Friday Night
Not any ordinary Friday night, but a Friday the way they used to be. So this was the main selling point. My cousin Angel and I decide to meet at "Ice,” an upscale club, for some drinks, laughs, and to reminisce about old times. Two hours prior on the phone he told me “you're in a rut Cabron, we need to get you out of those shithole bars for a change. You need to live.” So I grudgingly shave, style my hair, don my black suit which I haven't worn for ages it seems, shine up my Zelli shoes, splash on some cologne, take a deep breath, and head out the door. I still can't figure out why I agreed to this though.
As I pull up to the valet I find Angel standing by the entrance with our boys. They're all dressed impeccably. They all look so good... so young. Or perhaps I'm the old one. Ancient like a Sequoia.
“Dude, I feel like I'm seeing a ghost. Why you decide to come out?”
I smile as Diego and I embrace. I tell him in his ear, “I needed material.”
As I pull away he looks at me with a puzzled expression.
We walk into the club. It feels so natural yet at the same time so unfamiliar. Angel and the boys are all in step, in sync, to them it's all a part of the fucking routine. I'm the unwitting outsider now. Angel senses my hesitation. He turns to me and above the beat of the techno shouts: “Same fucking shit man except now we're older. Some wealthier. Some of us are still crazy. But there are always the ladies. A fresh batch of ladies.” I nod and inhale the aroma of cigarettes and perfume.
On the main dance floor I find myself surrounded by an undulating sea of unfamiliar faces. The scene has changed, dramatically. Everyone is so beautiful, tan, toned, perfect. The music drowns out Angel's words. The din of the beat is all I hear and all I see is movement. Flitting images. Dirty Vegas' "Without you." Bleached teeth. Blue drinks. It's all too fast. I'm forced to stop for a second to catch my breath and undo the knots in my stomach. There was a time “this” was what we lived for. This was our domain. This was... living. Yet here I am nervous and afraid.
There is a phrase we used to use, and we'd toss it around so casually: “You can take the dog out of the ghetto, but you can never take the ghetto out of the dog.”
What happens when the dog returns to the ghetto and doesn't want to leave again?
13 comments:
Hang up your collar, Lassie. Welcome to the pound.
My favorite line?
I smile as Diego and I embrace. I tell him in his ear, “I needed material.”
Fucking classic.
What happens when the dog returns to the ghetto and doesn't want to leave again?
Time to die....
Colonialave. There is a similair phrase in Spanish... when it's time to call it quits we say, "Time to hang up the cleats." (Futbol, not Football... mind you)
Jonny. Die? As in get married?
After a certain age, dives just feel safer, don't they?
It's like watching reunions of your favorite old TV shows. Warm and nostalgic yet at the same time uncomfortable maudlin.
Sorry for the bad grammer. It's real late and I'm real high.
I only came back cause I was worried my comment might have been misinterpreted, glad it wasn't!
The 'm' word? ugh! That's womens' talk!
No, just in the sense of ....
Ach! If you don't get it, who would...?
Well, sonce I said I would, here is your shitty blog of the month button, do what you will with it.
http://www.blogsofrealplay.com/Members/Utopia/archives/SBC-divebar.jpg
Teh. After a certain age sitting at home drinking alone just feels safer.
Desolation. Memory and nostalgia makes everything seem so much better. Why back in my day...
Jonny. And here I am thinking you came back because you liked me.
Utopia. I don't disguise the fact my blog is pure shit. In fact, I flaunt it. Thanks.
“You can take the dog out of the ghetto, but you can never take the ghetto out of the dog.”
Any good dog knows that the bones are always better in the barrio.
Extraspecial. So ar the 70 cent, dog tacos.
Tacit1. When you return to these old haunts it makes you feel so old... and so obsolete. There are newer, faster, stronger models.
Touche.
first things first: why can you smoke in all your bars and clubs? for christs sake, here in los angeles i know so far only one location where i can'....tztztz.
fabulous,, though......i needed material hahahhahaha, the puzzled face, hahaha i guess he doesn't know you're an addictive blogger. hahahahaha that was a good one
and yes, i know this feeling and damn, i am young and already ahve this feeling? hm. yeah, those bleache dteeth, yack! in berlin everything is so much ahm...not better but dirtier, yeah.
sometimes i can't understand that.....why in hell would i want to go there, and sometimes (god thanks i am still that young) i hear techno somewhere and just freak out. dance on the street. can[t stop. fuck, those nice niiice memories popping up. berlin is definetely the mecca.
love hermes, love
piranha
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