Anarchy in da USA
Looking for the true spirit of the Ramones? Try going to an underground hip-hop show.
But it's a good mushy love song, so I stagger over to Sonzala and profess my undying admiration for Cl'. I win an introduction. We exchange numbers after a quick conversation. I begin to wonder how I'm going to explain to my girlfriend that I'm leaving her for a tiny rapper that I outweigh by 150 pounds.
By now, the night is drawing to a close. The houselights are on and people are crowding the bar to close out their tabs. As for me, I need to jot down some notes and write my Dear Jane letter. I head through the club's kitchen doors for a quieter place to collect my thoughts.
Once there, I stand hypnotized by the room's contents. There are graham crackers, two toasters, a colander, a few cutting boards and a stock pot, among other things. Just as I start thinking about making Cl'Che' the best goddamn toasted Oreo, olive, Hunt's tomato sauce and canned tuna sandwich she's ever eaten, a barback walks in, and I flee to avoid any trouble. As I stroll out the door, I look down at my notes. All I've written is "Throwback jerseys are the new safety pins."
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