintings in his arms and walking slowly towards me. "What the fuck are you doing Todd?!" He leaned over me with all the painting and then dropped them off the balcony. I heard the wood hit the ground with a loud THUMP!

"Todd what in the fuck do you think you are doing? You need to pick that shit up before the landlord comes out."

I could see this point Todd was bombed out of his skull on booze. His eyes kept closing and opening his eyes like a sleepy owl. He was rocking back and forth. "They are kicking me out. I can't pay the rent anymore." Todd grabbed a fistful of silverware out of the kitchen shelf. Beautiful sterling silver sets of forks, knives and spoons. "Todd you can't fucking throw that. It's dangerous."

I ran down to the sidewalk under the apartments where there was a big green industrial metal garbage bin. Todd's painting and silverware was scattered everywhere. People talked a lot about "the landlord" and he sounded like the guy you hoped never to meet. I wanted to save Todd from being part of some fucking mob hit. I started picking up all the splintered pieces of wood.

WHAM! All of a sudden a huge mason jar shattered into a million pieces right next to me. "TODD what the fuck!" I started to sweep up the glass with a broken piece of wood. WHAM another glass shattered all over my shoes. A plastic Tupperware hit me on the head. "You stupid fuck!," I yelled up at Todd. "Nothing is worse than babysitting an adult," I whispered to myself. I looked up into the air and saws a white dinner plate flying through the air, wobbling like a demented frisbee and then smashing into the sidewalk beyond the dumpsters.

Sometimes a young man just doesn't feel like talking to the police, even if this means leaving behind a mentally challenged adult to deal with their mistakes. Todd had horribly serious Dyslexia. He could barely function as an adult. He got free money from the government; but had trouble even cashing his check and going to the doctor for free drugs. Sometimes I just couldn't help Todd. He could barely work a telephone and could not remember numbers or even type them in correctly if they are written down.

I was walking home alone at three in the morning.

There was this Trader Jeffs grocery store by the on ramp to the Ballard Bridge. There was a large wooden crate outside of the store that was full of large, green watermelons. The "evil demon on my shoulder" started telling me about how difficult my day was and how I only ate a sandwich all day. "Everyone deserves to eat at least twice a day!" said the "demon". "If you don't grab one of those watermelons, you don't really care about your life and you don't have survival instincts!" I looked around nervously and then grabbed one of the rather large Watermelons.

The watermelon was much heavier than I thought it would be, but I managed to hobble quickly through the parking lot and then across the street under the bridge. There is a metal staircase by the Ballard waterfront that leads up to the middle of the Ballard Bridge. I carefully carried the watermelon up to the pedestrian catwalk under the bridge. I sat down on the cold metal grating. "I am going to love you more than any of those Yuppies that paid for you," I said to the watermelon. I spent a few minutes thinking about life and staring at the beautiful sailing ships that are parked on a dock under the bridge.

When I was almost all the way across the bridge, I leaned over the edge towards the ground below and dropped the watermelon onto a grass lawn next to the off ramp. It exploded into several large, broken pieces. "Oops," I said to myself. I walked down a set of concrete steps and then picked up a large watermelon "slice" with the red part sticking up. "mmmmmmm that is tasty!" Red juice flowed down my chin into my tee shirt and hoodie. "A well deserved meal," I said chuckling. I gathered all the watermelon chunks that weren't covered in dirt into my arms and then quickly left the scene of the crime.