I Should Get Out More Often

Met up with Jacques around 8:30 at Sister Louisa's Church (a bar). Jacques' been hitting steady shift drinks since 4:30pm at the cantina he works at. Our itinerary for the evening is Elvis' Tiki Luau and then jaunt down to the Cafe Perilous for the free Til Someone Loses An Eye show with plenty of imbibements in between. Jacques' too trashed to drive however. Miracle he got this far without wrapping himself around a big rig in the process. He hands me the keys and tells me I'm driving. I hit the head before we roll out. By the time I get back he's about to get into a fight with the guy sitting at the bar next to him.

See Jaques' what you might call a gregarious drinker, he digs small talk at the top of his lungs and is always eager to make a new friend. Tonight someone didn't want to make 'friends'. Tonight someone felt disrespected because m'boy here is doing his Chatty Kathy with the dude's girlfriend.

Here's where I should interject that drunk Jacques has all the unique charm you'd expect of a Frenchman and a native of Chiraq hybrid. Somehow rating and mesmerizing at the same time.

Well, I play diplomat and manage to get Jacques heading towards the door . We're almost out when the other dude loudly barks at us - "Yeah that's right. Get out of here before I kick your ass out."

Here we go.

The whole bar goes quiet with nothing but the Motown soundtrack whoa-whoa-whoaing off the stereo system. The bartender's doing his best to pretend he didn't hear a word of anything. Jacques however is in no mood for such discretions. So Jacques' getting into it with the dude and I'm standing behind Jacques and it's clear to me that m'boy can barely stand up which means if there's going to be any throwing down I'll be pinch-hitting for Jacques.

A fact I mouth over Jacques' shoulder with the gentlest of gestures towards the dude and one back to me with a touch to the chest.

Dude looks at us. Dude repeats the threat regardless and just before I find myself on the express train to Swing City his woman steps between us. It's her birthday god damn it and there's no way her dude's getting into a fight when he didn't get her a gift.

The bartender finally deigns to make the scene. He asks Jacques and I to leave.

After insults, explanations and threats have been shouted down Edgewood, we make our way to his car.

"Heh, I've never driven a Phantom Cruiser before." I say twirling his keys on my finger as if I was a cowboy twirling his six shooter.

"PT." Jacques explains as I fiddle the key into the lock. "She's a PT Cruiser."

"When I'm driving it she's a Phantom Cruiser."

We get in. I fire her up. Her engine sounds nothing like the Toy Yoda I pilot on chore patrol or job humps. A V-4 or something like that Jacques explains. She's got twice the power of my regular ride and a fraction of the turning radius. I'm one drink deep with the last of my kush buzz washed away over the adrenalin rush from Church. I shift into drive, release the brake and with the softest of love taps to the pedal launch forward.

Let's go to the Luau, let's check out the art and hook up with friends. Let's meet Kiki, who's an artist fresh from a riot tour across the Euro Zone. Let's wish happy birthdays to Kat and host alike. Let's drink Aloha flavored rum drinks. Let's get going. The band's about to go on. Let's jet through the neighborhoods, down empty streets where I can open up the Phantom Cruiser. Let's hit Dracula Country. Let's hit the Cafe Perilous (so long as I speak kindly when I do). Let's meet up for the Contact's birthday and dig TSLAE's Three-Penny Goth Opera Jamboree. Let's take the keys from Jack so Jack can finally start to drink in earnest.

And then... then let's talk.