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
