Dead Night

I spoke with Ryan after I got out of class. I conned him into agreeing to come out with me tonight. The Tuesday night show at the bar used to be just as good as the Saturday show, rivaling the crowd and all. It's since corroded to the status of a Monday. Ryan said, "I'll go under one condition, you do my hair."

"Okay, sounds good. Just call me when you're ready for me to come over."

In the meantime, Dallas had called, inviting me to go with her to meet some girl she'd been talking to online. Dallas picked me up, and we lit up simultaneously the second I was situated in her car. We smoked cigarettes on the way to Starbucks. She pumped gas as I continued to smoke, being conscious of anyone that may have been watching. We stopped at Chick-fil-A so she could grab food before we hit up Starbucks. We arrived, and met a normal looking girl named Kelly. She had her lip pierced and did not impress me at all. I sipped my tall skinny latte slowly before I was bored to tears. Ryan called me during this coffee meeting and informed me he wouldn't be able to make it out. He was too tired. Dallas and I left finally and she brought me home to my car. I headed out solo at 10:30pm, arriving at the bar at a nearly 11:00. I was greeted by the owner upon entering. The parking lot was void of all cars other than the two that belonged to the owner that stayed parked out front, never moving an inch. There was one customer that must have walked. The DJ arrived later on. The election games were plastered across the TV, being watched by my friend the owner through clouds of cigarette smoke billowing out of both of our lungs. We talked politics briefly. Time passed quickly and the bar filled up with six to ten other customers, but still terribly dead. Sonic, one of the DJ's came in, slapping asses as usual, passing out hugs so freely, you'd think he was running for office.

"You know she can't touch your ass 'til you've had your cootie shot for the day," Frank, the owner said.

"I haven't been vaccinated yet," I replied.

"You mean it's permanent for you?" he must've misunderstood what I just said.

I played along, "Yeah girl, I got the I.U.D., they just shove it up the back door and you're set until they take it out!"

Frank put his head in his hands, just shaking his head and smiling.

Conversations sprung up across the bar, drag queens keeping each one alive. Jason and Naomi came in through the rear door. I talked to Frank, overhearing bits and pieces of other less-important conversations.

"Yeah, Mixers is closing," I heard Fushia (the drag queen) say. I hated hearing this, especially after meeting the owners and seeing their bar (Mixers) and all the work that had gone into it. I don't like thinking about what a loss it will be for them if they do fold. I talked to a local hair salon owner who spoke through a thick Brazilian accent. He went on and on about how terrible it is to strip color out of your hair with bleach. His friend Angel introduced himself, but barely seemed coherent enough to hold a conversation with me. I was obviously not interested but it didn't seem to phase him. He smiled and tried to talk to me. He was really just talking at me. I look at him at first, but later turned to the television, ignoring him and saying "Yeah," and "Right," every one in a while. I hate having to deal with shit like that. Get a clue mister.

I asked Frank to cash me out and he refused, ruffling up his eyebrows and telling me that Jason will think I left because of his presence. I didn't want to leave that impression, so I smoked two more cigarettes before calling it quits. The walker (lone customer at the start of the night) had started trying to talk to me. I was cordial but short with him. I hate having to be the ambassador of goodwill to new customers. I feel like I have to represent the bar and be kind since it's been a home of sorts for me. I parted without offering my name, but thanking him for the conversation.

I didn't say goodbye to anyone but Frank. It felt good too. I don't want to answer to anyone.