We showed up late, straggling, bedraggled and jus' chillin. I will buy you that beer if you let me have as many cigarettes as I please and you laugh at my everwrong story. Simple equation. We missed the signs up, but managed to make it to the right night indeed, and Q and Not U were spinning, and we were hung with Chris and Harris' taste in home made t shirts and mom-styled sweatshirts: Chris's read: "DC in Purple Flames" and Harris, his sweat shirt had a puffypaint tiger on it. They dropped much baltimore house, the like of which no record store in this city bins up on, and then things that sound good club loud, like "Happy People" or "My Neck, My Back" done minimal tech style, all the bumps too crunkulated for a burnished wood sushi-serving bar that reserves weeknights for offshift wait staff and local alka-scrubs, and weekends for urban upscale date grind and people who do not beef with $12 appetizers.
We never really talked about anything much at all, aside from how pleased we were to be in each others company, all accidental. We complimented each others haircuts and bonded over our love of powerfunk and B96 trash jams, Chris was as ever that DC polite, I was sir snaps-a-lot, Miles was drinking on an empty stomach. Just holding out for spring miracles and things make sense, you know, just keeping company til then.Posted by Jessica at March 15, 2005 02:18 PM | TrackBack