Story, Part 4

Upstairs proved a true sight. Between the scarred cement posts; the cushions that looked to be taken straight from a water soaked dumpster; the ceiling tatooed by years of smoke -or how people where smoking that night, months; and hyped DJ that overtook only a small section of floor, were crowds of people. All seemed to be attempting their own interpretations of hyper dance. There were people who hinted a vague familiarity to Tae-Boe, others who´s enthusiastic arm swinging brought back memories of the last Traffic Police officer I saw in LA, as they attempted to direct vehicles, and others, who seemed to act in a frenetic panic as they tried to stomp on anything that looked slightly suspicious (aka, dirt on the floor).

Barbara and I headed to, what people there called ¨the bar¨. Though, I´d describe it more as ¨A big table, with two bottles of alcohol and a tiny refrigerator that contained Ice.¨. As we ordered a drink, a friend of hers from across the table smiled and said hello. Though his name I do not remember, his actions were unforgettable. In a jittery manner (eyes twitching, arms vellicating, and stomach spasming) he graciously said ¨hello¨. ¨where are you from?¨ he asked as his head began vibrating to the music. ¨Estados Unidos¨ was my reply. ¨Ah, I lived there for 4 months. In Venice beach. My home was my old 1980 sedan. It was good times.¨ Now, obviously, I really should be the last one to judge a person who says they´ve lived in a car, especially considering I just returned from a trip doing the same thing. But, I believe there are different levels of ¨living¨ and this individual didn´t strike me as one who ¨lived¨ but instead truly ¨lived¨ (similar to a bum who ¨lives¨ outside) in his car. Our conversation lasted about 1 more minute, and then in a jolting fashion, he jumped the ¨bar¨ and went onto the dance floor and started what some would call the ¨Elaine Spasm Dance¨ (for those of you who watch Seinfeld).

Overwhelmed with the environment, my mind started shutting down. My new found ability to communicate in Spanish was lost, and my only hope was that Barbara would do all the talking and I could just nod or say ¨Si¨, ¨Por Que?¨, or ¨No?!¨. After several minutes of silence, Barbara leaned over and said ¨El esta jealous¨. Completely confused with the statement, I asked her what she meant.