No this is not a VH1 tribute, this is the story behind The Junkyard’s banner. As with all epic stories, this one begins in a linoleum sided diner close to, but not directly under, a bridge. Hash-browns, bacon and imitation egg are all frying directly in front of ‘Nick’ and I as we salivate in our drunken states, knowing that the food can’t arrive fast enough onto our plates. To pass the time ‘Nick’ begins to chat with a scruffy local (we were out-of-towners) sitting on a swivel chair beside me. “This ol’ town use ta haul in whales bigger than yur house!” replies the old man to ‘Nick”s awkward fact about whales dying.
Just as ‘Nick’ began to snicker at the local’s boisterous demeanor and open his mouth to reply, I spoke up to say, “Dude, we’re drunk,” but only managed “Dude…” before food hit my plate and my thoughts were elsewhere. ‘Nick’ on the other hand found something much more delicious than his steaming plate of diner food, the white-haired, big-eyebrowed, Joe-six-pack with more old-man strength than either of us would ever have.
By the time truck drivers began arriving for early morning breakfast, I knew it was time to stop my friend’s tom-foolery, call a cab, and go to bed. If only. ‘Nick’ had dissected this stranger’s entire past with tweezers and was not about to stop. His first car was a 1927 Ford T buggy with custom hood top, his first wife’s name was Anne, and he did not enjoy music from ‘rapas’, or anything else that strayed from the genre of jazz. His first album was Louis Armstrong and his last surgery was two weeks ago (ear tubing). [And here it comes…]
“Let me drive you two back home, you ain’t got the spirits to drive,” he says. While the answer should have been an easy no, ‘Nick’ was buzzed and too excited to decline Giant-eye-brow’s generous offer. So we went… only to be driven to his house (we think it was his house). At some point it became clear that he lived alone, (or he didn’t own a home), so we bailed on foot running down back roads towards the harbor before the local locked us in a dog cage or worse.
3:30PM: ‘Nick’ and I arise from our bunk beds, sit on the steps to our dorm and reminisce the near-death experience we had just faced. In fact, ‘Nick’ did more than reminisce, he created the graphic that inspired the blog, The Junkyard. The thumbnail of two men in colonial clothes represents the old local in his prime when he would hunt teddybears and tie rope around their necks. The swinging jungle-boy and the black eighth notes represent both our fast-paced flee to normalcy and the speed with which we were nearly quartered in his alleged house. The old fashioned girl is Anne holding one of Eyebrow’s giant ear-tubes, and finally the colorful looking heart, dollar signs, and fruit were just ploys to make readers believe this blog was edgy, which it isn’t. And that my hip friends is the key to The Junkyard’s banner.