We were at the Tryst. If you hang a left past the longer bar, keep going, and past the door. There's a grotto on the far end, where the tables end. There's too much light. The blues and purple swaths of light are everywhere. Shadows are impossible to interpret. But the light in the grotto is yellow. I only want to stare at my drink. It's a tart little thing, made from something the bartender pulled out when he saw me. It was called Zin Giba. "A lemongrass apertif." He had to yell because it's just too damn loud. It's funny because everyone is saying it's too loud, but we put up with it. I can take the trite Euro-shit. Then the DJ wises up and starts playing some Kitten.He's playing it along with something familiar, I think it's Bobby Digital (RZA). It works, but I'm concentrating on Kitten's Chloe Caidez. "I like the way that you walk / and maybe tonight / I could take you home / and if it's alright / we could dance in the white light / back in the punk rock club / it's like it's 1963 / and the girls all dance / but I'm feeling like a refuge". The floor didn't let up like I thought. Usually when I hear something I like, the floor clears out. Because they are all a bunch of cocks.
Chinatown. I remember the name. Too loud to think, but I pulled that one out.
I finally stare over at Bol. He shaved his head before we came out here. He had scars as a child, at least a few. Hair didn't grow over the gnarled white skin. He grimaced at something. It was some heavy chick. He hated that. I mean, he hated it and everyone knew it although he never said it. It was about as close to bigotry Bol would ever get to. He never said a fucking thing about it - but anyone that knew him that look said enough. It said 'I have no respect for you, you are less than an animal'. It was brutal and I questioned why I hung out with him. He looked over at me and nodded with his chin to my drink, "How is it?" It was all motion.
I liked it, but not tonight. It was too hot and I was too irritable. Sweet liquers didn't sit well with me then. I squeezed my eyes and gave the mas o menos sign with my shoulders. He understood and passed me some of his Jameson. It was better for my mood. I took a long sip and handed it back. He smiled his crooked his smile. His blue shell colored tie wagging with his movements. He go nervous at the clubs. I keep forgetting to ask him about that.James, Schaze, Bol and I came, but only the last two were still at our seats. We expected James was at the bathroom trying to score. The dark hallway was perfect to getting something. Schaze took off, like he always does, as soon as we walked down the stairs. Why does he bother coming with us? Then he gets made if we leave him anywhere. So, we go on Schaze patrol each club. It was tiring. By the end of the night we want to kick him off the top of Ghostbar.
The two of stare at the elevated club dancers. They are tall things in black strips. Dancing for a living without taking off their clothes. Shit. I wonder what part of the thirty dollar cover are they getting from us tonight. The DJ deserves it. He's hit the right enough notes by knowing about Kitten.
Dad would agree with me. But he doesn't give a shit. As long as I stay in school he doesn't care that I blow through the allowance at this clip. Fucking Vegas is a series of clubs and drinking, with only gambling on occasion. My Dad says it's changed quite a bit.
Kitten ends. Damn it. Now it's Deorro. A rain of synth. I actually like this electro. It's rudimentary and not ironic. A few girls are staring at Bol and I. He hasn't noticed. Good. I'll be able to get my pics. One of them is a blond with dark highlights under the top of hair. She has dark eyes. Lots of liner. She's going for a bit of the Avril. No worries. Her lips are cherry pink. That I especially like.
I motion them to come over, keeping eye contact with the blond, although I think the brunette is the one that likes me. No brunettes, hon. I only have a hard-on for the lead singer of Kitten right now. Bol is surprised when he turns around.
They are looking for drinks, and I think we look like money. Funny. Little do they know, we're broke. But there is a credit card. Seed money to see if we score tonight. If James comes back with some pills, we may be in business.
They are looking for drinks, we are looking for tail. We're just using each other. It's Vegas. I down the rest of the lemongrass and hold up a hand for the server. The song changes again. The girls' name, the blond, is Sophie. The brunette is Sarah. I'll forget both by tomorrow night, more than likely. I take a napkin and write down something. Hate to say I'm still thinking of Ms. Chaidez, but here I am. I tell Sophie it's for her and she is ecstatic. Sarah is a wall after that and the rest of the night. I don't fee bad where I think I should.
Bol is pissed, since he doesn't score.
/ it's like a show of raven tress / don't want to say crows / don't want to turn you off / but there's something that I love / all along your dark contours /
/ the grey eyes that don't care / we're a lot a like / it's not so much but I know nothing else / we're all torment for feeling something, anything at all /
/ it's something to get lost in / something that's not secure / the lips of hue and cry / their red and dark and not meant for anyone /
/ the banal is the enemy / that's what they don't get / I get cigarettes / I get parcels with naughty things / and I wrote poetry because I don't care who reads it /
/ I would lie to say I don't have one obsession / it's a creature that seduces with haunting moves / it squeezes into black hose and writhes on stage / it is a call like no other / it is of something for better days / when I am well beyond this all /
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