Three on "Doggystyle"

Snoop Dogg, Doggystyle

by Slim Volume

 

I.

CJ was perched on a wooden stool behind the counter of the record store. “This is one of the best albums of all time,” she looked up from her compulsive nail filing. She looked at me while saying this as if she was telling me that the vitamin A in carrots is good for your vision.

CJ had married a local with no first name, an heir to a log cabin dynasty. An A-frame, gun, and a mean dog with a prissy name. I saw her on facebook a year ago standing on the beach, squinting in the sun. A one piece Baywatch red bathing suit. Was she back in Temecula?

II.

There are joints in manufactured homes. They press into your back like a hide-a-bed. We got up off the floor and just like that we were out the door. When you wake up still drunk, tasks seem so well defined. You see with a hard light only what you need to do. You just do. You both get into your ’89 Subaru, jellybeans and antifreeze coldly coagulating on the floor, and direct that puppy down the Duwamish. Everything would be gray anyway.

III.

There’s too much going on around the Dogghouse, too much to look at all at once. I’ve never been interested in graphic novels. So I turned the CD booklet around so Snoop’s face was the cover. “I says I’m 19, she says ‘stop lyin’’”.