mangrel11

they left before 11 this morning and almost immediately my resolve eroded to two hours on the internet. now i’m at a coffee shop doing this, another activity absent from my list of to-dos. i will leave here in a bit and buy a bicycle pump, find something to eat perhaps, and go home to start tearing the bathroom apart. if i work through to the evening, i’ll be able to go out and get the materials tonight. i’ll not be sleeping much tonight anyway, i never can with m gone, so i can work late. if anything needs to cure, then there’ll be no shower. hmmm. maybe i should get a brightfresh start tomorrow. yeah. i went to the library to get some things and picked up a documentary on charles bukowski. i remember finding a worn copy of tales of ordinary madness. this was back in the early 80s. i was working bouncer at a punk club, collecting money and running bar back. opening the club alone on weekdays, trying to drink as much as i could before the bartender came in. it was the happening spot for young fringe dwellers. and i was young and about as edgy as you could get. my friend pk managed the place and got me the job. i had a room in the basement of my parent’s house then but practically lived with pk and his room mate. they were both older than me, gay in that time before aids, and my friends. they took care of me. eventually i moved to midtown with a girlfriend of mine. our apartment quickly became a flophouse for our disaffected friends. i never wanted to be a bouncer, and though i could be an ass hole well enough, i never felt comfortable when i had to throw someone out. we were downtown, no other clubs around. we’d get an odd mix of regulars, weekend punks, college kids, and posers. add to that the street hustlers, drunk, and homeless that we attracted. we had live music wednesday through saturday. monday and tuesday was a taped mix. none of the regulars ever had any money, so i let most of them in gratis. they were going to blow all they had on liquor anyway. i’d walk home after closing the club and watching r, the most beautiful and tragic bartender i’ve ever known, watching her drive away and wish that i was sitting next to her. there were a few after hours bars on the way home. or i’d be in the company of some bird, headed off to god knows what was next. hell in a handbasket.