<\/p>\n
\u201cCider burns your tummy.\u201d\u00a0 He said, \u201cSo much so that it\u2019s not worth it.\u201d\u00a0 He shrugged.\u00a0 \u201cSimple.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSimple?\u201d\u00a0 I was on vodka.\u00a0 Straight, with a twist of lemon.\u00a0 Only in DC can you find vodka bars.\u00a0 Well, and everywhere else.\u00a0 But there\u2019s something special about a vodka bar in DC.\u00a0 And it\u2019s not just because I was born in this retarded town run by Republican interns, disenfranchised niggers, and cracker assholes bent on Nazism.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cSimple.\u201d<\/p>\n
Something moved through the vodka in my brain.\u00a0 \u201cDid you say tummy?\u201d<\/p>\n
My old college buddy James.\u00a0 He smiled.\u00a0 He leaned back.\u00a0 He tipped up his Nationals ballcap and huffed down his nose.\u00a0 \u201cAye.\u00a0 I did, I did.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTummy\u2019s a gay word.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere are many gay words.\u00a0 Such as foliage.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFoliage?\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded, pursed his lips, and laughed softly to himself, \u201cOh, baby, you are deep in the chute.\u201d\u00a0 Making quotes with his fingers, he turned to the bartender and said, \u201cFoliage.\u201d<\/p>\n
The bartender nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan we have some foliage?\u201d<\/p>\n
The bartender narrowed his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cOr,\u201d James continued, \u201cAnother iced cider and vodka whatever he\u2019s drinking.\u201d<\/p>\n
I cleared my throat.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m just drinking vodka now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus, is it that late?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwo AM.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMan, we\u2019re on the vodka clock.\u201d\u00a0 He looked up at the bartender, who remained motionless, \u201cso if he\u2019s just drinking vodka, I\u2019ll have a double shot of cold Bushmills to chase the cider.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus, James.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou only live once.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you only have one stomach.\u201d<\/p>\n
He waved his hand in my face, \u201cIt\u2019s almost 2008.\u00a0 They can fix anything.\u00a0 I\u2019ll get a metal stomach when I turn 50.\u00a0 Just like my grandpa.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have a grandpa?\u201d<\/p>\n
He glanced sideways at me as his cider and whiskey arrived.<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean, you we birthed of man and woman and did not spring forth, fully formed, from a bottle of vintage brandy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I did not spring forth from a bottle of brandy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou passed through a vagina!\u201d<\/p>\n
The bar was suddenly silent, several people turning to look at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI passed through a vagina!\u00a0 Out through the in door.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, really, it\u2019s an out door.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s an in door, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s an in door for the purposes of becoming an out door.\u201d<\/p>\n
James waved both hands in the air and made a funny cooing animal sound, \u201cOkay, Father O\u2019Reilly.\u201d<\/p>\n
The bartender came close to me, \u201cYou\u2019re cut off.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat the fuck did I say?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou just did say it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDude,\u201d James said to the bartender, \u201cNixon 08.\u00a0 Am I right?\u00a0 It\u2019s on your face.\u201d\u00a0 His voice rose into a high pitched scream:\u00a0 \u201cBlood, blood!\u00a0 Cambodia!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCheck pay let\u2019s go and then,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
James nodded, slammed down a C-note, then pushed away from the bar.\u00a0 I followed him out with unsteady steps into the warmth of an October drought, the noise of Georgia Avenue and Bonifant and a small, shuddering laughter from over on Thayer Ave.\u00a0 James grabbed me and dragged me back towards downtown Silver Spring, this gentrified suburb of America\u2019s grand capitol.\u00a0 When next I became aware, we were in a place full of Columbians, two full bottles of Heineken in front of me.<\/p>\n
\u201cDrink,\u201d James hissed in my ear.<\/p>\n
A karaoke bar, and we were the only English speakers there.\u00a0 James asked for a song and actually got it.\u00a0 What the hell the Columbians were doing with the album he wanted was beyond me.<\/p>\n
I tuned out, slammed both beers, and was rewarded with a waitress in her 60\u2019s who slid two more bottles in front of me.\u00a0 I snapped to when James stepped up onto a table, the lights turning on him, microphone in hand, and he spoke in a shuddering voice:<\/p>\n
\u201cNumber three is Khu, the Guardian Angel.<\/em>\u201d <\/em>A meditation. \u00a0<\/em>\u201cHe, she, or it is third man out…depicted as flying away across a full moon, a bird with luminous wings and head of light. Sort of thing you might see on a screen in an Indian restaurant in Panama.<\/em>\u201d He bowed his head for the rush of music. \u00a0<\/em>\u201cThe Khu is responsible for the subject and can be injured in his defense — but not permanently, since the first three souls are eternal. They go back to Heaven for another vessel.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n Seven Souls<\/em>.\u00a0 I found myself laughing quietly, the vodka and beer in my stomach like a boiling mass of Nickelodeon slime.<\/p>\n James pointed at me a minute or so later, and I was somehow in tune.\u00a0 \u201cNumber six is Khaibit, the Shadow, Memory, your whole past conditioning from this and other lives<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n He grinned, the music stopped, and it was just his voice, \u201cNumber seven is Sekhu. The Remains.\u201d<\/p>\n The Columbians seemed to have picked up on something as James weaved back to my table.\u00a0 I was mindlessly drinking the second pair of beers before he seated.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ve thrown too much away.\u201d<\/p>\n I nodded, losing interest in the remains.<\/p>\n \u201cSo this is 2am.\u201d<\/p>\n I checked my cellphone.\u00a0 Yep.<\/p>\n \u201cSo this is where we are.\u00a0 30-something and thrown away.\u201d<\/p>\n Yep.<\/p>\n \u201cLost and lonely in this weird life, forced to conform and deal with this neurotic city all for the golden dollar.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYep.\u201d<\/p>\n He took a deep breath, then turned on me and leaned across the table, \u201cHow\u2019s the beer?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCheap.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[352],"tags":[75,353,179],"class_list":["post-2546","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-gsarchive","tag-drinking","tag-gs-archive-2004-2008","tag-james"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2546","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2546"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2546\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2607,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2546\/revisions\/2607"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2546"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2546"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2546"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}