Philadelphia
I’d been apprehensive about committing to Philadelphia—it’s never easy to give up a frenzied Saturday night in old New York—but as soon as I stepped off the bus I realized Philly’s an agreeable sort of town, laid back and not terribly hung up on itself. Food was the first order of business, so I put my helmet on and led my traveling companions deep into the bowels of Chinatown. We found an overbright Chinese joint across the street from a firehouse where a cover band played, the performers coatless on this balmy evening. Gobbled heaping portions of rice and noodles. Then a short walk to the SEPTA and a twenty minute ride to the outskirts of town. Natalia napped across the aisle from us. I sat with Les and entertained three young kids who were gawking at my helmet.
Stymie was at the end of the line, waiting for us in a minivan. He chauffeured us to a sprawling, gated industrial park, a city unto itself, its skyline an intimidating jumble of darkened hulks. We pulled into the parking lot of a warehouse that was easily four stories tall and two football fields in length, resembling a cathedral plundered of its spires and religious icons. Thumping house music poured from the open bay door. Human forms stood silhouetted against a hazy blue light that shone from somewhere deep inside the building.
“Holy shit… that’s your space?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yeah,” Stymie answered in his unhurried drawl. “The rent’s cheap too.”
I wandered inside, taking inventory of the place—a few parked cars, an oversized grill, a refrigerator stocked with enough Grey Goose to keep us all toasted through the next ice age, a lounge area boasting a buffet full of snacks and hors d’oeuvres, a giant bed with a giant disco ball planted in the center, a dance floor and a recording studio. The rear half of the warehouse was curtained off. I glanced up at the ceiling just to be sure the place didn’t have its own weather system. The girls disappeared into the bathroom to primp and preen. I threw my cape over my shoulders, poured myself a beer and entered the fray.
It was still early and people were trickling in. I found myself in front of a vampire and his vampire wife, the proud parents of a few of the children wandering about. He asked about my costume and we talked about opera and soon enough—here it comes—he lapsed into that nostalgia parents have for all the great things they used to do before they had kids. “Changes everything,” he said.
A respectful pause on my part. Shuffling feet. “Yup. Sure does.”
Before I could slash my wrists the girls reappeared, Leslie strutting sexily in her French maid outfit and Natalia channeling Beyonce in a sequined gown and a rather convincing wig. They looked like high-priced whores. And what did that make me? Some sort of Wagnerian pimp? The husband’s eyes lit up and his wife, well, she looked the girls up and down, ready, it seemed, to put her plastic fangs to use.
I escaped into the bathroom and stood over the urinal. Something wasn’t right: the usual tinkle sounded more like a torrent. I looked down only to realize I was standing in a puddle of my own piss. No plumbing anywhere in sight. I could only shake my head and chuckle. Later on someone would have the good sense to cover the urinal in plastic.
The families departed and the late night crowd began to stream in, some in costumes and others in street clothes. The three of us sat around the disco ball and the girls began to pester me about pills. “Don’t worry ladies,” I said. “The Rocketman has connections.” I distracted them for a moment, lifting my cape at the sides and thrusting my open fly in front of Les, who did what she always does in these situations, and then I set off on my mission.
It wasn’t long before I found what I was looking for—the going rate in this little black market was about what I’d expected. The three of us washed the tablets down and waited for that old familiar feeling to wash over us, not sexual but somewhere beyond that, rendering sex unnecessary. The 3,4-methylenedioxymethamphetamine went to work: I felt a few beads of sweat forming on my brow, my body temperature rising by a degree or two; inhibited serotonin reuptake; feelings of manufactured well-being, like an invisible hand gripping the brain; an unrelenting state of pre-orgasm. My eyes went out of focus. I fell onto the bed with a thud, started rubbing Natalia’s shoulders, brought my nose to her arm and inhaled. Sweet. Hint of sweat. I pawed at her silky wig, glanced over at Les, who was French-kissing a young man who hadn’t bothered with a costume. I followed suit and lost myself in Natalia’s bee-stung lips. Then spied an apparition on the dance floor, a tiny girl dressed like Milla Jovovich from The Fifth Element doing a jig with Scooby Doo, her eyes obscured by large sunglasses. Where’d they come from?
A little more lucid now, I rose as if from a deep sleep and stood there flipping my cape around, disco ball glitter in my eyes—performed the slightly funny yet deadly serious dance of the Rocketman. “Isn’t that your girlfriend?” the Big Bad Wolf asked, surveying the scene with obvious concern. He was the boyfriend of Little Red Riding Hood, who was flitting around somewhere.
“Yeah, so?”
“Ah, okay.” Then vaguely dismissive: “It’s cool that you two can do that.”
I ducked out a side door to get some air. Low-slung industrial buildings stretched out into the soupy darkness in neat rows, giving the impression of a neighborhood of robot dwellings. It all looked hyperreal, like the view from inside a video game. “Nice particle effects,” I mumbled to myself. The girls were nowhere to be found when I got back inside, so I went to fix myself another drink, a voice sample from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas playing over the sound system. In a queer bit of synchronicity, a guy showed up in Hunter S. Thompson garb, complete with dangling cigarette holder; I was apparently the only one who’d figured out who he was supposed to be.
Les was in the bathroom sitting against the wall. “Just getting over the hump,” she said. The price of euphoria.
“Where’s Natalia?” I asked, sobering up a bit at the thought.
“Dunno.” She waved me off.
“Okay, I’ll find her.” Not that I didn’t trust Stymie’s crew, but when drugs are involved I always operate under the buddy system. I pivoted about my foot and marched out of there, my cape billowing behind me. I glanced outside through the open bay door. Ah yes, the parking lot. Found her in a Jetta with two guys, opened the door and settled into the molded seat with a sigh as another wave of chemical bliss washed over me. I reached for Natalia’s breast and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Just looking out for you,” I said.
“I know,” she responded. “I appreciate it.”
Alex, a skinny Ukrainian guy who sat in the driver’s seat, thrust a key loaded with white powder under my nose. “No thanks,” I said. I should wear one of those stickers. Hello my name is: I don’t do coke.
“He promised us a ride back to the city,” Natalia said, as if offering an explanation.
“Ah… good job, baby.”
Later on I ended up in that car again; this time huddled in the back with Les while Natalia sat up front with Alex, who was trying his best to put the moves on. The concerned gentleman from earlier sidled up to the passenger window, practically begged us to let him join. Little Red Riding Hood had left and now he really was trying to play the Big Bad Wolf. It struck me as odd that people would rather fail at monogamy than succeed at non-monogamy. I leaned back and listened to the radio. Time passed.
The recording studio was a makeshift opium den, with people sprawled about upon every available surface. I found a tight spot on the futon and draped one leg over the Fifth Element girl’s tiny ass; in my state I couldn’t bring myself to do anything specific about her. People shuffled around, filtered in and out like restless spirits. Conversations reverberated in low murmurs, echoed in my head like auditory hallucinations. Alex, who had given up on trying to put the screws to Natalia, rested his chin against his chest and took a nap. At one point I had my cock pressed up against Natalia but couldn’t summon the energy to do anything about that either. I crawled over to Leslie and she felt like home—the familiar smell of her skin a sensory oasis among all this sensory chaos. Fifth Element stood and changed into her street clothes in front of us, deliberately drawing out the process, inching the fabric along her creamy skin. She made mouth noises at us. I couldn’t process what she was saying, so instead I whispered into Leslie’s ear. No one would have guessed I was making obscene remarks about the girl’s body.
A full bladder forced me to my feet and when I emerged from the room the warehouse was bright with the first morning rays. Where had all that time gone? I returned from the bathroom, stood by the dance floor and watched Stymie at the turntables. I was mesmerized by the spinning records, listening with overtired patience as one track merged seamlessly into the next. Two energetic Hispanic girls in street clothes circled; they pulled me onto the dance floor, one backing her round rump into my groin while the other grabbed my waist from behind. And just as quickly they disappeared. I longed for a warm bed…
I fell asleep in the shotgun seat, waking now and then to catch a glimpse of the rolling interstate. The girls’ heads bobbed in the back. The sun seemed brighter than it ever had, comforting against the nape of my neck but rough on my weary eyes. “It’s sunny,” Alex said, “which could be a very good thing or a very bad thing, depending on how you look at it.”
I knew exactly what he meant. Though the drug had relaxed its grip I felt like the survivor of an exotic interrogation. Night’s velvet cloak hides a multitude of sins; only when you’re dragged kicking and screaming into the light do you realize how terribly fucked up you must have been, how easily you lost your normal self to the onslaught of synthetic experience. But what is normal anyway? A biochemical parlor trick that keeps our moods in check? At that moment, squinting against the kaleidoscope of primary colors, I wasn’t overly concerned with philosophy. I just wanted to feel like myself again.
