Puppy Pile

June 27, 2004

"Are you going to this?" Jen, my local barista asked, pointing to the flyer on the counter.

I looked at it while she made my coffee. A screening of Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.

"Eight o'clock?" I said, "I don't think I'll make it."

She brought my coffee over and rang it up. "Well, you should come afterwards. There's gonna be a discussion. Free beer and wine."

"A discussion?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "But free beer and wine."

"Will you be working?"

Jen is adorable. Wavy dark hair, half Korean, I think she said. Sweet and happy. Even when she says-- as she does from time to time -- "I'm so depressed" -- it's hard to believe her.

"Yes, I'll be here," she said, as she wiped her hands on her black T-shirt. Or rather, a shirt that used to be black. It was well-worn and washed down to a charcoal grey. A few splattered drops of white paint here and there. "You should come."

I payed for my coffee, and told her I would. And I did, but not until much later. I wasn't sure if anything would still be happening by the time I arrived, but sure enough, I opened the door to find they were still "discussing."

"You want a beer?" Jen asked, skipping over to the counter when she saw me walk in.

"Sure."

The talk was ending, and people began breaking off and socializing. I wandered around, drinking my beer, listening in on conversations between people I didn't know, about other people I didn't know. I stepped outside and made a phone call. Jen came out shortly after me and made one too.

"Who are you talking to? A girl?" she said, teasingly kicking my foot.

I mouthed back at her, "Who are you talking to?"

"My roommate," she shrugged.

She finished her call and went back inside. I stayed on the phone a while longer trying to explain the scene to the girl on the phone.

"They have a video projector inthe coffeeshop," I said. "They're watching Breakin’.”

By the time I hung up and headed inside, the party was dead. Jen was preparing to leave, too. She and another girl, a recent transplant from Texas, were stealing some leftover cans of beer and bottles of wine.

"Where are you guys going?" I asked.

"We're not sure."

"Wanna get a drink at the bar around the corner?"

"Sure," they said.

But the bar around the corner was packed, and the door to its courtyard was closed for some reason.

"How about we go to Axis?" Jen suggested. At least I think that's what she said. I didn't know what or where Axis was, but I was up for something new. So the big boned, blond Texan and I walked the few blocks while Jen rode her bike ahead to make sure it was happening.

Axis turned out to be an underground bar. Or rather, an above-ground bar, since nearly everyone was on the roof. Jen and her friend seemed to know everyone. I got introduced here and there, but it wasn't long before I began to scope out the scene.

Misty Brooklyn on the horizon, with millions of golden halos surrounding millions of yellow lights. All sorts of drunken kids were flopped around on assorted furniture. The leather couch I sat on was damp. Electroclash chicks in their tight, spandex tops stood with their hands on their hips, posing for hipster guys in their low-rise jeans and paint-stained shirts.

What the fuck am I doing here? I asked myself. I had at least ten years on everyone.

I went downstairs, past the couple dry humping on the couch, and peeked into the big open dance room. The house lights were on, and the DJs were packing up their equipment. I looked at my watch and saw it was only 3 AM. I wondered why they were packing up so soon, but I was bored and ready to leave, anyway. I headed to the roof to say goodbye to the girls, but they came down first and said they were leaving too.

"We're going to "Union Pool" wanna come?"

I didn't, but I went anyway. Sometimes I do that.

After the bar closed, we got some cheap Mexican food at a nearby restaurant. A guy in a red shirt sat slumped over the counter stoned out of his mind. But when he heard the Jen’s voice, he turned around slowly and began staring at her unabashedly.

"Hey red shirt," she yelled over to him.

"Do you like being stared at?" -- she bugged her eyes out at him -- "You like that? It's fucking creepy. You're fucking creepy. Creep."

Red shirt spun back around on his stool and finished eating. On his way out he tried to say something to her, "I hope you..." but he didn't get to finish.

“Yeah?" Jen interrupted, "I hope you find some girl to stare at you you fuckin' creep."

He stumbled away and smacked into the door frame on his way out. We all wound up back at Jen’s apartment: the big boned blond Texan; the coffee shop girl's sickly skinny room mate -- a guy who's name I never heard clearly; Jen, and me.

We sat up drinking wine and playing with the scrawniest little kitten I'd ever seen. The pink sun began to rise through the sheer curtains.

"We can all sleep in my bed,” said Jen.

It was a much more innocent proposition than it sounds. Regardless, when no one was looking, I snuck out the door.