Couch Bandits

cont from last post

Fireplace chat:
Yes, it has been days since the third installment of Couch bandits. But I can’t receive blame due to my overwhelming amount of homework. I’m sure most my readers can relate to mid terms. It seems like this semester I have been the most busy I have in my entire life. Writings important, but so is my band, my schoolwork, my job and my pursuit of the poonanni (spelling? ALI G!!). So, after six hours of sleep and 3 shots of espresso it is time to express my account of a night not to be forgotten.

Story
2:00am: For those of my hommies that do not live in Chico, I should give you a clearer picture of the town. I relate to my town very well. I don’t have a car, but everything is in walking or biking distance. Since I am never operating heavy machinery I am afforded more opportunity to do whatever I want more often (if you catch my drift). I live kiddy-corner to the main Chico bike path. It runs parallel to campus and leads into downtown housing. Then parallel to the path on the opposite side is the train tracks. Which, of course means, I live as close as possible to a rock concert five times a night. Luckily, I have tuned out the sound. A five minute car ride will get you around what I consider the main part of town (downtown, campus).

The gang and I walked to Star liquor, bought the cheapest twelve pack they had, drank a couple on the way back to Rio Chico, and waited patiently. The absence of a sizeable moon, and streetlights made this stakeout easier than stealing a hot mother from a baby. We were directly in front of the house, in silence, sitting straight up, eyes glued to the window in front of us. Below the window was the couch we wanted; above the window was the resemblance of two dudes rolling a blunt coming from inside. So, the gist is- the property rights for these blunt smoking/out side couch owning beotches is about to change. Both of these unnamed individuals sat inside on another couch (as in a couch we weren't about to jack). Rio Chico is the closest street to the south-west side of campus (I live north-west), and sits perpendicular to the trail. It flows under an overpass when it crosses. The river separates the street from campus. Not twenty feet from the house in question was a fence that yielded enough room to carry a sizeable couch twenty more feet to the tracks. We would be seen only as long as it takes to cross the house. After that we would be free from any suspicious eyes wandering late night Rio.

The time wasn’t now, but it was near. We each had a beer, and by the completion of our brew the blunt was rolled and torched. Two men smoking a blunt at two in the morning equals two tired individuals. One of them walked into the other room, presumably to jerk off and sleep (what, reefer madness told me so), the other passed out on the couch. It wasn’t even thirty seconds after his eyes shut before we were on his porch. If it hasn’t been spelled out, you should know we all have had a few brews more than the average casual drinker. Fortunately, I only had a few beers over time and a glass of whiskey, so I could hold my own… easily. Tyler was decently sober, but he had definitely crossed the “shlacka lacka” boundary (point at which Tyler screams for no reason and laughs). Nick on the other hand was in Nick mode. He has trouble understanding what is going on at all points and times. I usually find this funny and try to play off of it during parties.

Tyler ducked down below the window and pushed the couch forward until he couldn’t be in possible view of the sleeping man . We picked the couch up and walked with some charisma in the direction of the train tracks until Nick screamed “Holy shit!” I dropped the couch, and looked back and there was no one outside. False alarm I guess, but that scared me like brown bombing. Nick didn’t realize that I only wanted him to give me the signal if we were in actual trouble. Nick and Tyler picked up the couch as I directed them to the bridge. We made it.

In an act of sheer drunken stupidity we dropped the couch on the tracks. Tyler wanted to declare victory. I was a bit skeptical, but if I were arrested I would be content with the consequences. So we sat down on the couch, Tyler and Nick smoked a cigarette; I took a picture on my cell. We chilled for a minute until my anxiety raised higher than I wished. A wanted the couch home before I could rest. Then in an act of sheer clutch brilliance while somewhat past non-shlacka lacka sobriety Tyler decided we should push the couch on the rails of the train tracks. It was perfect, no carrying required. The couch wasn’t heavy heavy, but we knew we wouldn’t last the whole distance carrying anything. Tyler’s lungs have crystallized from his glass blowing; we all had a number of beers. This was a prime idea. We each pushed an area of the couch forward effortlessly as the couch glided on the rail. .

Looking straight ahead towards home pushing my newfound couch I noticed a strong light pointed directly at us. The light moved slightly to the right and left of me, my hands tensed up; I let the couch fall off the rail. Professional party crashers (PPC), the bitches in blue, you know – police. Two cars were directly up ahead, they entered through the Nord Ave path connection. I freaked out, maybe my prior argument for tonight’s plan of action was a bit misguided. Maybe I don't want to be arrested tonight. Maybe I am not as down as I have previously thought. But enough analyzing, this is a time of action. I suddenly ran for the fence in hopes there was a hole. The dirt underneath my feet knew otherwise, because it gave out. I tumbled downhill nearly hitting my head on something sharp, steel and heavy. Oddly enough, the near early end of my night put me back in the game. In that moment I knew I was in fact devoted to the cause, because if I could just out run these cops and swoop in at the best possible future time, the couch could and hopefully would be mine.

We ran towards the path right into another cop car. The PPC intercom’d “Get off the train tracks, we have your couch.” Fudge Popsicle’s! Maybe these cops are really mad at three drunken kids upgrading their amount of comfort. When in fact we’d rather slang guns and dope. We walked onto the trail/we walked into certain danger/final chapter coming….