Just another Vampire City
Jun. 6th, 2007 02:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalon"’cause it’s getting kind of quiet in my city’s head/
Takes a teen age riot to get me out of bed..."
~Teenage Riot, Sonic Youth
They come spilling out of the Drunken Unicorn anxious, buzzed, bored, giggling at their own jokes and surfing the crests of their egos. Just another night in another vampire city, another so-so show with nowhere left to go. There's five total. Three guys, two women each one stuck in that strange age between adult decisions and playground dispositions. Two of the guys (with cheeks that have never been shaved and bleesed with smiles that don't know better) crouch down with just a dash of dancefloor flair. On cue the two women come running up behind them, leap on their backs piggy back style, wrap their arms around their necks and start kicking the guys lightly in the sides hollering -
"Go, go, go!"
and
"Andole-andole mother fucker!"
The guys lean forward, rise up and suddenly burst into a dead sprint down the length of the neighboring pizzeria and cyber cafe, make a sharp left on Ponce Avenue, a few yards of this until another left around the ATM, still neck and neck, the guys throwing their arms in front of each other to weasel themselves out the slightest of leads, the women spurring them on with motivational shit talking and encouraging slaps to the shoulders. They take another left now and are racing up the ramp that leads to MJQ, the guy in the brown polo shirt and faux hawk leading by inches until he's yanked by the collar by the guy in the black hoodie. The third guy refuses to be the fifth wheel. He races around the block, cuts them off and is acting as a human finishing line on Ponce Place. Brown Polo stumbles, almost shrugs off the strawberry blonde from his shoulders but she manages to hold on and he regains his balance but it's too late Black Hoodie and his rider take the lead and pass the third guy who confirms their victory with a wave of his arms
The Brown Polo questions the judges decision. Accusations of cheating are leveled and met with counter accusations of sore losing. Within seconds the race has become a chicken fight. The four of them get in tight, eight arms flailing spastic slaps and good natured laughs. Finally the dueling human totem poles crumble on a trip of the shoelaces and there is a soundless crash into a mound of groans and knotted limbs.
"Hey check it out!" the third guy yells from across the street oblivious to his friends collective scrapes and bruises. He's across the street in the lot by "Paris on Ponce", the tres chic thrift store on the corner of Ponce & Ponce. At the moment he is scaling the miniature Eiffel Tower that sits there with the folk art King Kong mounted on the apex. Without further comment the other four brush themselves off and rush over to the Baby Eiffel hitting it with the zeal of fourth graders cracked out on Saturday morning cartoons and sugar cereal, scrambling clumsily up the length of the tower, yanking each other down with sudden tugs of the belt, the Brown Polo swings his way towards Folk Art Kong while the Strawberry Blond follows close behind filming his progress with her camera phone. The Third guy leans his weight forward while hanging from the tower, releases a
"Super-Fllllyyyyyyyyy!!!"
and leaps down, hits the ground in a stagger, a roll and a crouch. He is met with an applause of whistles and belches with which he returns the gesture with a stage bow. Then he looks up with wide eyes and shrieks-
"Pigs!"
A deep blue, red striped squad car pulls out of the parking lot and lights up the tower with a burst of sirens. The kids drop down from the tower, sneakers hitting the gravel in a soft crunches and they tear ass towards the dead railroad tracks that run behind "Paris". Brick walls splashed in emergency colors. Car doors slam. A pair of demands are barked simultaneously into meaninglessness. The kids are on the tracks now making their way towards North Avenue. Muffled curses behind them. The cops give up. They're good men made fat before their times by a bad job. They give up and shuffle back to the squad car. Neither one of them even bothers to mention calling it in. They turn off the sirens, look at one another and laugh.
"I've always wanted to do that.." the cop behind the wheel finally confesses.
"Yeah me too..."
They both look at each other.Think about it. Marinate in the temptation until a static drenched voices calls their car number to respond to a possible B&E off Euclid. Deep sighs and the squad car pulls out in reverse, takes a right down Ponce down to Ponce and disappear.
One by one, from the shadows they reappear. The five of them cautiously make their way off the tracks, past the tower, through the parking lot, past the now locked "Unicorn" and one by one pile into a beaten up Mitsubishi Diamante. Smokes are bummed. A kiss is sneaked in. A cell phone text message is sent and the car starts up on the third time which is, i'm told, the charm.
Just another night here in another vampire city, another disposable adventure to share over drinks with friends and one more story in the lives of those who think they have none.
">
~Rob M.
Takes a teen age riot to get me out of bed..."
~Teenage Riot, Sonic Youth
They come spilling out of the Drunken Unicorn anxious, buzzed, bored, giggling at their own jokes and surfing the crests of their egos. Just another night in another vampire city, another so-so show with nowhere left to go. There's five total. Three guys, two women each one stuck in that strange age between adult decisions and playground dispositions. Two of the guys (with cheeks that have never been shaved and bleesed with smiles that don't know better) crouch down with just a dash of dancefloor flair. On cue the two women come running up behind them, leap on their backs piggy back style, wrap their arms around their necks and start kicking the guys lightly in the sides hollering -
"Go, go, go!"
and
"Andole-andole mother fucker!"
The guys lean forward, rise up and suddenly burst into a dead sprint down the length of the neighboring pizzeria and cyber cafe, make a sharp left on Ponce Avenue, a few yards of this until another left around the ATM, still neck and neck, the guys throwing their arms in front of each other to weasel themselves out the slightest of leads, the women spurring them on with motivational shit talking and encouraging slaps to the shoulders. They take another left now and are racing up the ramp that leads to MJQ, the guy in the brown polo shirt and faux hawk leading by inches until he's yanked by the collar by the guy in the black hoodie. The third guy refuses to be the fifth wheel. He races around the block, cuts them off and is acting as a human finishing line on Ponce Place. Brown Polo stumbles, almost shrugs off the strawberry blonde from his shoulders but she manages to hold on and he regains his balance but it's too late Black Hoodie and his rider take the lead and pass the third guy who confirms their victory with a wave of his arms
The Brown Polo questions the judges decision. Accusations of cheating are leveled and met with counter accusations of sore losing. Within seconds the race has become a chicken fight. The four of them get in tight, eight arms flailing spastic slaps and good natured laughs. Finally the dueling human totem poles crumble on a trip of the shoelaces and there is a soundless crash into a mound of groans and knotted limbs.
"Hey check it out!" the third guy yells from across the street oblivious to his friends collective scrapes and bruises. He's across the street in the lot by "Paris on Ponce", the tres chic thrift store on the corner of Ponce & Ponce. At the moment he is scaling the miniature Eiffel Tower that sits there with the folk art King Kong mounted on the apex. Without further comment the other four brush themselves off and rush over to the Baby Eiffel hitting it with the zeal of fourth graders cracked out on Saturday morning cartoons and sugar cereal, scrambling clumsily up the length of the tower, yanking each other down with sudden tugs of the belt, the Brown Polo swings his way towards Folk Art Kong while the Strawberry Blond follows close behind filming his progress with her camera phone. The Third guy leans his weight forward while hanging from the tower, releases a
"Super-Fllllyyyyyyyyy!!!"
and leaps down, hits the ground in a stagger, a roll and a crouch. He is met with an applause of whistles and belches with which he returns the gesture with a stage bow. Then he looks up with wide eyes and shrieks-
"Pigs!"
A deep blue, red striped squad car pulls out of the parking lot and lights up the tower with a burst of sirens. The kids drop down from the tower, sneakers hitting the gravel in a soft crunches and they tear ass towards the dead railroad tracks that run behind "Paris". Brick walls splashed in emergency colors. Car doors slam. A pair of demands are barked simultaneously into meaninglessness. The kids are on the tracks now making their way towards North Avenue. Muffled curses behind them. The cops give up. They're good men made fat before their times by a bad job. They give up and shuffle back to the squad car. Neither one of them even bothers to mention calling it in. They turn off the sirens, look at one another and laugh.
"I've always wanted to do that.." the cop behind the wheel finally confesses.
"Yeah me too..."
They both look at each other.Think about it. Marinate in the temptation until a static drenched voices calls their car number to respond to a possible B&E off Euclid. Deep sighs and the squad car pulls out in reverse, takes a right down Ponce down to Ponce and disappear.
One by one, from the shadows they reappear. The five of them cautiously make their way off the tracks, past the tower, through the parking lot, past the now locked "Unicorn" and one by one pile into a beaten up Mitsubishi Diamante. Smokes are bummed. A kiss is sneaked in. A cell phone text message is sent and the car starts up on the third time which is, i'm told, the charm.
Just another night here in another vampire city, another disposable adventure to share over drinks with friends and one more story in the lives of those who think they have none.
">~Rob M.
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no subject
on 2007-06-06 08:20 pm (UTC)I have an idea for you... request topics from your f-list and write about those topics. I'll bet not a soul could stump you. Every story would be fascinating!
xxx
Public Reply
on 2007-06-06 08:40 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-06-06 08:58 pm (UTC)xxx
no subject
on 2007-06-12 07:56 pm (UTC)