Coyotes Are Not All That Ugly

Just prior to going to the SHOUT OUT my brother and I got this email from the manager of Otto's:

"Hi Obsidian, [Name deleted] from Otto's. I feel horrible. I totally forgot to contact you regarding tomorrow's show. I have a bunch of servicemen (navy) coming in at 5pm to play and have a party. I will need to ask you to quit early tomorrow (at 5pm) so that we can allow them to set up for their show.

Thank you for understanding."

An abbreviated SHOUT OUT to be had for sure. It will be hard to crunch a two hour show into an hour, and with the Bartender coming in late all of the time, we have a problem. In this respect, OBSIDIAN replies:

"THIS IS REALLY GONNA CAUSE A PROBLEM...BECAUSE WE DON'T GET STARTED UNTIL AROUND 4:30 PM...BECAUSE THE BARTENDER USUALLY ARRIVES & OPENS LATE-LIKE A QUARTER AFTER 4PM...I GUESS WE HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE IN THE MATTER, BUT TO END BY 5PM"

He writes emails in all caps like that. He is not shouting at her. But it looks like that to people that aren't used to his emails. But that's neither here nor there, note that he blows up Cyndi Lauper, our bartender in informing the manager that she has made it a custom to come in late. This is indeed funny to me. I think of this as I head to OTTO's early and get there to find Cyndi opening up the establishment at a QUARTER to Four. Although she goes in early, she locks the door behind her and proceeds to work on opening up.

That's alright, I couldn't give a fuck. I go to KENNEDY'S FRIED CHICKEN next door and get three chicken wings, and then, to use the garbage can to throw away my bones, I go to stand at the corner of the block. While I have a mouthful of chicken ORION appears out of nowhere. Taller than me, square jawed, glassy eyed, and crew cut, he does not look at me but off into the distance. "Am I still banned?" he asks. Yes, my brother banned him from the SHOUT OUT because of his vitriolic poetry against the poets in the circuit, and this time because of his gross disrespect for a dead poet.

For a moment, I wasn't going to stop eating to reply to him. But then I told him: You'll have to ask OBSIDIAN. "Oh, he's making the decision?" ORION asks. Yes he is. "Is he here now?" No, but he will be. And with that, ORION walks off, allowing me to finish my chicken in peace.

I head to the door of OTTO's when I finish, and find it locked. Therefore, I stand and lean against a nearby lightpole, waiting for Cyndi to open up. Suddenly, her goofy face appears in the windowed door of OTTO's and searches about momentarily before finding me standing in front of her. She gives me a signal, hands up, as if she's wondering why I was standing outside, and then opens the door. When I enter I notice her on the cell phone, and I knew exactly what was going on. She was on the phone with the manager, who was probably making certain that she was opening the establishment on time.

Very fine for us. We had a chance to get the SHOUT OUT started early. It opened to a very light audience that started to build as the hour wore on until we reached our maximum number of fifteen by 5:00PM. The feature, Precious, arrived at the close of the SHOUT OUT unfortunately, but we got her to agree to come back next week.

The SHOUT OUT went smoothly, quick. Before we knew it, Cyndi Lauper was checking up on us to make for certain that we were packing up and heading out. We did at that, spilling out into the night and saying our goodbyes. One of the new poets who came to read at the SHOUT OUT for the first time, by the name of Robert, invited us all out for drinks. I tried to beg off, claiming that I wanted to eat fried chicken instead, but right next to the place where he was taking us, had the best chicken in town.

There was no getting around it. My brother, D2theL, Robert and myself, separated from Oz and D-lite and headed downtown to Coyote Ugly. Immediately upon walking into the painted black place you are hit with pounding music crashing against your ears. There is a long bar starting on the left, stocked heavy with booze. The bar travels to the back of the space where there are two booths on the right, and space for a dart game after the bar ends.

Robert begins by buying us all a round of drinks. I have a Coke. Then, he disappears and comes back with two trays of fried chicken. Shit! This guy is un-fucking-believable. But wait! There's more! In the middle of our socializing, the well busted bartender jumps on top of the bar and pulls patrons up to dance with her. Holy shit.

The place goes wild, and we join in with the hoots and screaming. It was crazy and fun. Later, Robert's wife came to collect him and D-lite arrives to take his place and buys another round of beers for the table. Again, I chew the ice in my cup. I am surprised with myself that I can turn down alcohol. Wow. What a big change from my drinking and drugging days. It must be the NALTRAXONE doing to my desire for alcohol what it does to my libido.

Close to Eight, we say goodbye to D-Lite. D2theL, myself and my brother stand outside in front of Coyote Ugly, talking and watching the people stroll by. I shortly bid them farewell, and struggle with my bag back to the Box. My shoulder is starting to hurt and grow weak on me. I need a popper of TRAZADONE to ease the pain. Further, tomorrow I think I'm going out to buy some ACETAMINOPHEN when I get the chance. I just can't take these aches that I'm getting every time I wake or go long distances with my bag.

I'm getting old and beaten up. I've been on this planet nearly half a century. That's a lot of mileage. But I have to admit, I have one Helluvah life.

The Box is quiet tonight. I fall asleep.

Hobobob