Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Guns. drugs, and the river.

I walked around a little bit, taking a picture here and there, with the intention of meeting Becca. I came across a staircase leading down to a basement, chandeliers hanging, lighting the way. I wanted to surprise Becca by actually showing up somewhere, but it didn't seem like a place I wanted to be, and the looks of the folks getting out of cabs and heading down helped me make up my mind. I walked back up to work, a different route to take different pictures, and ended up in a cab to a bar to meet up with everyone else.

The next part of the evening consisted of both interesting and awkward conversations, often at the same time, while watching friends and acquaintances head to the bathroom in twos and threes. Sean convinced me not to go home after Megan kicked us out to close, and a "buy beer and go drink it by the river" plan was enacted. Beer was bought, while I got myself a yogurt, and a container of oatmeal, still considering sneaking away. But on to the river, or so we thought. Karina somehow leads us to her friend's apartment instead.

"I know he looks like a white supremist, but he's actually Puerto Rican."
"Actually I'm Dominican."

She lived upstairs with her passed-out-drunk boyfriend, but we could hang out in the ground floor apartment where she was dogsitting. This was an apartment that just shouldn't exist on Ave C, but the theme of the evening seemed to be about how things change, and how quickly and unexpectedly those changes can sneak up on you. There was a kitchen, diningroom, livingroom, and small deck out in the back yard garden. I saw a staircase leading down from the livingroom, and figured that's where the bedrooms were. I didn't check.

Four of us were in the kitchen, dealing with beer and telling stories, and in comes the no longer passed out boyfriend. He's clearly pissed, and in spite of Sean's attempts to reach for a handshake, and loudly introduce all of us and himself, the boyfriend just wanted to fight with his lady. Seems it was their two year anniversary, and they had been fighting a lot. No, I don't know what the two have to do with each other. We leave them alone to sort it out, but he's getting a little too physical, and those of us not worried about being found by the police stand up and watch a little closer. Karina, their friend, goes in to mediate, but that just results in him throwing his gal to the diningroom floor. This crosses a line in my opinion, but we show restraint when he come toward us taking off his fashionable sportcoat like he's getting ready to fight. The happy couple disappears upstairs. She comes down to the deck where we're freezing, and suggests we all leave, herself included. From above, I clearly hear the movie-quallity sound effect of a revolver being cocked, and I stand up to wholeheartedly agree that we should get the fuck out.

I don't think anyone else heard it, and keep it to myself so as not to cause a panic. She's shaken, and eventually mentions the gun in a casual manor. She opens the door first and he's at the top of the stairs. "Are you normal now?" she asks toward the second floor landing. I'm sure we have very different definitions of normal, and not wanting to wait for his answer, potentially in the form of bullets, I lead the line past our hostess to the outside door. She's suddenly not coming with us, and Sean accurately informs them that they're both stupid, then closes the door.

"Yeah, moving to Mexico is real fucking stressful!"

I'm trying to get Sheena to just get in a cab and go home, but I end up dragging her with us to 18th street, and the river. I'd never been to this spot. It's a wide open view of the East River, and the sunrise has just begun. It's beautiful, and smells like the sea. Sean walks off out of sight to confirm his fears of more change. Sheena gets some much needed rest, and the others continue their party activities while the city exercisers slowly wake. We talk of changes, and why it even matters. Looking over to see three of our group openly snorting cocaine on a park bench while joggers nearly fall over the railing from shock, Sean inadvertently breaks a bottle, waking Sheena, and signaling our departure. I get labeled a "trouper" for being able to stay out with everyone while being totally sober. I have no response. I don't even understand the premiss of this statement.

Slowly, we separate into smaller groups, and I'm hand-fed McD's hash brown in a cab before finally heading upstairs. It's all worth it if you learn something.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

its actually a dive bar, but in a state of infancy. it even has a funky smell, thats similar, but worse, than the downstairs lounge stink. i wish you woulda made it. its okay though.

i kinda wish that i was around for the rest of yr night. instead i was fighting with an ill-placed gate lock right around sunrise, standing on a crate of records. my feet were bleeding when i took my boots off from working too much. i went to sleep sober. drinking could wait a day.

fuck i shoulda just put that in my journal. damn maybe all of my entries will just be replies to you.


12:24 AM  

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