“Jackson Square Steps, King and James” Andre’s next to me sidewalk majesties manning our square of territory, our turf with the abandon of the truly inebriated. Happy Ken jangles angled jingles from a harmonica humming Happy Ken lilts out front of the now defunct Woolworth’s. Kandi n Spud peacocking brilliant in the dour February feebles. Big, Big Ed braves Lumpy’s dull droll rants while keeping the city still. God stands disparate in front of the corner Korean store under the plain Jane cheap smokes yellow backed red lettered banner ad for Number 7’s. Steve somewhere humming old fellas so he can afford beer with which he can enamour himself into a clique of faux-skins spouting vitriol and hate. Corner days, stair nights cemetery collectives intoxication rituals borne on the wings of creep tales, mosquito bites and Black Label. Triple XXX sherry in wax paper goblets, 7 Eleven logos loud and clear on each, dispensing stupid fluid in 4oz swigs round open fire smoke dances. George bulldogging the Crowd, bustling brawn into statements of open mind trip-tune serenades. Kevin, obligingly follows Head agog and listening. Ross and I long hair metal types insinuating inside the collective mind melt of downtown punk culture with Thrash thriving and our Chip N pepper wear. Consumers sneak by, eyes lowered to avoid contact with the disenfranchised anger lurking behind costume camouflage and bared teeth. ©hollie
Posted on: Sat, 09 Nov 2013 22:50:52 +0000
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