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Another Friday Night before/after
John:"So, I'm ready. I need something to wake me up. I want to take that acid."
I sighed to myself. Here we are at the swanky 'Purple Martini' at 1:00 a.m.. We had been moving with purpose all night. First at this dive called 'The Cat' where Don's band The Geds played, which was composed of corrugated aluminum and cement and absolutely no outward signs of recgonition, the reverb off of the cement and metal making me nearly as deaf as Ludwig Van, now to the 'Purple Martini', a swanky downtown joint that John had supposedly spent 11,000 dollars the previous fiscal year, and now the purpose shifted to hallucinogenic abuse for the expressed purpose of 'waking him up'.
*sigh*
How many times have I been boondoggled like this... you do not take acid for a quick pick-me-up. This is not something that wears off in an hour.
But I'm always game. What the fuck?
me:"I'll get it in a minute."
In the meantime, a short-haired skinny albino kid tripped on Roomies foot, and thinking it was me, locks eyes with me. I look up to see him and his buddy giving me the stink-eye. I had no idea what's going on, but do not flinch, blink, or otherwise show any sign of a tell of weakness. This causes them both to swallow hard, and think about how viciously wrong their night could turn.
Roomie:"Hey, it wasn't him, it was me. You stepped on my foot."
The albino looked a bit relieved, and swatted roomie lightly on the back of the head. I stood up, and they turned and fled. Roomie chased after for fifteen feet spuoting in rage.
Roomie:"You ignorant fuckers! Cock-fuck! Shit heel! Come on! Come on! I'll split your gizzard you cockmaster!"
We made our way back to our booth. John called this waitress Cassie, who was lyrically beautiful, over to the table. Apparently John had done a menage-a-trois with her and her roomate, because they have this "thing" together, and sharing their guys.
Whatevers right.
She batted her eyes at me, and got the orders for more shots. As she left she groped my bicep three times vigorously. I loved it.
She then came back with the shots, and crouched down next to me, sinking lower and lower, until she was about a foot away from my package, seemingly having to peer over it to converse with John. I slung my arm over and carressed her back.
She left and John called another waitress over for a drink.
John:"Hey! Hey! Hey, shorty! C'mere. Wanna drink?"
Tara:"No, I can't my manager is right there."
John:"Wanna come back to my place for the night?"
Tara:"What? No. I don't THINK so."
me:"What's your name?"
Tara:"Tara."
We chatted for a bit. She was a hottie, blonde and gorgeous, and didn't actually sound too vacant. She also seemed surprised that I was a nice guy, and carressed my chest when we hugged goodbye, for some reason.
So I went and got the acid, and we cut it up and ate it at the table.
On the way home as the first rising vibes started gripping me, John and Roomie start brawling in my car, breaking the dome light. I was dropping Roomie off so he could cab it back, and I turned to look to see them invovled in some sort of bizzarre testosterone-driven death struggle. A police car cruised up and blared its siren. Busted for horse-play by the man.
He followed us a ways back to John's high-rise, but tailed off before we got there. Up at John's the acid frenzy gripped me in a sheath of silence while he busily called up escort services.
john:"Smoke a doobie and get some HOES up in here."
Yeah, right, whatever. Nothing is gonna' happen. Too late, too fucked up. Christ, I don't even know how to do something like that, and calling those numbers out of the back of the newspaper? What the Fuck?
John knew the jargon. He'd apparently done this before.
John: "Are you still doing out-call? How much? Two hundred? One-fifty for two. One fifty-for two. What I'm saying is: one fifty per hour for two hours, for a grand total of three-hundred dollars."
He went through this song and dance several times, getting several commitments with no one showing, making me listen to awful Rap albums, and refusing any sort of meaningful conversation, responding typically with, "We gots ta' get some HOES up in heya."
And I kept getting higher and higher.
Eventually a call came through, and he buzzed someone into the building. A knock on the door and he answered. She stuck her head through the door and eyed us both clinically. I must admit, this was the first time I was on the business end of a hooker appraisal, as far as I know, that is.
John:"Get the fuck out of here. Bye."
And he came and sat back down.
John:"She was fuckin' nasty."
Tiring of the charade, bumming out for lack of stimulation or expression, I left, and high as a motherfucker, drove back home. I actually slept thrugh a large chunk of the trip, and was still high when I woke up. Disconcerting. I dreamt of an amusement park/zoo, where I relaxed on a sort of 'moon walk' inflatable dirigible style cushion watching the elephants roam. The elephants were outfitted with stilts relative to their size, a smaller elephant having a three story hydraulic stilts, while the larger ones had stilts of five stories or more. It reminded me of the Temptation of St. Anthony, a Dali piece that had startled me while tripping one time when I was in college.
And then it was Saturday.
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