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"Leaving Seattle" just earned an honorable mention at the New York Book Festival!

Momentous" chapter wins third place on the Writer's Workout.

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"Leaving Seattle" is now available for purchase. Be sure to pick up your copy today!

Synopsis: A novel split into two parts. Part one follows Aaron, whose fight against the rapidly changing city, leaves him desperate to hold on to its past. His journey delves to uncover the reasons why we leave the things that are important to us, whether it be a relationship, friendship, a job, or the city we live in. Part Two follows Erin, who works to uncover the meaning behind her role as a young woman in the city, and how its ever changing dynamics and shifting attitudes influence her thinking. Her story shows how much of an impact living in the city takes on a person, and how we come to rationalize the injustices that unfold. Aaron and Erin’s stories weave around each other as they begin to discover how to traverse the major changes that happen when we stay too long, and the importance of letting a place go. Both hilarious and sincere, Leaving Seattle is littered with both historical truths and anecdotes, that leads one to think of their very own reasons for leaving.

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J. C. Cole

Check out the new Audible release of the award winning novel "Momentous."

Check out my first Audio book "Beginnings" on Audible.



Beginnings

Here's a chapter from my new novel "Leaving Seattle." Available for purchase this July!



Chapter 9: Kinks, Queers, and Karaoke

It is truly incredible the amount of money that a man will pay just to be humiliated. Take this poor soul with my heel on his chest for example. He couldn’t score himself a date if his life depended on it. With every twist of my pumps I drain his confidence, both boosting my ego and fattening my wallet at the same time. So I double down, and stuff a pair of used panties in his mouth.
“I’m sorry did you say something?� I asked mockingly before pressing my foot down harder.
“Now turn around!� I demanded.
The middle aged gentlemen obliged, and he breathed heavily in an effort to roll himself over. “Come on fatty, turn around,� I commanded. He tried again, this time squeezing whatever muscles he had in him, before finally rolling over onto his stomach. “Now pull down your pants,� I hissed. He did as I asked, unbuckling himself, and removing his jeans, smashing his uncut penis against the hardwood, and exposing his bare naked hairy buttucks in my direction. I mean there was vulnerability, and then there was this.
“Don’t move,� I instructed, as I lifted his head and placed a big red ball gag in his mouth. Then I grabbed both of his arms and pulled both of his hands together, and tightly tied his wrists behind his back. “Stay,� like a sad abused puppy, I warned him, then briefly left him alone in the middle of my living room to fetch a little something from my drawer. An eight foot bull whip and a deck of playing cards.
I returned and let him watch me as the long whip dropped from my side down to the floor. He looked up at me with hungry eyes as large droplets of sweat dripped down his forehead. I stood over and straddled him, before grabbing the back of what little hair he had left on his head. “You disgust me,� I cringed and released his hair, letting his head hit the floor with a thud.
I walked back over to the playing cards, opened them, and slowly brought out the Queen of Hearts. I then carefully placed the card between his two butt cheeks, and walked a few feet in front of him. He looked up at me and winced as I brought the whip up in the air and back down. I missed the first try, instead hitting the left cheek of his, instantly drawing a sharp bruised line on his body.
I lifted the whip again. Missed. I ended up flicking the whip onto the soft tender bits of his upper inner thigh. He let out a muffled cry through the red ball gag. His cry said “stop,� but his eyes said “More.� But I know, and consent means a lot to me, so of course we had a safety signal. All he had to do was cross his fingers and that showed me the fun was over, and it was time to stop. I looked down at his hands that were in the shape of clenched and concentrated fists. So I kept going.
I lifted up the whip a third time, as the man bit down on the red ball and squished his eyes together. I twirled the long leather rope in the air, making a swooshing sound, and then readied the whip again at my side. I raised the whip up, and brought it down. Crack! The sound exhilarated me, as I watched the Queen of hearts break in two, fly up from his buttocks and was tossed across the room.
The man smiled from his ball gag. So I leaned down close to him, and pulled his head up from his matted hair again. I leaned in close, and whispered in his ear. “Oh you like that huh? I’m just getting started, we still have fifty-one more cards to go,� I sneered and released my hand from his hair, letting his head drop again to the floor with a loud thud.



I gave Leyloo a pet and made sure her dish was full of yummy cat nibbles before stepping out of my one bedroom apartment across from Leary way in the Ballard neighborhood of Seattle. It had been nearly a week since it rained, and as the drizzle fell for the first time in days, wetting the cement under my feet, I caught a unique earthy smell making its way up into my nostrils. Petrichor I think they call it, now my new favorite word.
I never understood the transportation in this city. It took me two buses and over an hour to get to my serving job at the Lusty Lady downtown. Hardly worth it if they didn’t tip so damn well. I’m always bombarded by questions whenever I tell anybody about what I do. No, I don’t get naked. No, I don't do lap dances. Yes, the money is good. Yes, there are a lot of drugs that float around the place.
I got off the bus at Pike Place and walked down first avenue down to the venue. I greeted my favorite bouncer, Steve, at the door. “Heya Steven, what’s cooking?� I asked. Steven was a big black guy that just so happened to have a very white name. At nearly six and a half feet and three hundred fifty pounds, he was incredibly intimidating, but also sweet as peaches to the girls. Definitely someone you’d want around in case of any trouble caused by one of the club’s patrons, which happened more often than I cared to admit.
“Another day another dollar,� Steven shot back, and kindly opened the door for me.
The light was dimmed to near darkness, as the ceiling’s red lights created a mysterious and, some might argue, sexy atmosphere. I always wondered what the place would look like with all of the lights turned on, I also wondered what kind of god awful clean up had to be done during the day, and what kind of pay that the owner of the Lusty Lady would have to offer for a job like that. On the other hand, I’d rather not know.
I made it to the dressing room, where the strippers prepared for their night of, well, stripping. “Hey girls,� I announced myself.
“Hey Erin,� half of them called back to me.
One of the girls had a little pouch that she took out of her tiny purse. She inserted a house key into the pouch and discreetly, or so she thought, brought a white powdery substance on its tip and quickly snorted it up her left nostril. Drug use wasn’t an all too uncommon occurrence here. I mean it kind of came with the territory.
For anonymity, everyone had a stripper name. This way, things were kept private between everyone’s personal life and their place on the stage. There were often new faces every couple weeks or so. Some of the girls did this as their full time gig. Some, maybe once or twice a week for the extra cash. Regardless of the case, just like a bachelor’s night in vegas, whatever happened at the Lusty Lady, stayed at the Lusty Lady.
Barbara Bunny was my favorite. She had my kind of “fuck the man� attitude, but was mature and cordial with her client interactions. She was absolutely drop dead gorgeous, and if it wasn’t for whichever of life’s weights she had that dragged her into this place, she could have been a movie star.
“Hey Beautiful,� I waved.
“Afternoon darling. Are you ready for tonight?� She returned the banter.
“Ready to pay off my credit card!� I was always paying off my credit card.
“Ha!� she laughed out loud. “That makes two of us!�
The door then suddenly flew open, sending all the girls into a brief startle, as Andy, the manager, made his appearance in the room. He always liked to give us his half-assed motivational speech at the beginning of each night. Maybe he thought that doing so would boost the morale of the strippers. Not sure how much of an effect that it had had on the ladies but, at least he cared, or at least appeared to care.
“Ladys,� he began, “Tonight is your big night.� There was nothing particularly special about tonight to be honest. “Tonight will be your chance to make it rich,� he continued. I wouldn’t say any of us were ever going to be rich. “Ladies, tonight will be a night to remember,� he finished. I couldn’t say that any of us were there to make memories.
After Andy had finished his passionate speech, I made my way out onto the floor. The strippers awaited their turn on stage from the dressing room. Steven popped his head into the room to see if we were ready to open up to the public. I gave him a thumbs up, and in a handful of minutes, our first patron entered onto the floor of the Lusty Lady.
It was Gary. Gary was a regular. Like clockwork, every Friday he was there the moment we opened. He was there to see Rosie Rider, the youngest of the group, but also the longest serving. She always went on first in the evening, and he would always be there with a fist full of one dollar bills to send her way.
Guys like Gary were more common than you’d think. Him being the least aggressive on the horny spectrum. But there were guys that were a little more extreme. Some even would go to the extent of waiting around first avenue for one of the strippers to come out. Sometimes Steven would be there to escort them out, other times the girl’s boyfriends, or friends would come to walk them home. There haven't been any incidents since I started working there, but knock on wood.
“Heya Gary, the usual?� I asked, approaching Gary’s table.
“As always, Sugar,� Gary replied and handed me a ten “Keep the change,� he winked.
I left his booth and noticed Steven checking ID’s at the door as more men of varying age demographics began to pour in. I returned from the fridge and handed Gary over a cold diet cola. He tipped the glass back, downing all its contents, handed me another ten, and asked for one more.
“Keep the change,� he said, naturally.
So, on the night went. All evening I served the patrons non-alcoholic drinks and observed as the men nervously went into their private booth and came out a little more relaxed and slightly more guilty than before they went in. Round after round after round. Some stayed only for a few minutes, some stayed what seemed to be the whole evening. Everyone was required to buy a drink, and everyone tipped. It was easy money.
The strippers were paid an hourly wage. Somewhere in the high twenties to lower thirties. Not exactly fair if you think about it. Most of the money that came into the place went directly to the business. I tried doing the math once. For every quarter that a dude puts into the machine, the window opens up for a little less than thirty seconds. There were twenty booths altogether. Which means, on a full night, a quarter times two, thirty second sessions, times twenty booths, came out to a solid ten dollars a minute, or six hundred dollars an hour. Although all of the peepshow money went to the owners, the strippers also were able to give private shows where they were allowed to accept tips. Still not enough for flashing your tits and ass to strangers, in my opinion.
The last lady took a bow on the center stage and left, as Andy announced on the intercom the arrival of the next dancer. “Alrighty gentlemen, if you liked the exotic moves of Sleazy Bree, you’re going to love who’s next. If you’ve got both hands free, please give a round of applause for our next performer, Barbara Bunny!�
I have to admit it. I have such a crush on her. Ever since I started serving here, I have really admired her. She is so gorgeous and confident and she doesn’t take crap from anyone. She’s hilarious and kind, and by god does she have a body. Beautiful and buxom, and not shy to show it off. It was during these times of her performance, that I decided to go on break.
I broke the change from one of the bills out of my tip stash and ran the quarters over to one of the empty booths. I popped one in and waited in anticipation as the one way window slid up. There she was, still dressed, shaking her hips to the music that played on the main speakers. Then the window went down. I popped in another quarter, the window raised again. Her shirt was now off and she was beginning to loosen her bra strap. The window went down again. I threw in another quarter. I could feel myself getting excited down below as the window opened and Barbara Bunny stood topless with her perfect tits exposed nearly inches from my face. Then the window went down again.
I left the booth and continued on with my shift. Another day, another dollar, I thought of Steven as I went about my rounds. As the night winded down, and my shift came to an end, I made my way back to the changing room to clock out. I had been holding in my pee for god knows how long so I went over to one of the bathroom stalls and opened it. It was there I finally saw the lower region of Barbara Bunny’s behind as she stood bent over the toilet with one hand against the wall and the other hand holding a needle that she was shooting into her buttucks.
I quickly and awkwardly apologized, closed the stall door and left the room with a bladder full of pee. I grabbed all of my belongings and I immediately left. It would be the last time that I stepped foot into the Lusty Lady.
I called up Andy and quit the following day. He made no effort to try and keep me on. I feel like he is used to those kinds of phone calls. As for me, of all the people that I could have idolized, it had to be the heroin addicted stripper. But hey, we all have our shortcomings. Barbara Bunny’s got hers, and I’ve got mine.



“How’d the interview go,� Tommy asked as we stepped off the bus and onto the sidewalk of Broadway Avenue. Tommy was my gay bestie. God, was he nothing but drama all of the time, but I sure loved him to pieces. He was kind, and would always show up for me when I needed him most, except for those times that he didn’t. I think he may have had a secret drug problem, but I intentionally choose to not make that any of my business.
I looked at Tommy, then I looked down to the ground, pretending like I was about to cry, before raising my eyes back to him. I gave him a quick wink before saying, “I got the job.�
“Get it girl!� Tommy shouted, startling the pigeons as they flew up from their afternoon street garbage snack. “It’s that barista job right?�
“Yup,� I nodded.
“That’s great news. When do you start?� he asked
“Tomorrow morning,� I answered.
“I hear you. Then let’s not get too faded tonight,� he added.
I agreed. Though, I never really got hangovers to be honest. Nothing that a quick shot of espresso couldn’t remedy. I had to give Tommy the benefit of the doubt, you know. He had just gone through a break up, and an ugly one at that. The only answer to this was a solid night out. Which meant one too many rounds of drinks and possibly ending it with the slurring of lyrics into a mic at the karaoke bar. Maybe Tommy would even get lucky enough to have a rebound tonight. That way I won’t have to listen to his repetitive break up woes anymore.
Capitol Hill had long been a place for sexual liberation and openness. Most of the city's gay and lesbian bars were located here, and remained one of the country’s most predominantly LGBTQ friendly neighborhoods in the country, next to New York’s Chelsea neighborhood, or San Francisco’s Castro. In fact, Capitol Hill was so gay, that even the local Starbucks on East Olive Way, had been renamed “Gaybucks� by the clientele that went there.
We passed the Jack n� the crack and turned right directly into the Castle Megastore, “Knights and Damsels Welcome.� This Arizona-based sex and costume shop held fifteen other locations in the northwest and southwest that specialized in the selling of sex toys and lingerie. Although it wasn’t the only shop to sell such items in the neighborhood, it was by far the biggest, and the most extensive.
We walked inside, and even though I would consider ourselves to be on the more mature and comfortable side of our sexuality, we still couldn’t help but snicker at some of the items that were on display. Take the American Splendor for example. This two foot tall red, white and blue dildo had an impressive diameter of six and a half inches that slowly tapered towards the tip. Now I know that babies come out of there, but damn, it really is never enough for some people.
We really had no plans to buy anything today, just window shopping really. Weeks before, when Tommy still had a boyfriend, he had purchased an industrial sized one and a half gallon tub of synthetic lube. I know that seems like a lot, but knowing that Castle’s sold up to fifty-five gallon barrels of the stuff, I think he was being rather frugal. At any rate, one day I was over at his apartment and had mistaken his lube for hand sanitizer. Squeezed a generous portion into my hands, and rubbed them together vigorously only to realize later what I’d done.
We quickly chatted up one of the workers there that Tommy knew, and made our way out of the store. The sun was finally setting in the west, and I could feel myself getting a bit peckish, so we stopped over at Julia’s for a quick bite, and a light drink. The food was terrible, but there was an evening drag show happening that we thought we’d stay for. Opening its door at the turn of the millennium, Julia’s Le Faux performances remained the longest running in the city. Each drag performer embodied a different fantasy or illusion, and brought it to life on the stage.
We sat and ordered a drink when the first performer made their appearance on the stage. Britney Spears’s “Baby One More Time� Slowly faded in on the loudspeaker. Then pulling the number two pencil from her long blond wig, The drag performer released and twirled her hair, pulled her skirt from the front, and exposed the shiny exotic silver underwear underneath. We lost our shit and the audience roared into applause. Half way into the piece she tore open her white buttoned up shirt, and exposed her bright red nipple tassels. She then bent down in front of Tommy and I and began jumping up and down, making them twirl like miniature helicopters.
“Fabulous,� Tommy and I cheered in unison, as the audience began throwing one dollar bills at the performer. We ordered a round of cocktails and decided to stick around for the next act. Watching this next act then turned into another round of cocktails, which then led to the next act, which then turned into another round of cocktails.
By the time we left Julia's, it was almost ten, and we were feeling rather tipsy. We figured the only way we were going to be able to make it through the evening is to get some more food inside of us. And what better way to help relieve our boozy hunger than to swing across Broadway for a giant bag of Dick’s. Not the kind that you could purchase at our lovely Castle sex shop megastore, but the longest serving and most popular Seattle fast food chains to hit our taste buds.
Ah yes, Dick’s Drive-in. Founded on January 28th, 1954, by Portland born Richard Jack Spady. The first Dick’s opened up its window in Seattle's Wallingford neighborhood before expanding throughout the greater Seattle area. Featuring fast food staples like the hamburger, cheeseburger, hand-cut fries, and a variety of flavored milkshakes, Dick’s took it one step further by offering its customers the “Dick’s Deluxe.� No substitutions are allowed and all burgers are cooked to well-done. Not only was Dick’s Drive-in a great place to eat, it just so happened to be a great place to work. For several years Dick's has offered employee benefits such as a 50% matched 401k, One hundred percent employer-paid medical insurance, and a college tuition scholarship (up to $28,000) accessible after six months of employment. Thus making Dick's Drive-In "the most life-changing burger joint in America."
It's too bad I’m a vegetarian, as I’ve heard nothing but great things. Tommy grabbed a Deluxe, fries, and a diet cola. For me, I scarfed down on a bag of fries and a vanilla milkshake. We grabbed our order and stood under the awning of the ordering window and chowed down. I have to admit, after getting sloshed on a belly full of mimosas, greasy food never felt so good.
We tossed our bags in the bin and made our way south down broadway. Our plan was a night out dancing to celebrate my new job and to forget about Tommy’s breakup. We were tossed between our two main choices, Neighbours or R-Place. R-Place, down on Pine street, had been a popular gay dance club since the late eighties and poured some of the stiffest long island ice teas that I have ever tasted. Neighbors, however, was closer and Tommy apparently knew the guy who was DJing tonight, so we went with our gut.
Opening its door in 1983 Neighbours has been the favorite dance club of Capitol Hill's gay community ever since, with each night of the week featuring different styles of music. Besides late night dancing, like Julia’s, Neighbours is also famous for its drag shows. Seattle drag Queen legend Crystal Lane, the 19th Empress of Seattle, fostered a new generation of drag community under Neighbours� roof. Lane helped start the club's tradition of money-raising drag events before her unfortunate passing in 1994.
We made our way to the alleyway of neighbors and paid the meager five dollar cover at the door, got a stamp on our wrist and made our way inside. Tonight was 80’s night, which just so happened to be my favorite music to dance to. Tommy was more of a drum and bass kind of guy, I personally couldn’t stand the stuff. A-ha’s “Take on me� was the first song to hit my ears as we expeditiously maneuvered our way over to the bar.
“Two gin and sodas,� I yelled over the music at the bartender.
He was a young and handsome gay man wearing a bright pink crop top and rainbow suspenders. When he turned around to pour us our drinks I noticed those colorful suspenders attached to his matching rainbow speedo. He was definitely a nice one to look at, for sure. I think the gays call it being a bit “extra.� Nonetheless, boy did he pour us strong drinks. Hoowee!
Tommy decided to chat up the bartender a little longer, so I made my way to the dance floor, holding one hand on the plastic cup and raising the roof with the other. Seattle based, Sir Mix-a-lot’s “Posse on Broadway� blasted into the club and everyone went wild. I joined in on the spirit, dancing and shaking my hips like the white girl that I was.
The song ended, and The Cure then made its way into my ears when a tall, moderately young and good looking, drunk as a skunk, dude came very close to me. “Hey!� he screamed in my ear, “What’s your name?�
It wasn’t too uncommon for straight guys to make their way into the gay clubs of Capitol Hill in hopes to pick up chicks. Maybe they thought it was easier, less competition maybe. Any other club would be full of straight guys, making being a girl in one of those places like being a piece of bread under an awning of pigeons. The girls who come to Neighbours do it for that very reason, to let loose in a relatively safe environment. Yet time and time again, these guys just don’t get it.
Just then, a perfectly timed Tommy came back from the bar. “She’s not interested,� he said, standing between the drunk dude and myself. I could have totally handled this by myself by the way, but said nothing to see where this would head. “Can you hear, dummy. She’s not interested,� he warned again.
“Let her speak for herself,� the guy protested. How chivalrous, I sarcastically thought.
“I’m not interested,� I confirmed.
He looked stunned, like a deer caught in headlights, he didn’t know what to do, but simply stumbled away after saying, “whatever.� We watched him as he made his rounds to the other ladies in the room, becoming increasingly aggressive after being denied by each one. Until the bouncer caught wind and finally kicked him out. Some guys just can’t get a clue.
After another stiff drink and some wild dance sessions, we made our way out of Neighbors and headed down the hill for the Crescent Lounge. First opening its doors in 1948, this popular karaoke bar had become one of Seattle’s longest standing establishments. Gay owned and operated since the 60s, ownership of the business soon transferred to longtime owner Jim Feigley. Feigley was a pillar of Seattle’s gay community, and a pioneer in establishing the city’s gay nightlife scene. Of all the music out there, Radiohead’s “Creep,� 4 Non Blondes� “Whats up,� and Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart� remained at the top of the Crescent’s most-sung karaoke songs.
As I opened the door the smell of decades full of stale beer immediately wafted up into my face. Of course the smell didn’t hit me as bad as it should have as I was already two sheets to the wind when I entered. I looked to my right at the two girls on the stage, each holding a microphone in their hand. They took turns singing their parts to Sonny and Cher's “I Got You Babe,� to the screaming audience of friends in front of them. It was hilariously awful.
I beamed to the karaoke jockey’s desk, and quickly wrote down my selection on the provided small slip of paper and placed it in the jar in front of his laptop. Tommy approached the desk shortly after and wrote down his. We raced back around, weaving through the drunken crowd to stand in line for our final drinks of the evening.
“What song did you pick,� I asked.
“Duh. Isn’t it obvious? I want to break free,� he answered. A fitting choice as it was both Queen's tribute to Freddy Mercury coming out of the closet, as well as Tommy’s way of announcing to the world his recent break up. “What about you?� he asked back.
“It's a secret,� I refused to tell. “You’ll see when I’m up.
Instead of protesting, Tommy just rolled his eyes as it was now our turn to order our drinks.
“Two Washington Apples,� Tommy announced.
Ah yes, the Washington Apple. A cocktail like none other. With a crisp, tart taste that is a breeze to make and even easier to drink. As the story goes, the drink was created in the late 1980s, after a nasty bug decimated much of Washington state's apple orchards.
The bartender slid over the two glasses. I grabbed mine and lifted it up in a cheers position. “See you tomorrow,� I declared.
“Ha! See you tomorrow,� Tommy chuckled.
Just then the Karaoke Jockey came on the microphone. “Alrighty. Please give another hand to Heather and Julie!� he thanked as the audience applauded enthusiastically. “Next up we have Erin!�
“Oh shit. That’s me!� I said, nearly spilling my drink.
I rushed up to the stage and gave Tommy a wink, as the introduction to Meatloaf’s “I’d do anything for love� came onto the speakers and television screen. Next to the title was written, “long version.� That’s right. I sang Meatloaf on stage for twelve glorious minutes as all of the Crescent was forced to endure it. And really, I’d do anything for another twelve minutes on stage if I could, but I won’t do that.

Hello Readers,

My flash fiction piece "Bananas," from my anthology, "Beginnings" has just been published. Check it out!



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Best,

J. C. Cole

Hello Readers,

My flash fiction piece "Departure," from my anthology, "Beginnings" has just been published. Check it out!



Feel free to share and follow.

Best,

J. C. Cole

Hello Fellow Readers,

Here is a sneak peak from my upcoming new novel, "Leaving Seattle."

Enjoy. :)

J. C. Cole

Chapter 1: Vagabonds

As far as everyone knew, the band wasn’t supposed to go on tonight. The lead singer, Anthony, had to call in sick. Some sort of stomach bug he had told everyone. Only I really knew the truth of the matter. It was plain to see. Anthony was showing signs of fatigue, nausea, headaches, muscle aches, irritability, and sweating, commonly brought on by none other than a bad case of the brown bottle flu.
He had, for as long as I’d known him, been a heavy drinker. He could throw back more cans of Rainer than anyone I knew, and yet still managed to throw a killer show every other evening. As the bars rang their bells for last call, it wasn’t surprising to see Anthony making a final attempt to engorge his liver with one final round of whiskey and beer. Knowing Anthony, if he really had to cancel, then last night must really have been something special.
Booze was always a quick and easy escape for him to get away from the daily mundane. “Sometimes I just get so bored from feeling the same all the time. I need a break,� he had once said to me. Drinking for Anthony was a way for him to leave for a while, to escape the existential dread, and to hold at bay, whatever madness dwelled within him. The bottle was his ticket out. But as far as I could tell, he’d already been gone for quite some time.
I awoke in the morning to my phone ringing, as it jolted me from my bed, forcing me to sit up, both confused and half asleep. I glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was a little past seven in the morning, and the light from the yolk of the rising sun was just beginning to creep its way onto the floor of my studio apartment. I picked up, and heard the distant voice of Anthony on the other line.
“Say man, I’m gonna need to come crash at yours for a bit. Is that Cool?�
“Uhm, yeah, sure,� was all I could muster, and hung up.
A half hour later, I’m buzzing him up from the street, a minute after, I hear him knocking. The smell of a night’s worth of tobacco and booze somehow found its way out from his mouth and the pores of his skin, and slowly made their way through the cracks of the door. When I opened, I half expected to see nothing more than the haggard, flannel wearing rocker, which was Anthony, looking for a couch to rest his eyes on. Instead, he stood bare-foot, wearing nothing more than a simple black sleeveless dress. As he stood at the entrance, with his eyes half closed, and his body swaying, I finally noticed him holding firmly in his left hand, a pair of black and sparkly six inch high heels.
“I woke up in a bush,� he told me in a very matter of fact kind of way, and brushed his long curly brown locks away from his face.
“You woke up in a what?� I asked, pretending I hadn’t heard him.
Ignoring the question, Anthony stepped inside, pushed his way past me, and headed straight for the toilet bowl. Not even bothering to close the door behind him, he immediately and routinely forced himself to release all of the contents of Friday night, by diving head first over the porcelain bowl of the john. Being the good dear friend that I was, I gently closed the door behind him, leaving him to his bodily needs.
A few minutes later, he returned from the bathroom. “Got anything to drink?� He asked plainly.
“You should probably hydrate. There’s some gatorade in the fridge,� I insisted.
Anthony pressed his left palm to his forehead, “That’s not gonna help. Got anything else?�
He was implying something in the nature of the harder variety of liquids to embibe. And as much as fluids and rest would have done him a whole world better, there was only one real option that could alleviate the terrible pain in which he was suffering. He had to keep going. The hair of the dog if you may.
I slowly gave him the up and down. A brown stain spread across the right side of his dress, may have been dirt, maybe feces, who knows. His feet matched the same color as the stain, and a coagulated trickle of blood hung from his ankle mid drip. Most likely left by a thorn from the bush he had passed out in. I felt a tiny bit bad for the guy, so I obliged. “There’s a bottle of smirnoff in the freezer. Help yourself.�
Less than a minute later he appeared from the kitchen, holding up two unmatched second-hand glasses in his hand. Gesturing to me unabashedly, he grinned, and shook the bottle of vodka in the air. I looked back at the clock, the hour hand had barely passed eight. I returned my eyes onto Anthony, and within that split second turning away, he had already unscrewed the bottle and was pouring the first round.
He handed me the glass, before quickly holding up his, only slightly tilting it, as to subtly insinuate a ‘cheers.� I drank mine slowly. He threw his back, in a desperate attempt to take the edge off, before pouring himself another. Our Saturday night out had begun. The journey towards the unabated self-discovery of our early twenties was, yet again, underway.
I threw Anthony some clothes, leaving him to shower and collect himself, as I stepped outside for a morning smoke. The early autumn sun rays bounced there way from the horizon of the eastside, off the still waters of lake Washington, zig-zagging from window to window through the houses of Madison Valley, and reflecting off the reservoir at Cal Anderson Park, before making its way to the balcony of my Capitol Hill Apartment. Although the summer had ended, the air remained warm. No bother putting on any pants. Besides, what was the rush?
I stood over the balcony in my boxers and an old Linda’s T-shirt, and nothing else. I lit up, taking the first drag of the day. Combined with the euphoric intoxicating aroma of the Smirnoff, and the rush of nicotine powered dopamine from my rolled midnight special, I was in heaven. Most days I could hold out a little longer on the cigarette, but once I had that first one, there were certainly more to come. Until the smoke before bed was lit, none would ever be as good as that first one. Maybe one day I’ll leave this nasty cancer-causing habit behind. Smoking was always the king of cognitive dissonance.
I flicked the butt out onto the sidewalk and headed back inside. Anthony, now dressed, sat vigorously drying himself with a towel, as splashes of hair and shower water flung across the room. “He’s back!� I said half-jokingly, as I threw on a pair of brown and ripped corduroy pants. “Getting there,� He shot back.
As the fifth quickly made its way past the halfway mark, we continued our banter.
“How was the show?� I asked casually, as I took another morning sip of hard liquor.
Anthony looked over at me blank faced. “It was…� he paused. “Good. I recall being up on the mic singing. Then it all went black. I think I might have gotten laid, I vaguely remember a girl from the party.� He finished.
“Did she wake up in the bush with you?� I teased.
“No, but your mom was there to keep me warm,� he threw back.
Disrespect for one’s mother has been an age old tradition, passed down over the many generations of coming of age men. The level of offense wasn’t dependent on the joke itself really, nor was it any outlandish statement of how wonderful it was to have had sex with one’s mother. It was more relative to the intense reaction it evoked. The more that one showed horror or disdain for someone’s sexual references about one’s mother, the better it worked. Almost always would it be followed up by an additional tasteless comment about the other person’s mother, or reaffirming the original comment about one’s own mother.
“I’m glad she could be of service,� I returned the bait.
Just then, a tiny rumble bubbled in my stomach. Hunger was here, and it would only be a matter of minutes before I would have to resort to eating my own hand. I will make myself some food, I thought, but there wasn’t any use. There wasn’t any food. The plastic packaging of the last Top Ramen rested gently torn open on top of the trash bin, waiting so desperately for me to find the courage to one day finally take it out to the bin.
The dishes in the sink were no exception. Plates, forks, cups, spoons, and bowls piled high above the counter line. The mold that had grown over them the last three days, made me gag at the very idea of cleaning them. There was nothing that I could do. So I made the most logical choice.
“I’m famished. Wanna grab some grub? I asked Anthony, although I already knew the answer.
“Kill me,� were the only two words he could manage to put together.
We finished off the rest of the bottle and I threw it in with the rest of the trash. Then, very carefully, I reached into the sink and pulled out a dish, and also, very carefully, placed it inside the plastic garbage bag. Then another. Then another. Then a bowl. Then a cup, and a spoon. Then a fork, with god knows what strange matter hung by the tines and slots. I tossed the last bit of slime covered ceramics in the bag before finally tying it closed and throwing it over my shoulder.
“Let’s bounce!�
We made our way out of the apartment. Anthony wore one of my old pairs of black and white Converse, and me, a pair of used Value Village ankle high boots. We ducked in the back through the alleyway, throwing the bag of trash in the receptacle, and making our way out onto the city sidewalk.
We walked up the hill drudgingly, but caught a second wind as the smell of roasted coffee, and espresso wafted out from the cafe’s and made its way in and out of our nostrils. The signal hit and Anthony threw his arm over my shoulders. “Hey Air Bear. Wanna buy me a coffee?�
It was my turn to buy, he bought last time. This was our thing. It was a subtle exchange that kept our friendship going, no matter how cross or ruff around the edges our relationship got. At any given time, someone owed the other a cup of coffee. Maybe it was one of us going a little too far when talking about the other’s mother. Or maybe it was he or I that may or may not have gone a little overboard at the bar the night before. Whatever the case, we made peace over coffee, and it remained the best way for which we could fill the daytime.
We entered, and were immediately greeted by the deafening rifts of Modest Mouse’s, Lonesome Crowded West from the propped up speakers that hung high in the corners of the cafe. The clientele fit perfectly with what one might expect to find hanging out on capitol hill, in a place like this, in the early 2000s. There were punks, rockers and skaters. Students from Seattle Central sat with their faces in books pretending they cared about their homework. Gay men chatted over lattes. There were young dudes in sweatpants grabbing coffee after their morning workout, who stuck out even more than the bald girl with the dozen piercings and tattoos covering her neck and head. And then there was that guy in the corner wearing a beret. There was always that guy wearing a beret.
We grabbed our coffees, poured a dab of cream, tipped the barista, and left. We weren’t the hanging around coffeeshop types, and besides, we were becoming quite skilled in the ways of walking with a cup of coffee, without spilling the scolding hot liquid all over ourselves. We pushed ourselves up the hill, taking sips along the way, passing by panhandlers, and ne'er do wells, stepping over used needles, and crushed beer cans, up and over, and back down the hill, through Cal Anderson, onto Broadway and into the Jack in the Box for our mid morning brunch.
A pocket full of change could get you a belly full of grease at the Broadway Jack in the crack. And with the morning’s servings of vodka and coffee, we were long due for a little sustenance. We placed our orders, and took a seat near the corner window that looked out onto the street. We sat in silence as skateboarders rushed by, cars honked their horns, and Seattleites bumped into other Seattleites.
I secretly like to time these interactions. When someone saw a familiar face on the sidewalk, it was always one, or both of them, that would find whatever excuse they could come up with to leave the conversation. “Sorry, I’m running late to my yoga class, gotta go,� or “Love to talk more, but I’m gonna be late to work.� I knew all too well how things went. Nobody was in a rush. Not in this city. Most of us were wandering around just as aimlessly as the next, and whether or not we had a place to be, we definitely weren’t going to be late for it.
I watched through the window as a man and woman parted ways. “Forty-eight seconds,� I mistakenly said out loud.
“What?� Anthony unconsciously replied, lifting his head up from the table at the precise moment our order was called.
“Number forty eight!� the half-caring fast food worker finally called out. The coincidence was uncanny.
Anthony quickly returned to the table with a tray full of food, as it slipped back and forth on the grease that trickled out of their lazily thrown together wrappers and packaging. Fries, both curly and straight, an eggy sandwich thing, another potato something, a bacon item, and a couple of sausage burritos, all under ten dollars, made their way from the counter, and into our eager mouths.
We spoke with our mouths full.
“Say Aaron. Have you ever thought about leaving this place?� A piece of egg fell, as he talked. The question kind of took me off guard, but then again, this was Anthony we were talking about. The same one that showed up to my crib hours before, wearing nothing but a dress. So I humored him.
“How do you mean?� I replied, as a piece of bacon, unbeknownst to me, fell from my lip and rested gently on atop my chin stubble.
“I mean, you ever think of, I don’t know, leaving the city? You know, living somewhere else.� He asked me, red eyed, as the last curly fry miraculously made it into his mouth.
I mean, I thought about it. Hell, we all thought about it. I wanted nothing more than not to be bound by the slavery of capitalism, working some odd job to make some other person rich for the next umpteen years. I wanted to break free just like the rest of us. But like the rest of us, I had to have something to take with me. Whether it was money, or a degree, or job prospects, I had to have something to lean on. But from where I sat, squished in the back corner of that Jack in the Box, licking the salt from my fryer oil lubricated fingers, I didn’t have much going for me.
“Nah, man. I’ve got to finish school first. Plus, Claire really likes it here. Our friends are all here,� I tried to explain, knowing full well how temporary all those reasons were. Who knows how long Claire and I would last, I mean, we had our ups and downs like any other twenty something year old couple. As for school, I went to Seattle Central Community College. The best I’ve done there was a 3.5, in English 101. I hadn’t done much, but the possibilities were wide open. I liked it that way.
Anthony gave an approving nod to my brief response and then immediately got up to use the restroom. He went and stood by the door, and waited. “Toilet!� he shouted, eying the counter. ‘For customers only,� read the sign on the heavily graffitied door. “Toilet!� he yelled again.
There had been at this place, and for as long as we could remember, a small button behind the cash register that remotely unlocked the door to the toilets. A rather expensive contraption for a fast food chain, but a necessary one. Too often were the toilets of restaurants in the city used as a place for junkies to shoot up, prostitutes to solicit their work, or the homeless to use as a relaxing place to kick back, drink tall boys, and rest their eyes. Or for one of the more traditional uses, to relieve one's bladder, to which I followed shortly after.
We made our way back out onto Broadway. I lit another cigarette, and took a long drag waiting for Anthony to tell me how smoking was going to kill me one day. But he never did. In fact, come to think of it, he never once gave me any shit for any of my not-so-pleasant habits. Maybe because he already had so many of his own. Maybe because he liked to smoke them with me from time to time. Maybe he enjoyed the camaraderie that came along with the enjoyment of a smoke with a friend after a good meal. So I handed him one, and he both willingly and enthusiastically accepted it.
We ducked between two buildings to finish them. Smoker’s guilt some might call it. I thoroughly enjoyed the stillness and the rush of dopamine that smoking gave me, but as soon as I was finished, I would quickly want the return to normalcy. Especially the taste it left in my mouth. This is why I always carried a pack of something minty in my pocket. Altoids, chewing gum, menthol lozenges, anything minty really. We quickly flicked our butts, popped a mint in our mouth and stepped out of the alleyway before shuffling our feet along the sidewalk of Capitol Hill’s main drag.
“Hey aren’t you playing the Comet tonight? I had just remembered. Anthony played lead vocals in the band ‘Kung Fu Phonics.� When asked what kind of music they played, his answer was simple, “We play rock.� In fact, when he showed up to my apartment this morning, he had just woken up from a night playing with the band. Looking at the state that he was in, I wasn’t sure if he had another night in him.
“I left them a message this morning before I called you. Said I’m gonna have to cancel,� he answered back with a slight sadness in his tone. Anthony didn’t like to pass up an opportunity to play a good show. And if he did, it was very rare. But from the state that I saw him in this morning, I couldn’t really blame him.
Nonetheless, after some coffee and nourishments, it seemed like he may have been catching a second wind. The night was young. And when I say young, I mean it was only half past noon. We had nothing but time to kill. So we marched on. Down, and up the road, past First Hill, and through the International District. Then along the back of the Pacific Tower and Amazon books, and right into Beacon Hill, where we were greeted, with open arms, by none other than Anthony’s lead guitarist, Nathan.
“Wanna beer?� Nathan insisted, as we plopped ourselves, exhausted, onto his very worn and torn hand-me-down sofa. This sofa was all too familiar, as I had spent plenty of nights here. These nights I would clutch the fabric of the couch, as I squeezed my eyes and prayed for sleep. Desperately trying my best to get through a bad case of the spins, brought on by the harmless combination of liquor and reefer, to no avail.
“Sure,� we said simultaneously, accepting Nathan’s thoughtful gift.
He brought us both a Pabst Blue Ribbon. This premium lager was crafted with a powerful infusion of six-row barley. Its carefully balanced corn syrup profile and distinctive combination of pacific coast hops, left a unique and memorable taste on one’s palette. It was truly the world’s most tolerable beer. But we really didn’t give it too much thought, as we cracked our cans, took a long gulp, and kicked back into the sofa’s pillows.
“Are you ready for the show tonight?� Nathan directed his attention towards Anthony, who was already close to nodding off to sleep. I cranked my neck over at him, half knowing the answer already, as he told Nathan everything that happened, including the phone call he had made this morning to the comet.
“You did what?� Nathan, in a fit of confused rage, took back the beer from Anthony. I was afraid he would do the same to me, so I chugged mine right there on the spot before he could have the opportunity.
“What do you mean you canceled? Did you think that maybe you could, I don’t know, talk to the band first, before canceling the show!� Nathan spoke with a sense of hurt and betrayal. As if Anthony had just given him the news that he had slept with Nathan’s mother.
“You mother fucker,� Anthony finished, before heading to the kitchen to place a call back to the comet. When he returned, he came with a glass of water and a blanket. “We are still on for tonight. Get some rest Anthony, if you know what’s good for you.�
Anthony returned Nathan’s gesture with downcast eyes and surrendered, curling himself up on the couch next to where I sat. He glanced over at me and gave me an approving look, and within only a few minutes, dozed off. I cranked my head up and gazed out the window to watch as the sun rose high into the clear autumn blue sky. Then shortly after, I too nodded off to sleep.



I awoke a little rough around the edges, as the sound of drums played thunderously in the basement below. The pang of the symbols let me know it was time to get up, as tiny bits of drywall burst out from the nail holes in the house’s walls every time the bass drum was hit. The one downstairs making these ear deafening rhythms, was none other than Kungfu Phonics drummer, Markus.
Anthony came around some time before me, and had already joined Markus and Nathan, as he followed along on the bass guitar and microphone. His energy levels were high as he rocked out with the band in the basement. It’s truly incredible what a tiny bit of rest can do.
“Aaaalll right now!� Anthony shouted into the mic, as the others followed suit. Nathan choked the guitar neck high as he flapped, back and forth, the guitar pick across the strings and the sound hole, causing a kickback and reverberation after every pluck. The bass slowly fell in line with the rhythm of the drums, and the music flowed.
No matter how many lemons life gave us, making music was our lemonade. We used it to get away, to escape from the mundane, to look at it all from a different angle. Some used it to get laid, or for the attention it brought to them on stage. Perhaps it was the lack of attention from our own mother or father figures. Maybe we just needed to be as loud as possible to grab everyone’s attention. Or maybe it was a great excuse to get lit, drink like a fish, do a bunch of blow, and wake up in a bush. No matter what the reason, life was fleeting, and music helped us to hold the hurried world still, even if it were only for a little while.
I sat and listened as the band's last song rang through my eardrums. Most of their music was quite crap to be honest, but this final piece, it gave me some of those little fuzzy feelings that you get when listening to a song. “Blue and yellow fade to black, you gave me a heart attack…� the song went on. I sat tapping my foot to the ground as I sang along to the tune.
I also played a bit of music myself from time to time. Never for any of the reasons mentioned before. I had terrible stage fright, and had just enough trouble performing while under the influence with my girlfriend Claire as I would have with a guitar on stage. So I kept my music to myself. Besides, the guitar for me, was always a way for me to unwind and let go for a while. A lot of people come and tell me how talented I was and how I should do something with it. My mother especially. My response was always the same. I do it to get away. Plain and simple, It's the easiest way to leave a place without having to go anywhere.
The sun was finally making its way behind the waters of the Puget Sound as the sky slowly burst with the colors of autumn. The calmness of the reds and oranges told us that the night was nearing and it was almost time to head out. I helped with Kung Fu Phonics as they loaded their instruments into the band’s van. It wasn’t a big hassle really. Besides, the boys always awarded me drink tickets at the show in exchange for the help. It was more than fair trade if you ask me.
We all loaded into the van. Someone sparked a joint, and I watched as it passed around from inside. Markus passed it on over to me, and I took a deep drag. I held it long and heavy inside my lungs, until the smoke finally burst out of me in an uproarious cough. It felt great.
Nathan took the wheel as we drove up and over Beacon Hill, past Pacific Tower and Amazon Books, through the International District, around First Hill and back onto Broadway. We parked right outside the Comet, smoke billowing from out the window and the sliding doors of the van. We still had a couple hours before the band went on in the line up. So we unloaded the instruments and made our way down to Linda’s for an inspirational drink.
“A pitcher of Rainier, and four glasses please,� I instructed the bartender. Ah yes, Rainier beer. Delicately fermented with pedigree yeast culture under tightly controlled conditions. Its mouth watering malty flavor hung over a lightly fruity background. For six dollars a pitcher, it could have tasted worse. We finished it in under ten minutes, and immediately ordered another one. And another one. And another one.
“Hey guys,� I heard a familiar voice call out. I looked up from my tilted beer glass, and there she was, hanging with her two friends, Abby and Sarah.
“Claire !� I said a little too loudly. This definitely wasn’t the first time she had caught me with a pint glass to my face and two and a half pitchers in. I stood up to lay an affectionate kiss on the mouth, but she turned and let it land on the side of her cheek. “Take a seat, � I insisted. She looked like she already wanted to leave even though she had just got there. We all shuffled our seats around, as I headed back to the bar for a fourth pitcher.
It was lucky for us guys to land a girlfriend at this time and age. I was lucky to have Claire , I really was. How she had stayed with me these last six months was beyond me. I was a loser and I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. Yea maybe I was a little bit funny, charming and charismatic, but I didn’t have much going for me besides. I had a good feeling it wasn’t going to last much longer. My problem was that I never knew how to break up with people. So I did the best I could to give them a reason to leave me instead. Alcohol was always a sure fire way for that.
I came back with the pitcher, three extra glasses, and a shot of Old Crow whiskey. Ah yes, Old Crow whiskey. An original sour mash bourbon, with a faint vanilla aroma, that leaves its victim with a sharp bite at the tip of their tongue. A shot of old crow was the most bearable and quickest way to blow chunks by the end of the night, and never more than three fifty a glass.
I threw it back, made the infamous ‘old crow face,� (a heavily contorted look, with a squished face, squinted eyes, and a sinister side grin) and set the empty glass upside down on the table. I looked up at Claire . She rolled her eyes and held a slightly annoyed look about her. I think it was working.
She looked over at Anthony, vaguely flirtatious, “So when do you guys go on?�
“We’re headlining,� Markus answered for him.
Sarah took hold of Markus’s gaze. Claire was successfully avoiding my eye contact. Nathan had his eyes on Abby. Abby had her eyes on some dark-haired girl at the other end of the room. No one's attractions lined up. They really never do.
“That’s great. We’re gonna go grab a slice at Hot Mama’s, then head over to Bill’s. We’ll see you guys tonight?� Claire asked, having already known the answer. We all replied in unison by vigorously nodding our heads, and as quickly as they came, they were gone. I made my way back to the bar and ordered another mouth-watering shot of Old Crow whiskey.


“That’s it! Thanks everyone! We’re the Mean Liver Killers!� the lead singer announced. “Next up. Uhm…� He looked over at Nathan who slowly mouthed the name of the band. “Oh yea. Next up, Kung Fu Phonics!� He finally said, before exiting, stage right.
This last band played a great show. It was a mix of punk and screamo metal music. Each song ranged from ten seconds, to two minutes. A great sound when you are loaded up on booze and standing in a drunken crowd of like-minded, well-intentioned rockers. A minute before, patrons of the comet banged their heads back and forth, up to the ceiling full of one dollar bills and back down to the beer covered floor. By the end of the set, my shoes were completely drenched in a variety of lagers, causing them to stick slightly to the wood floor with every step I took.
No harm no foul though. You know what they say, if a beer wasn’t spilled, then it must not have been a good night, and tonight was quite the contrary. I stepped over to the side of the stage to gain my footing. During the band's set a took a pretty heavy spill and bruised some mystery part of myself. Luckily for me there was a punk rocker in the audience. His hair was blue, and so were the tattoos that covered almost every inch of his body.
If you didn’t know already, I’ll tell you now. Punks are some of the sweetest, most kind hearted people on the planet. Of course you wouldn’t think so by looking at them. Tattoos, dyed hair, pierced faces, torn shirts, chain wallets, all layered on thick with a ‘fuck the system� attitude. They would most certainly be up there on your republican mother’s worst nightmare list. But despite their outer appearance, they are known to always have your back. Whether it’s to punch neo nazi’s in the face, help you move a couch into your studio, or pick you up after falling in the mosh pit. Punks will always be there for you.
As the band set up on the stage, I ordered another round for Claire and I. “Last name?� The bartender asked. He wanted to know which tab to put the beers on. I gave him Claire ’s name, and headed back to where the gang was all sitting.
Although they all kinda looked the same, dressed the same, and talked the same, they all had their thing going for them. One had a passion for old timer auto repair. Another, was going to school to be a computer programmer. Another, a visual artist. Different passions. Different dreams. But despite all these differences, there were two things that brought us all together, that transcended all of the contrasting parts about us. Beer and music
The sound of Nathan’s guitar rang over the stage and bounced off the wall of the Comet, as Markus tested the sound of the base drum, and drunk as a skunk Anthony fiddled with the microphone’s chord. These familiar sounds only meant one thing. The sound check.
All venues are different. With that, they all carry different sounds. Rocking out in a small room will have a very different sound compared to an outdoor concert. The preference over which type of venue was really up to the musician. However, it wasn’t too uncommon to blame a bad show, not on how completely intoxicated the performer was, or how they completely forgot the lyrics to your own song, but on the sound guy. Poor sound guy.
“We are Kung Fu Phonics,� Anthony mumbled into the microphone. The crowd expectedly cheered, except for those that didn’t, because they were too cool to cheer. Three seconds into the hooting and hollering, Nathan brought down his guitar pick across the strings of his yellow Fender guitar. Markus came in quickly with a rataplan of one hundred eighty beats per minute. The two became one. Both intertwined in the heavenly sounds of hard rock and roll.
Anthony, on the other hand, was silent. He held on desperately to the mic stand. The only rocking he did was done by his body, back and forth on the stage, as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Anthony was blacked out.
Blacking out did not necessarily mean that a person could not go on performing. It just means that they can not form any new memories. When a person drinks enough alcohol, as was unfortunately the case for Anthony, it temporarily blocks the transfer of memories from short-term storage to long-term storage, also known as memory consolidation. No matter what came of tonight’s show, Anthony will wake up, yet again, with no memory of it. Poor Anthony.
Nonetheless, they pressed on. In the famous words of Queen’s Freddy Mercury, “The show must go on,� and on they went. They played each and every one of their songs, all eight of them. They played their entire set with Anthony silent and swaying on the stage, the mic stand being his one and only support from falling over.
That didn’t stop anyone from enjoying themselves. Everyone banged their heads as they crowded the stage. More beer spilled. I acquired more bruises. We partied, and we partied hard. As the sounds made their way in and out of our eardrums, we took hold of the night. We were a generation frozen in time. This was our neighborhood, this was our city, and we wouldn’t let anyone take that from us.