Post by The Wanderer on Jun 9, 2005 21:02:23 GMT -8
The back door to the club slammed against the alley wall with an opening that would rival Broadway for noise and clamor. He stumbled onto the rain-slick pavement, his senses giddy with good music and the life of the crowd gained through karmic osmosis.
Though the night was quiet, his world continued to hum.
His smile reveled in the energy, and he knew as soon as he opened his eyes, reality would come crashing in.
But that in itself was an experience to savor. His lids lifted, and his prediction came true.
Dark colors, bland brown and black shimmering with a fluorescent sputter. He grinned, letting out a primal howl of rapture at the contrast of it all. A grunt from behind stopped him in mid-yelp. He turned in expectation. Not fear.
He was always amazed at the resilience of the homeless, and the multitude of forms they took. Reminded him, too obviously, of the Sewer Rats back in LA-la land. How predictable.
He readied his lungs and aimed his throat at the transient. And when he shouted, it might have only just been enough to equal the thrum of the music radiating from the club’s walls.
“GUARANTEED EXCESS!!!”
The bum grunted again is something that might have been lucidity. Perhaps gas.
He began pacing the half-block of alleyway, conjuring the asphalt as a stage, the bum an awestruck multitude of admiring faces in the dark. He punctuated each supposed point with wild and dramatic gestures.
“Isn’t that right, my man? No matter where we go or do, there’s one certainty: that we can overdose on any of it. Sight…sound…taste…it’s all a smorgasbord so long as you deprive yourself of…what? Do we know the answer, class?”
Leaning-in, a twirled hand to his ear. A wet, drunken cough in reply.
“That’s right! Restriction. Once you smash down whatever it is you think inhibits your life, your loves, your fears…that’s when you can make it all…all…”
He slumped where he stood. The fading sparkle.
“All unspecial.”
With effort, he turned his eyes to the mess of a person slumped against the wall. In movements that might have almost been mistaken for pity, he sauntered up to the wretch, crouching down to make sure that, maybe, his words might just pierce the haze.
“You’re spoiled,” he said with knowledgeable assurance. “Just like me. We’re in the same club.” He straightened up, brushing off his knees.
“But I’ve had more time that I should know better. So what’s that say about me?”
A wet cough. An incoherent curse, and a re-slumping into a stupor.
He nodded.
“Sounds about right.”
He slid his hands into his pockets and started a pace back to the apartment. Reflexively, he brightened the world with his eyes, and soaked-in the excess.
Though the night was quiet, his world continued to hum.
His smile reveled in the energy, and he knew as soon as he opened his eyes, reality would come crashing in.
But that in itself was an experience to savor. His lids lifted, and his prediction came true.
Dark colors, bland brown and black shimmering with a fluorescent sputter. He grinned, letting out a primal howl of rapture at the contrast of it all. A grunt from behind stopped him in mid-yelp. He turned in expectation. Not fear.
He was always amazed at the resilience of the homeless, and the multitude of forms they took. Reminded him, too obviously, of the Sewer Rats back in LA-la land. How predictable.
He readied his lungs and aimed his throat at the transient. And when he shouted, it might have only just been enough to equal the thrum of the music radiating from the club’s walls.
“GUARANTEED EXCESS!!!”
The bum grunted again is something that might have been lucidity. Perhaps gas.
He began pacing the half-block of alleyway, conjuring the asphalt as a stage, the bum an awestruck multitude of admiring faces in the dark. He punctuated each supposed point with wild and dramatic gestures.
“Isn’t that right, my man? No matter where we go or do, there’s one certainty: that we can overdose on any of it. Sight…sound…taste…it’s all a smorgasbord so long as you deprive yourself of…what? Do we know the answer, class?”
Leaning-in, a twirled hand to his ear. A wet, drunken cough in reply.
“That’s right! Restriction. Once you smash down whatever it is you think inhibits your life, your loves, your fears…that’s when you can make it all…all…”
He slumped where he stood. The fading sparkle.
“All unspecial.”
With effort, he turned his eyes to the mess of a person slumped against the wall. In movements that might have almost been mistaken for pity, he sauntered up to the wretch, crouching down to make sure that, maybe, his words might just pierce the haze.
“You’re spoiled,” he said with knowledgeable assurance. “Just like me. We’re in the same club.” He straightened up, brushing off his knees.
“But I’ve had more time that I should know better. So what’s that say about me?”
A wet cough. An incoherent curse, and a re-slumping into a stupor.
He nodded.
“Sounds about right.”
He slid his hands into his pockets and started a pace back to the apartment. Reflexively, he brightened the world with his eyes, and soaked-in the excess.
