Slice of the City
I found myself out in Belltown last night around 1:00am. (Rumors that I was once again at Umi Sake House are, um, completely accurate...) Ray and I were catching up after his week-long business trip to the unique hell that is Orlando, Florida while Chris banged away on his current project for work. Our bartender was very friendly and quite into Ray's Snakes on a Plane t-shirt. Next thing I know, they're deep in a discussion of Thomas Pynchon and Gravity's Rainbow and his upcoming book (self-described on Amazon, in part "The sizable cast of characters includes anarchists, balloonists, gamblers, corporate tycoons, drug enthusiasts, innocents and decadents, mathematicians, mad scientists, shamans, psychics, and stage magicians, spies, detectives, adventuresses, and hired guns. There are cameo appearances by Nikola Tesla, Bela Lugosi, and Groucho Marx.") while simultaneously setting up ten Jagermeister and Red Bulls (Jager Bombs) for a group of young Asian hipsters.
I'm rarely out late like that and when I am it's almost never in the midst of hipster central. Belltown was hopping. The sidewalks were more crowded than downtown on a busy shopping day, cars clogged the streets. Still chuckling a bit at the bartender's youthful enthusiasm for his own Honors Thesis work, we worked our way back to Ray's little car and tossed back the convertible roof. After a sweltering day, it was a perfect night for a top down cruise...
Perfect, but for the belligerent homeless guy who blocked our exit. "Run me over!" he bellowed, showing several missing teeth, matted hair, a filthy shirt hanging open to his waist, standing with arms spread in front of the car. "Not tonight," says Ray. "Have any change?" the guy asks with faux sweetness, holding out cupped hands. When no change was forthcoming, he once again began to yell: "Fuck you! Fuck you! Give me change or run me over!" then, more softly, "The revolution has come. I'm non-violent. The revolution is here and you'd better get the fuck out of here. I'll steal your car," as he moved over to stand over Ray in the driver's seat. As Ray pulled away, the guy went back to shouting, "Fuck you! DIE, DIE! Get in an accident and DIE! I hate you!" Half a block away the street still swarmed with hip twenty-somethings dressed in their best finery, staggering in the arms of their buddies, winding down another wild night of youthful excess.
I'm rarely out late like that and when I am it's almost never in the midst of hipster central. Belltown was hopping. The sidewalks were more crowded than downtown on a busy shopping day, cars clogged the streets. Still chuckling a bit at the bartender's youthful enthusiasm for his own Honors Thesis work, we worked our way back to Ray's little car and tossed back the convertible roof. After a sweltering day, it was a perfect night for a top down cruise...
Perfect, but for the belligerent homeless guy who blocked our exit. "Run me over!" he bellowed, showing several missing teeth, matted hair, a filthy shirt hanging open to his waist, standing with arms spread in front of the car. "Not tonight," says Ray. "Have any change?" the guy asks with faux sweetness, holding out cupped hands. When no change was forthcoming, he once again began to yell: "Fuck you! Fuck you! Give me change or run me over!" then, more softly, "The revolution has come. I'm non-violent. The revolution is here and you'd better get the fuck out of here. I'll steal your car," as he moved over to stand over Ray in the driver's seat. As Ray pulled away, the guy went back to shouting, "Fuck you! DIE, DIE! Get in an accident and DIE! I hate you!" Half a block away the street still swarmed with hip twenty-somethings dressed in their best finery, staggering in the arms of their buddies, winding down another wild night of youthful excess.
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