totally jacking them off. People really prefer to talk about themselves anyway.”
“Sounds like teaching,” I say. “Trying to deal with the same questions and annoying problems day after day with sincerity and enthusiasm. If it’s not the students giving you a hard time, it’s the administrators or the parents hassling you.”
“Last call for alcohol,” Birch says over the PA. “Grab someone close.”
I scan the room, still feeling numb. “Wow, this night flew by.”
Cinch says, “The whole season will. From this point, bands will roll in one after another three days at a time until after Labor Day. You’ll be surprised how quickly time passes when you live in three-day cycles.”
In unison, or at least as close to unison as three hundred drunk people can achieve, the crowd sings along with Whiplash to an original song:
Hello, friends of the Bay. Thank you for coming today. Hello, water so blue. I’ll always remember you
.
Birch holds the mic out to the crowd to sing along while he stands and gazes with satisfaction. To have his words and his music sung back to him must get him through the endless covers of Jimmy Buffett tunes.
Cinch says, “Let’s hang in the red barn and wait for Birch to give us a ride to the Skyway. Unless you’ve had enough?”
I say, “You’re the cruise director. Tell me where to go.”
Cinch leads Astrid and me back to my new room. “Might as well do it back here,” he says. “It’ll be the groundbreaking ceremony for Brad Shepherd planting roots on South Bass Island.”
I go to the window. “Whoa, look at this: a room overlookingthe world-famous Round House and Park Hotel. Of course I can leave out that it’s the back of both places. And is that the cooler? This is too much. I don’t want to take the luxury suite. Really, I don’t deserve this.”
Astrid says, “Are we going to do this or what? Brad, grab some beers. Cinch, get to work. I’ll shut the blinds.”
Like a surgeon, Cinch repeats the procedure from earlier. But now there are six lines instead of four.
“You trying to kill me?” Astrid says. “I need half of one of those.”
“That rail is just a suggestion,” Cinch says. “I’m sure someone here will clean the plate if you can’t finish it.” He slides the plate toward Astrid. “Here you go. Ladies first.”
Astrid nods at his chivalry. Compared to Cinch—who attacks the plate, seemingly trying to plant the substance directly in his lungs—she allows the tube to glide over the line, pulling up only the amount she wants before switching nostrils halfway through. “I’m an equal opportunity destroyer,” she says.
The door to the apartment opens. “Hey, hey! Bus is leaving.” Cinch calls Birch back. His eyes instantly go to the plate. “Didn’t take you long to make yourself at home,” he says to me.
“My first time,” I say, and I offer some to him.
He waves it off. “Not for me. I can’t sing with clogged sinuses.”
When we get to the van and Birch starts driving, Astrid is silent. Cocaine seems to affect people two ways. It either removes inhibitions or it increases a person’s aloofness.
We pull into the Skyway parking lot. A strobe light flashes in the front window. “A little disco never hurt anyone,” I say.
Astrid breaks her silence. “Fine dining during the day, disco at night.”
The inside of the Skyway resembles a hunting lodge: one stone wall and three covered with wood paneling, but with flashing lights and pumping bass instead of taxidermic trophies. Birchwhisks behind the bar, a privilege he’s probably been awarded for directing people to this spot after the Round House closes. We join the rest of our group in a narrow area between the DJ booth and the bar that Cinch refers to as the “loge.”
Cinch asks, “How’s the Lady treating you?”
I say, “Awesome. I lost track of time hours ago. Today has had so many different beginnings and new experiences that it seems like several
“Sounds like teaching,” I say. “Trying to deal with the same questions and annoying problems day after day with sincerity and enthusiasm. If it’s not the students giving you a hard time, it’s the administrators or the parents hassling you.”
“Last call for alcohol,” Birch says over the PA. “Grab someone close.”
I scan the room, still feeling numb. “Wow, this night flew by.”
Cinch says, “The whole season will. From this point, bands will roll in one after another three days at a time until after Labor Day. You’ll be surprised how quickly time passes when you live in three-day cycles.”
In unison, or at least as close to unison as three hundred drunk people can achieve, the crowd sings along with Whiplash to an original song:
Hello, friends of the Bay. Thank you for coming today. Hello, water so blue. I’ll always remember you
.
Birch holds the mic out to the crowd to sing along while he stands and gazes with satisfaction. To have his words and his music sung back to him must get him through the endless covers of Jimmy Buffett tunes.
Cinch says, “Let’s hang in the red barn and wait for Birch to give us a ride to the Skyway. Unless you’ve had enough?”
I say, “You’re the cruise director. Tell me where to go.”
Cinch leads Astrid and me back to my new room. “Might as well do it back here,” he says. “It’ll be the groundbreaking ceremony for Brad Shepherd planting roots on South Bass Island.”
I go to the window. “Whoa, look at this: a room overlookingthe world-famous Round House and Park Hotel. Of course I can leave out that it’s the back of both places. And is that the cooler? This is too much. I don’t want to take the luxury suite. Really, I don’t deserve this.”
Astrid says, “Are we going to do this or what? Brad, grab some beers. Cinch, get to work. I’ll shut the blinds.”
Like a surgeon, Cinch repeats the procedure from earlier. But now there are six lines instead of four.
“You trying to kill me?” Astrid says. “I need half of one of those.”
“That rail is just a suggestion,” Cinch says. “I’m sure someone here will clean the plate if you can’t finish it.” He slides the plate toward Astrid. “Here you go. Ladies first.”
Astrid nods at his chivalry. Compared to Cinch—who attacks the plate, seemingly trying to plant the substance directly in his lungs—she allows the tube to glide over the line, pulling up only the amount she wants before switching nostrils halfway through. “I’m an equal opportunity destroyer,” she says.
The door to the apartment opens. “Hey, hey! Bus is leaving.” Cinch calls Birch back. His eyes instantly go to the plate. “Didn’t take you long to make yourself at home,” he says to me.
“My first time,” I say, and I offer some to him.
He waves it off. “Not for me. I can’t sing with clogged sinuses.”
When we get to the van and Birch starts driving, Astrid is silent. Cocaine seems to affect people two ways. It either removes inhibitions or it increases a person’s aloofness.
We pull into the Skyway parking lot. A strobe light flashes in the front window. “A little disco never hurt anyone,” I say.
Astrid breaks her silence. “Fine dining during the day, disco at night.”
The inside of the Skyway resembles a hunting lodge: one stone wall and three covered with wood paneling, but with flashing lights and pumping bass instead of taxidermic trophies. Birchwhisks behind the bar, a privilege he’s probably been awarded for directing people to this spot after the Round House closes. We join the rest of our group in a narrow area between the DJ booth and the bar that Cinch refers to as the “loge.”
Cinch asks, “How’s the Lady treating you?”
I say, “Awesome. I lost track of time hours ago. Today has had so many different beginnings and new experiences that it seems like several