we fly high

last year i used to live with my girlfriend in her dealer’s basement. i paid no rent, and slept all day, and on the nights when we didn’t have enough money to score yay from upstairs i’d drink cough syrup and listen to french house records with the lights off and the bass way up.

she worked at a convenience store down the street, and i’d stumble through the snow to visit her and steal frozen food to take back home and heat up. i’d eat them and watch law and order reruns, stoned out of my mind and giving long looks to mariska hargitay.

i was like a little kid about it. i’d smile like an idiot as soon as i took my first line and try to hug everyone and tell them how much they meant to me. we’d listen to jim jones and shout “ballin’!” and drive around with the seats back and B96 on the radio.

the whole reason i wanted to be a DJ was the feeling i got sitting next to the subwoofer listening to the upper cuts and rick ross, tripping on robitussin and honestly believing that sidechain compression was the most important thing in the world.

spent a half hour after bar close trudging through the warehouse district chasing a bum tip about an afterparty. we climbed four stories up a fire escape overlooking rapid park, knocked three times on the metal door to the space, and got nothing.

the only party anyone had was on friday night, mainly the province of the 90′s house and techno crowd. we didn’t hear about it because we don’t know any of those people personally. at best, some of them will offer bewildered cautious respect if we offer them coke, followed quickly by a polite caveat about how the music isn’t really their thing. that’s okay – the people who actually like the music are even worse. last week this asshole nearly knocked over the DJ booth to tell him that he should “just play every van she tech remix”.

i picked up the work in front of the nomad world pub at around midnight. there was some kind of death cab sounding shit going on inside. the girl who brought it out was someone i used to run into a lot when i was homeless and running around uptown stealing shit. when she was 17 she got knocked up by a black guy she used to mess around with, and gave the kid up for adoption. she’s like 19 now, but people say she looks like she’s 12 until she shows you the stretch marks.

we didn’t even do any of it. there was nothing going on. the only fun thing we did all weekend was drop forty apiece at a sushi place by the best buy in eden prairie. there was a blizzard or something.