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Letter from America June 24, 2004
 
Ode to the Dolphins
By Mark Ames Browse author Email
 
Page 3 of 3
 
I turned down the street towards my condo. It was dark and late and none of the geriatric residents of the Zuma Beach Community were awake. Then I heard a sports car's engine rev, like a Trans Am engine. The car pulled up behind me. Thinking it was Psycho, I turned down a side street and let the car pass by. When it was gone, I walked back to my street, approaching my condo -- but the car had turned around, swung back, and now was behind me again. I couldn't believe it -- my first contact with human beings in three months, and already I'm getting stalked. I should have stuck to my instincts and avoided these fucking humanoids. I should have just stuck with the dolphins.

I didn't want Psycho knowing where I lived, so I turned down a path between the condos that headed out towards the cliff edge. I heard him peel out on the road above, driving in circles and making a racket. It was real jungle-ape stuff. Then he sped away.

The next day, Vibe, looking very sober and cleaned up, stopped by with her son. "Did my boyfriend do anything to you?" she asked.

"No, why?"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Vibe said. She tried to talk to me, but I just wanted her out. I'd learned my lesson about humanoids. She sniffed and asked, "Are you cooking canned food?"

Embarrassed, I admitted that yes, I was cooking canned chili.

"I know ze smell of canned food," Vibe said excitedly. "I knew it vas canned food! You see?" She seemed to think this gift of hers would win me over.

"M'm, canned chili!" her son said.

"Leave Mark alone," Vibe reproached him.

It was heartbreaking -- and I didn't need heartbreak. I needed to be left alone. She got the hint and left.

Now she's back in her grim apartment in Culver City with her son, her sub-lessee, her canned-food-sniffing gift and her optimism.

I'm still here, watching the dolphins as I write this. In three days, I leave Malibu. It's back to the world of wretched human noise and the monthly rent struggle. Leaving here will hurt. But I will always be grateful -- to the dolphins, to the pelicans, and to the unbelievably kind goddess who let me stay here these past two months. Whoever believes money can't buy happiness is a fool -- Malibu is the closest thing to happiness I have ever known. If I could live here, I wouldn't ever write another word again.

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Ames
Browse author
Email Mark Ames at editor@exile.ru.
 
 
FROM THE VAULT
Westernized Politician
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