I spent a huge amount of time last night just waiting. I played Galaga on my phone, smoked a joint and made small talk. I was sitting in the stuffiest hallway ever at the top of a rickety staircase in the Gold Fronts building.
I spent my evening with these young blooms of Spring. The party crowd was not at all my type but the owner of the venue and his friends. Oh, honey. So scrappy and fast-talking! So stylish! I loved them all, sweet young things.
Of course and especially the owner, whose sneakers were so pristine they fairly gleamed in the dusty hallways. I wanted to cupcake him.
Instead I did my fucking job. Security was a little shaky but there was always some boy around somewhere who had my back, and we only had to get rid of one dude. As the night wore on patrons got more and more sketchy. I got less and less patient explaining to people how it was my whole job to fucking charge them, not have discussions about what time it was and whether or not I should ask for a cover.
I wanted to get back to Galaga, most of the time. Or some lighthearted conversation with some young city boy in a fresh baseball cap. Anything but haggling with cokeheads.
But that is how an all night party goes. I got a cab pretty quickly at dawn and got home in time for infomercials and one last joint, and Japanese food and sleeping with no dreams at all. Too tired to dream. Aint that a bitch.
I'm gonna take another crack at it now. Happy Sunday.
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