As the Friday work day crawled to a close I made plans with a few of the fellas from the office to have some drinks. Nothing too crazy. I made it home before 8:00 to take a nap. For whatever reason I never believe that I will be able to fall asleep when I nap, I consistently fail to set an alarm and sleep for longer than I had expected. When in truth, I am an excellent napper.
I woke up around 10:30pm and tried to pull my life together and meet Sarp at the bar. As a direct cause of my shoddy planning I missed the last bus and was forced to resort to the heel-toe express. The sparsely populated residential streets, low lying fog and the eerie glow of struggling lights completed the feel that I was in a completely Alien world. Ten minutes into my walk I lost count of the ubiquitous unregistered gambling houses and the burly men standing in front of the neon signs regulating the trickle of shady characters in and out.
Crossing streets here is hard. Roads and sidewalks are separated by fences that have not been replaced since the tram line was thrown down. The intersections resemble the middle of an intricate spider web with cars flying in every direction showing an impressive lack of regard for the pedestrian life. Generally they are so complex and contain crosswalks on only one side, there are often tunnels underneath that bypass the entire mess. After the busses stop running the tunnels because some type of Gypsy night league where all bets are off, and are best avoided by anyone holding a 3rd grade education or higher. I cut through the Saint-Tropez parking lot to save time instead. It is important to note I was going to get my drank (sic) on so the most efficient route was the one I needed to take. This particular bar is worthy of note because it might not exist much longer. Sarp told me that in the 2 years he has been here it has changed names 7 times. Each because a trigger happy bouncer capped a 'roid-raging skinhead looking for trouble. I've been to bars with metal detectors before, but never one with such an overt no gun policy.
I arrived at Club 80's by pure luck, where a veritable Michael Jackson tribute was in effect. A dying cell phone battery prompted an early end to my night. I'm not that upset, tonight is going to be huge. The next morning my lungs struggle to expand and my eyes still ache like they've been washed with chlorine. The second-hand Marlboro smoke is something I'm still trying to come to terms with.
I am a full half-day ahead of Honolulu.
Bruce Springsteen on Broadway
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