We don't go the art museum. Swing Thai
is getting new cement in the alley facing the direction I sit to eat
medium spicy Pad Thai. I want to fill the cement truck full of bells
or Craigslist drum sets (plural) and bring it on stage tonight.
Lion's Lair painted the floor red before we get there. The bartender
had the air conditioner on to help dry out the paint. But at some
point it's Denver and it's snowing. On the stage the dry heat is
blowing with polyester leopard print curtains veiling the droning
neon signs, so it feels subtropical up there. Neon snow-tropics.
There is a painting on the wall of a
lion and other lion collectibles that I can only assume point to the
name of the place. Laura says that Harpoontang plays here the most
out of all the places they play. The floor is still sticky. If you
don't dance you might not get out of here (alive). We decide that to
be a member of your own tribute band would be sick. I have to use a
drink ticket for ginger ale. Steve came down from Longmont and
tomorrow he sends me a track of shamanic drumming to be used with
noise canceling headphones and a hammock between two trees of your
childhood.
Stealth is loud. I would follow him.
The woman with the iridescent white coat just had a baby. Her heart
is true. The man with the pigtails is not a costume, he looks like a
black crow, and he's just as beautiful. We are mice and she is holy
cheese. We decided against being the royal family at the Spirit of
Halloween. Google Maps doesn't know that Spirit of Halloween has
moved to 10th Street so we get to the old address and
there is no store. Our false destination looks like a strip mall with
no doors or windows. We wander around the parking lot like deer
trying to cross a highway.
The highway leads to Rattlesnake Gulch
tomorrow even though when we were getting gasoline-snacks-coffee this
morning we couldn't make up our minds and Thor's rules didn't say
anything about that.
No comments:
Post a Comment