Breakfast at St. Vincent

It was now 6:15 PM EST. The rain was abating, when I finally arrived in my 1957 Fiat 500, at Saint Vincent's nest or as he likes to call it...A house.

A few too many steps up later, I finally reached a front door.
I pressed a red doorbell button with the word PANIC written in black marker around it, which I found oddly placed on the outside of his house and not the inside.

I let myself in.

The stink in the air tasted as bad as the sudden acid reflux I tasted in my mouth.
I searched for a cold beer.
Finding one, I drank it fast, farted and pressed on.

As soon as I entered the main room where all the action was happening, I started sneezing.
St. Vincent knows a lot of people that shed copious amounts of human dander.
With that said, old people make me sneeze.

St Vincent spots me right as I enter the room.
He greets me and tries to tell me something in my ear.
Before he can, I hand him a bag of my contribution to the evening.
Toilet Paper and Wet Naps
He liked it better then what I brought to his last party.
Last time, I brought condoms and Demerol in two white pharmaceutical paper bags.
He still hasn't forgiven me for that.

Looking around I noticed that the bathtub booze was everywhere and so was the backyard gateway.
What really surprised me, was the mixed crowd.

I immediately excused myself from St. Vincent and went outside to the bathroom.
Which happens tonight to be his backyard bushes.
Little did I know then, that I would to be joined, almost immediately by the family dog with a little late night tinkle.
I held off number two until the dog got bored and left.
Afterwards when I saw the family dog again, I threaten him not to go near my puke...
If I eventually made some.

Returning to the ? I don't know? What are the young kids callin' it today?
All I know is, what it wasn't...A party or a get together. It was more like a, showing up, stinking and smearing everything. Maybe even leaving a stain.

I walked over to a garden chair, sat down and was pleasantly surprised by what I was holding.
A three quarter full bottle of Malt Liquor.
Looking around while drinking from it, I noticed the cheap gateway hung like a grey ubiquitous plume. I also noticed that neighborhood dogs were oddly quiet.

Music played in the distant from St. Vincents clock radio. The sound was distorted and on max AM.
It was like was watching a movie in black and white.
Every so often I noticed a red laser dot coming from some neighbours house, squiggling across one of the guests forehead.
And every time nothing happened and/or/maybe because nobody noticed.

It was a strange evening.
But nothing like the morning.

Next:
Supper at St. Vincents

I awoke from the garden chair half shivering and feeling wet.
It was morning when I realized that at some point during the course of the evening, it had rained but I hadn't notice.
I made my way to the house like a chic zombie.
There wasn't enough warm blood in me to walk any faster than I did.
Once inside St Vincents place, I realized why I called it a nest.
Because it stunk of toilet.
It reminded me of a joke I once heard as a child about a similar situation but quickly dismissed it. At this point kaka jokes were no longer a laughing matter. They were relegated from there first priority, down to number two!

Bodies were littered everywhere.
But everyone looked peaceful sleeping.
The deeper I went in the more the carpet felt wet.
It was then, that I finally realized, that my shoes were missing and my nylon stockings were drenched.
Finding a closet, I borrowed a winter jacket that happened to be there, and huddled myself close to carefully assess my situation.
Soon everyone was going to wake up.
And have Supper at St Vincent.

Lacie Anderson

High Tone - N°1 Station

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NU7XAAayk7c&feature=related

Mondo Snarfo

I don't know how to say this but...I was a victim of "Beer". It was long ago in my vulnerable youth but I remember it like it was yesterday. My buddies and I went out on a Friday night to a bar, like many young men still do today. The music there was good, the air was smokey and the women were plenty. After consuming ginger ale with ice most of the evening, I was surprised when the waitress brought me a "Beer". I protested "I did not order this, what kind of gentleman do you take me for?" She replyed with a mischievous look in her eye, that it was from a woman at the other end of the bar and pointed her out to me. In the distance, I saw a woman looking my way smiling, then waving me over. Taking the "Beer" with me, so that I could give it back to her, I ventured over. Upon reaching the table, where she sat with other women, I tried to speak but was quickly ordered to sit down and drink the "Beer" Unsure of the protocol, I did what I was told. One sip and I was hooked. It was dark in the corner where we were sitting and the smoke thick, so to describe her features would be difficult. As the night progressed the "Beers" keep coming, wave after wave. It must have been after midnight that I realized that I was in a taxi, being taken home like some prize at a carnival. Disembarking from the taxi, she carried me to her apartment. At her place the night was all her's. I drifted in and out of consciousness. Only capturing inebriated glimpses of my seductress. Then I drifted into black...
In the morning I awoke to the siren of a police car, that faded slowly into the distance. My head felt like it was in a vise and my eyes were blurred. Next to me, snoring like man was the she-devil that gave my first "Beer". Trying not to wake her, I got out of bed and staggered my way to the bathroom. The toilet looked like it had never been flushed but the sink looked a little cleaner so I used it. It was at that point when the she-devil came into the bathroom and found me sitting on the bathroom sink trying to relieve myself. All I remember is running out of the apartment, still crowning and hearing screaming insults hurled at me as I made my way to freedom.
When I got home, I showered using a brillo pad and an abrasive cleanser.
In one night, I became a Man!

But at what cost?

"Lou's Bar 'N' Grill"

There was a time as a young hoodlum, that a kid could steal some chump change from his Aunt Rosie's purse and go down to the local bar to kill some time while quaffing down a couple brown pops. Taking in a girlie show afterwards, was of course the highlight of the evening.

This one place I used to go to, was "Lou's Bar 'N' Grill" down by the Bowery. Or, a 21 minute walk from where I lived. It didn't matter how old you were as long as you had the money you got served. The place stunk of pee, farts, body odor, and stale beer all mixed together with the stink of cigarette smoke. Forget about using the can. Any fluid or solid, you could excrete from your body, didn't find it's way in the toilet or urinal. Add to that, there was nothing to wipe with.
This is what I was told so I didn't go in there.
Besides, the door was locked. Pissing was done outside in the alley, crapping was done in your pants. That was the code at Lou's.
While inside, the heavy smoke burnt your eyes and burned in your nostrils and lungs. Everything you touched there, either felt greasy or sticky. Lou was ex navy, heavy built with a brush cut and a beard of purple ache scars. I could only imagine them when he was younger, hanging like grapes. The service was curt and lousy but the booze cheap. When you're really thirsty...cheap is good!
On one particular night, as my mudder was entertaining an ole friend from outta town, I snuck out to Lou's. Armed with a knife and a hundred in small bills, I was gonna get a good glow on that night. Hell, I was gonna take a hit for the team.
It must have been after switching to Sloe Gin from beer that I puked up my mudders tuna and bean casserole all over my shirt. I panicked, the old lady was going to kill me, if I went home like this, she would know that I had been drinking.
As bad as Lou could be, he still had a soft spot for a kid who was in trouble with his ma.
"I'll fix things kid. Gimme 5 bucks" Said Lou as he snapped his fingers. I handed him the money and he put it in my shirt pocket. "Tell your old lady that the guy next to you at the bar, puked all over your shirt but he gave you 5 bucks to get it dry cleaned. Problem solved." He then smacked me on the head as I slurred out a thanks and ordered another round.
What Lou forgot to explain was, why a fifteen year old teenaged boy was at a bar late at night to get puked on.
I don't remember how I got home that night, all I remember is my ma screaming at me and shaking me back to reality. Apparently I had passed out on my back in the hallway of the apartment with my feet keeping the door open.
"Wake up you bum! You've been drinking haven't you! You've got puke all over your shirt." She screamed.
Then I remembered what Lou told me to say.
"No ma, you got it all wrong, some guy at a bar puked on me. If you check my shirt pocket, you'll find the 5 bucks he gave me for the dry cleaning."
She then checked my pocket, pulled out the money and said. "Hey? Why is there twenty dollars in your pocket?"
Then I realized the other accident I had that night and said.
"Oh yeah. He crapped in my pants too."