Matthew Gallo
07-02-2010, 07:24 AM
I guzzled down the €2.50 coke in the paper cup until it was half empty. €1.25 worth of coke was left, or there abouts. I reached into my dirty canvas bag, rummaged about for a second and pulled out a small silver hip flask. Shakily and without much finesse I poured the bourbon it contained into the coke and watched the level of liquid rise until the paper cup was full once more. I stuffed the flask back into my bag and started fumbling about for a pen.
Suddenly I was back at home, I was back sitting in amongst the late night chaos at kitchen table stirring a whiskey and coke with a regular ball point pen. I gulped it. Tasted like ink. I drained the glass and I winced. Stirring whiskey with a pen, I never heard of such a stupid idea.
Then, almost as abruptly as I had left I was back in Barcelona, back sitting on the stone steps under the warmth of the stars, surrounded by friends, friends surrounded by strangers, everyone drinking down the mixer in their paper cups until they were a quarter empty.
I pulled my hand from out of my bag, looked at it for a second, then stirred my drink with my index finger. I gulped it. Tasted like whiskey and coke. Win. I licked the frothy wet from my finger, sucked on it until it was dry and then used it to poke Will, who was sitting to my left.
“It’s so simple” I told him, “I never realised before now but it’s perfectly o.k to stir the whiskey into your coke using your finger”.
I held up my hand and showed him my finger. Then I held my drinks to my lips and took a sip.
“Makes sense”, he laughed. He always laughed, even when I wasn’t really making any sense or being crude or making inappropriate jokes. He had a certain laugh, we both had a certain laugh, for when someone was making inappropriate or dirty jokes. Our filthy old men laughs, for when we’re flilthy old man. It’s important to practise these things now before we’re too old and have to spend most of our time just straight perving.
“Maybe I should go tell all these people? You think think any of them realise you can do that?”
“These people?” he hesitated, “Just take a look at them, they’re filming the band on their mobiles phones, they clearly don’t know ****.”
I looked at the couple of thousand strong crowd drowning in the darkness. All the big lights were shining at the stage and it was difficult to make out one person from the next. In the abyss I could make out hundreds of tiny LED screens, shades of electric blue and sickly green, all pointed towards the band. Broken Social Scene. A very broken social scene indeed.
“Oh yeah, what *******s.”
“Why do people do that? Just watch the god damned band with your own eyes, you’ll remember it much better that way”.
“Yes, but then they won’t have ****ty little grainy videos to show off to their idiot friends when they get home.”
“That’s true”.
We laughed a while, it wasn’t our dirty man laughs and I wasn’t sure what exactly we were laughing at but it was coming from the gut, from right down there in the pits of our stomachs where our intstincts and the whiskey (in mine) and the rum (in Wills) sloshed about with expensive mixers. I took a big slug from my cardboard cup which swam with urgency down my throat to join the rest. It felt good, I felt good. I looked over at Will and then back at the crowd.
There they stood, hundreds of them all squashed in together, insignificant black silhouettes against an even blacker night sky. A host of multi-coloured lights from the scaffolding that surrounded the stage started skimming erratically over the crowd bringing neon and colour and life to their personal worlds. They searched left and right, north and south, high and low, probably searching for someone who was actually watching the band with their own eyes, or maybe someone who was stirring their drink with a finger. Who knows? Good luck to them though, I thought.
Suddenly, a break down. The singing stopped, the music persisted in the form of a series of simple loops and clattering percussion and a huge brilliant yellow searchlight above the band burned bright. It reached out into the darkness turning the lonely crowd into thousands of cardboard cut-outs; black, motionless, an endless void of people without faces, LED screens for eyes, no features, no thoughts, no dreams, a 2D version of life. As the light passed over head, the angle it came in at caused a thin ring of light to form around the crowns of their many heads. Like halos.
Well, we were all somebody’s angel, I guess.
Finally, the search light made it out to the bleachers where it rested for long moment on Will. I pulled my arm tightly around him and squeezed.
“Yeah, they’re a bunch of *******s alright my friend.”
Suddenly I was back at home, I was back sitting in amongst the late night chaos at kitchen table stirring a whiskey and coke with a regular ball point pen. I gulped it. Tasted like ink. I drained the glass and I winced. Stirring whiskey with a pen, I never heard of such a stupid idea.
Then, almost as abruptly as I had left I was back in Barcelona, back sitting on the stone steps under the warmth of the stars, surrounded by friends, friends surrounded by strangers, everyone drinking down the mixer in their paper cups until they were a quarter empty.
I pulled my hand from out of my bag, looked at it for a second, then stirred my drink with my index finger. I gulped it. Tasted like whiskey and coke. Win. I licked the frothy wet from my finger, sucked on it until it was dry and then used it to poke Will, who was sitting to my left.
“It’s so simple” I told him, “I never realised before now but it’s perfectly o.k to stir the whiskey into your coke using your finger”.
I held up my hand and showed him my finger. Then I held my drinks to my lips and took a sip.
“Makes sense”, he laughed. He always laughed, even when I wasn’t really making any sense or being crude or making inappropriate jokes. He had a certain laugh, we both had a certain laugh, for when someone was making inappropriate or dirty jokes. Our filthy old men laughs, for when we’re flilthy old man. It’s important to practise these things now before we’re too old and have to spend most of our time just straight perving.
“Maybe I should go tell all these people? You think think any of them realise you can do that?”
“These people?” he hesitated, “Just take a look at them, they’re filming the band on their mobiles phones, they clearly don’t know ****.”
I looked at the couple of thousand strong crowd drowning in the darkness. All the big lights were shining at the stage and it was difficult to make out one person from the next. In the abyss I could make out hundreds of tiny LED screens, shades of electric blue and sickly green, all pointed towards the band. Broken Social Scene. A very broken social scene indeed.
“Oh yeah, what *******s.”
“Why do people do that? Just watch the god damned band with your own eyes, you’ll remember it much better that way”.
“Yes, but then they won’t have ****ty little grainy videos to show off to their idiot friends when they get home.”
“That’s true”.
We laughed a while, it wasn’t our dirty man laughs and I wasn’t sure what exactly we were laughing at but it was coming from the gut, from right down there in the pits of our stomachs where our intstincts and the whiskey (in mine) and the rum (in Wills) sloshed about with expensive mixers. I took a big slug from my cardboard cup which swam with urgency down my throat to join the rest. It felt good, I felt good. I looked over at Will and then back at the crowd.
There they stood, hundreds of them all squashed in together, insignificant black silhouettes against an even blacker night sky. A host of multi-coloured lights from the scaffolding that surrounded the stage started skimming erratically over the crowd bringing neon and colour and life to their personal worlds. They searched left and right, north and south, high and low, probably searching for someone who was actually watching the band with their own eyes, or maybe someone who was stirring their drink with a finger. Who knows? Good luck to them though, I thought.
Suddenly, a break down. The singing stopped, the music persisted in the form of a series of simple loops and clattering percussion and a huge brilliant yellow searchlight above the band burned bright. It reached out into the darkness turning the lonely crowd into thousands of cardboard cut-outs; black, motionless, an endless void of people without faces, LED screens for eyes, no features, no thoughts, no dreams, a 2D version of life. As the light passed over head, the angle it came in at caused a thin ring of light to form around the crowns of their many heads. Like halos.
Well, we were all somebody’s angel, I guess.
Finally, the search light made it out to the bleachers where it rested for long moment on Will. I pulled my arm tightly around him and squeezed.
“Yeah, they’re a bunch of *******s alright my friend.”