Last night was one such night of aforementioned magic. And its not that often where I say that acting like a complete jag off with literal caseload of tall boys is an altogether satisfying or religious experience. But sometimes liberation comes through addressing situations differently while still maintaining the core. And the core is that I am never one to pass up a free beer. Let alone 50 free cans of beer.

How it started was innocent enough. Jlo was in town to play some hipster crapshoot. Seeing as how I’m in some way shape or form involved with his new project, it made some bit of sense that I’d show up and do whatever it is I do which is not much at all. So nine o clock rolls around and I’ve already gotten wind of the fucked up nature of what was transpiring. The Puerto Rican independence day parade was officially rained out and the alderman made a decision to relocate to the Congress where incidentally said event was to take place. Our legendary debut was to be unceremoniously fucked in no-no places and it went from two different events to one at my least favorite venue in the city, the ultra-shitty debonair.

I hate everything about debonair. Everything. When I walk into debonair its a series of searing pains in my forehead. Migraines mixed with hives mixed with harsh vibes, man. A bad trip in the most dirtiest of hippy senses of the word. Not even dystopic just downright ugly. But hey, we’re there after three or four texts from the Jizzle going back and forth on the decision to play or not. In the end, we decided to say fuck it. I hadn’t heard any of these tunes on a system or mixed. We weren’t getting paid. It was more of an excuse to hang out.

Somewhere between the club, the dj booth and the kitchen, I was instructed to open my bag and fill it with twenty or so tallboys of Colt 45 which were sitting absentmindedly in a kitchen sink swathed with ice. Our friend Omar was ordered in to snatch the rest and we quickly began passing them out to our own fucked up little cadre of confidentes. Just as Hearts Revolution did whatever it was that they do for whoever it was that listens to them, the text came in to leave. And we were then instructed to go to whatever it was party that we had cited from the street below Skewerz. Mind you, we know no one there and are also questioned at the point of entry which is easily subverted by a warm handshake and a cold can.

So you have two dudes with messenger bags full of the shit passing them out to whoever looks sad or displaced. We’re on round one or two or whatever the fuck it is. And it happens. We run out. There is only one thing left to do and that is go back to Debonair and discover that the sink has been miraculously refilled with Colt 45. And we’re so on it. Within ten minutes, we’ve refilled both our bags and walked out with icy mist oozing from our backs and somehow end up in the middle of Santullo’s drinking said cans with our friend from New York who just so happens to be eating there for god knows what reason. And it takes the manager a full twenty minutes to realize that he does not sell Colt 45. And by that time we’re back at the party above Skewerz sitting on a couch watching drowsily as someone seems to think its a good idea to rail up lines of adderall.

Somewhere in that whole mess I disappear mainly because anything nose oriented being done makes me a bit disinterested but definitely because its four o clock in the morning. The walk home is proceeded by ritualistic cleansing in the shower followed by disjointed sleep. Only to be awoken at noon with a splitting headache and a mission to fix my back rim of which seems to be working, knock on formica. Days that follow usually are a blissful mix of silence and clarity. Coffee and a sandwich at Gallery cafe, lunch with my coworker at Chicago Diner, and a long fucking bike ride to bridgeport and back again.

Somewhere in that mess, I ended up on 15th and Wood realizing that iphone firmware 3.0 is the fucking shit and realistically so is my seemingly tedious existence. Its filled with bullshit no doubt but sometimes the bullshit seems there to contextualize how you deal with it. And that my friends, is what makes you either an utter failure or a superior failure. Because no doubt, none of us are winning any contests. None of us are making money or mating in long term committed relationships affixed with delusions of matching pillowcases and bed sheets. None of us are drinking fifty dollar bottles of wine and paying for it with cash. None of us have any qualms wearing a shirt thats previous owner back hair is solidly lodged in the fabric.

When it comes to a dark night, we figure out a way to make it brighter. And sometimes that means thinking on your fucking toes and breaking the status quo. Its the kind of stuff that a christian god would burn you at the stake for. Its the arcane. And you know what.

It does indeed work every fucking time.

http://www.entroemcee.com/15thandwood.mp3