Once, in Minneapolis, Minnesota,
I met up with a friend…and we visited a place…
Our stomachs full on kangaroo meat
and homemade peanut butter,
the air filled with the sound of hippies
and their hipster instruments
along with the pungent smell
of the lead singer
who was in desperate need of a shower…several weeks ago.
Drinks in tiki cups,
drinks with extra liquor,
large liquor tiki cups.
“Who has cocaine?”
“Seriously, who can get us cocaine?!”
Innocent patrons look on in disdain.
A quick escape from the mob
we make a wise decision: a cab is called
destination: strip club,
tiki hut in our rearview mirror.
The taxi driver, a rock star in his own mind,
discovers his future agent and lawyer
who is sitting next to me in the backseat
feeding this guy visions of his orgasmic dream
with only a
We end the evening
feeling somehow as if we’ve changed someone’s life,
or at minimum,
their hope, for that night.
My brother crashing in the other room.
for the Platinum Status…Marriott.