it was a thursday evening, a tepid kind of evening, laden with murky clouds that hung low to the meandering streets of pittsburgh and blocked out the pale regalia of a moon with a man’s face. he sauntered off the bus, both hands in pockets, with a sly smile on his sharp edged face and an unlit cigarette drooping from his lips. his brain was laying out possible outcomes of the night’s events by flashing words to his mind’s eye; exciting, erotic, electric.
he was amused at the organic alliteration that was running through his mind and, smiling, grabbed a girl from the street to ask for a light, though he fiddled with a purple lighter with his long fingers in his pocket. he winked his thanks, she smiled back and clumped off into the night. she was wearing a tight skirt and her long legs ended in a pair of pumps that she seemingly had trouble walking in.
but she still looked good.
he inhaled, exhaled, and contemplated the effluvium of grey that danced from his lips and out into the warm night air. it covered the lights and the sounds of the southside like a blanket, he thought its movements similar to that of an ecdysiast though he’s never seen one.
down the street there was an old building that used to be a movie theater. a hexagon cut in half stood tall above a similar shaped box office, it proudly displayed its name in static bold red letters. its doors were glass, covered with stickers from bands that had performed there, there must of been hundreds.
they were bands that he has never heard of and, judging by their stickers, deemed unfit for his ears.
the inside of the venue had been gutted and remodeled to fit the grimy aesthetic of a bar and sound stage. there were bottles of cheap liquors and refrigerators of cheap booze where the expensive candies and expensive sodas used to be, there was an open floor and a stage littered with stereo knick knacks where the rows of cushioned seats and large screen used to be, and as he went up a rickety flight of wooden stairs to the upper level he placed, in his mind, where the projectionist would spend hours at a time reading playboy magazines and waiting to change the movie reel.
a glamorous life.
there, he encountered a friend of his. a lithe and young friend, with pale skin and hair dyed green, with breasts that were pushed up and displayed from atop her dress, with eyes that had seen the worst of life even though she was much younger than he. they hugged, she kissed his cheek with her tender lips, and introduced him to her boyfriend, equally as handsome. he shook his hand, firm and confident, and applied the usual salve of considerate greetings and jokes, as was his usual fair.
his greeting was cut short when the music started. two men on the stage surrounded by turntables, laptops, and countless boards covered with knobs and buttons. all of which were interconnected with myriad black and thick wires running to and fro and out of things and into other things. his mind saw everything as words, electronic words of rhythm being transmitted from the knobs and laptops and turntables, through the throng of black wires, and finally out of large speakers and amps and subwoofers. he thought that even everyone’s hearts were emitting the same rhythm, all synced together, words flowing out of everywhere, ba-bump ba-bump booom, low and heavy, organic and beautiful.
ba-bump ba-bump booom, it oozed all along the floor and climbed through everyone, implanting itself in their ears. they felt it enter and stick to their insides, and like a thief it took control of their hands and arms, their legs and feet, their hips and groins, and it started to move them, slow and fast, erratic and rhythmic.
everyone became as one, a beast dancing in the dark and only the flashing lasers and strobe lights illuminated its many faces.
he walked down from the upper level, bumping into girls with low cut shirts and skirts that might as well have been nonexistent. he would have excused himself politely if he hadn’t noticed their smiles and their eyes filled with sex. they touched him as they passed, arms, chest, face, and continued up the stairs.
he figured them drunk, or high, or probably both, as were most of the venue’s patrons.
the ravers, the druggies, the young girls with hula hoops swaying their hips so seductively, the two men on stage, his friends on the upper level, everyone in an altered state of mind. in this way, he thought, everyone can be part of everyone else, a shared experience, a common goal; exciting, erotic, electric.
he headed to the bar.
one seven and seven, light brown in color, rushed down his throat, a waterfall. another followed, and another, and two more after that. they were delicious, sweet and light but packing the certain punch that only whisky can afford. and he was feeling it now, the bass in him eating away at his soul, making his fingers shake, making his heart palpitate. he felt the lives of those around him, standing in circles and enjoying intoxicated discourse. he phased in out of a few of them, discussed politics, music, even god.
god, all knowing and all seeing, ubique in nature but never seen nor heard save for the various visions and manifestations of burning bushes and lightning that would change the course of mankind forever.
that is, if you believe all of it. which he did, a god fearing man though hardly religious. he took delight in conversations about godly things, about the heavens, about devils and demons, about the seven deadly sins of which lust was his most often indulged.
green is for lust. he thought of his friend with the green hair.
green is for envy, green is for lush valleys full of life.
did he lust after her? did he envy her? did she represent the bosom of nature and life?
the color splashed across his mind’s palette, and it drew pictures of beautiful forested scenery. tree dotted landscapes, the eyelashes of an endless horizon. a valley, a hill, birds drifting above in the sky with wings stretched, a sun hanging lifeless as if on a string, a light bulb, switched on by the hands of god.
when he digressed this line of thought he was on the dance floor, next to a girl with short blond hair that was put into pigtails. tight jeans with a camo print, fitting nice and framing her rear. a shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a deep v-neck cut into it to show her breasts to whomever wanted to appreciate them. she was talking to him, eyes blue and clear and wild. she also had pale skin, fair germanic skin. she was standing close to him, talking, yelling, into his ear about the drugs she had taken that night.
she was dancing, but didn’t seem to be a part of the beast that had formed on the floor. a sort of awkward desperation filled her every move and set her apart from the rest. it was a curious and attractive, almost raw.
he considered her as she looked at him with those wild eyes that begged him to join her.
he excused himself.
and then he left.
outside the tepid air turned cool and chilled his bones. his lips embraced a cigarette, and again grabbed a girl and asked for a light.
much obliged, he would say, and saunter off into the night.
at least she looked good.
