easy aching Denny

last night i was sitting in front of my laptop, just like i am now, with a c-curve in my spine and staring at the screen as i typed every other word that came into my head. i wasnt writing a post though, i was writing a book review. and it was laborious and i was tired. i needed a drink. i needed to find space. the day had been long and it was around midnight so when the phone rang i knew that was my chance and i snapped shut the laptop and picked up the phone, getting up and headed to the kitchen all in one move.

i only caught a hint of the number; the four one five. san francisco. hella tight. but it was still an unknown. who dat be? oh snap, my boy Denny! what a muthafuckin surprise. this fool, crawling out the woodwork.

Denny's been MIA. i hadnt seen or spoke to him since i trekked east. we'd done plenty of dirt together. from way back in the rave days. the endless night days. the hunched over the decks and marathon sets days. the easy aching days. the disco days. the days of suicide. and to be honest, i never thought i would ever speak to him again.

when i left my beloved disco, it was after the party had ended. the music had gotten boring and tedious and the floor was covered in filth. light was beginning to creep in and the ugliness of everyone had begun to show. the sweat no longer shined, it stuck. the dizzying effects of the lights was making me nauseous. it felt like if i stayed there any longer, i was going to get sick. it was a perfect exit, the timing was remarkable.

Denny wasnt going anywhere though. he stayed. he had queens on his tip at the end up, pimping their hags out for 2 bump sacks of crystal. he had flexible hours at his job and a work truck he could make runs in. he had late night scrape that would get nasty in the bedroom and pornography and glass pipes for when he wanted to be alone. he had places all around the bay that he could crash at if he needed to lay low for a while. he had a few dozen wife beaters and mad kangol hats.

but he was doomed and he knew it and he would always let everyone else know it even though everyone else already knew.

but i was happy to hear from him and felt good hearing his voice. whatchu been up to dog? oh you know, chillin. no doubt, what else? oh i live in sacramento now, with my old lady. what? sacramento? old lady? how did that happen?

through a code delivered in mumbles i deciphered what went down. he lived with some tweaker in castro valley, got caught up in some friendly ventures with the hells angels, and eventually, as these things happened, shit went a little sour. at around the time that Denny's paranoia had convinced him that the house was being watched by the feds, a few hells angels came to the house to pay Denny a visit.

he had to pack his bags and leave immediately, and was getting encouraged by a few fist and doc martin tips. he stood his ground though. through his logic, all of the little oddjobs he had done around the house had earned him a bed under its roof, and he refused to leave. going for the more proactive approach, the hells angels decide to pack his bags for him, and go to his room to start breaking shit [as is the method of migration for the hells angels]. his room is on the other side of the house, downstairs in the front [aka, the garage], and to everyone's chagrin, Denny's paranoia was on point, because the cops rolled up not two minutes after the the first dresser was turned over.

Denny, seeing his out, goes up to the cops and says the guys were just helping him move. miraculously, the cops let the guys go with a warning. when they all get back upstairs the hells angels are actually willing to talk. after a few beers one of the guys realizes he knows Denny from back in some other lifetime in another bay area suburb. after a few hours of bullshitting and cracking jokes, the guys leave and Denny escapes to bed.

oh yeah, and the whole time this girl was there just kind of hanging around. thats his old lady and thats exactly how he told me she came into the picture.

three days later Denny decides to bolt. he finished tied up some things and headed to sacramento, where there was some drywall work for him. he has been there for a year, he hear his old tweaker roomate was now on house arrest. hes geting bored though, with the lady and the town and is thinking of heading back to disco for a little excitement. at one point in the conversation he said hold on and i heard two deep sniffs and then he came back and made some exasperated moans and gags and said, ok, where was i.

damn i miss my city. true story.

i should probably edit this later. whatever.