Friday, February 12, 2010
I knew a Jim and a Dennis Vincent, once upon a time, but here I will cover Jim. At times I'd confuse the two so I would simply call him "Dincent".
His father owned a hobby store, as a hobby. His mother always wore white nursing clothes. Jim had a really nice VW bus with a big sunroof we could slide back. We were fond of piling into his van and letting him drive around the Virginia backroads at night, as he was usually the most sober.
At times, while driving the narrow backroads on moonless nights, he would go into mini-trances and start mumbling "spontaneous poetry". On occasion I would be in the passenger seat instead of sitting in the back, and as Jim would mumble something like "birthday, car, yellow, because, radish..." he would veer towards the ditch that ran along the narrow road. As I'd be saying to myself, "Get ready to die", he would snap out of it, correct his trajectory, and say, "That was a close one."
Sometimes Jim would want to go home, and so he'd pull into his circular driveway. He'd disappear inside for perhaps an hour, leaving us in his van. Sooner or later he'd reappear and off we'd go again. It was some of the best fun I ever had as a teenager.
Posted by Steve at 2:27 PM