Short version:
Fun is where you find it. Funny how fun a night will turn out to be when you don’t expect it. “Short walk?” “Sure!” Hours later…
You’ve admitted secret desires for industrial’s come back while at the same time spending half you’re night talking about house music, how you love to play it out and how much fun you had doing so. And did I mention the debate (with the Jamaican) about whether or not to fear the come-ons of gay dudes? Or whether or not that whole “gay” business is part of evolution or not?
All things being equal: this is probably the best town in the U.S. in which to live.
currently playing: Velvet Acid Christ “Crushed”
We’re out front of a hotel, waiting for a cab when we see him. He’s just a little kid — he’s maybe six years old. But there he is, breaking glass bottles on the street. At first it’s a little funny. “Ha! Look at that kid smash those bottles!” But it isn’t long before smashing “a couple” bottles has soared into well over 20 bottles. Glass shards are everywhere. “Hey!” I yell over to him. “Cut that out! You ought to clean that up!” He makes a defiant face and goes to run off. I spring after him and quick catch up, tackling him in a spread of grass. He tries to wriggle free but someone helps me to pin him down and we take a whack at him, trying to knock some discipline into this miniature ruffian. Where is this kid’s mom? I think. “You are going to need to clean that I up,” I indicate with my finger. But I’m overwhelmed immediately with guilt and with second thoughts. He’s only six, right? Maybe he doesn’t know any better? And anyway… Should I really be making a six year old clean up broken glass? That doesn’t seem right… But maybe if I supervise? And demonstrate? While this other person has him pinned down to the grass, I show him how to carefully scoop up the glass (so as not to cut himself on it) and then how to shovel it into the nearby trash can. But I also can’t shake the feeling that his mom will appear at any moment and throw a fit that I’ve put her little boy’s life in danger. (Or at least the security of his little hands…)
