#me slidin these in at the last minute each day

[frostios]

day 2- school

ritsu immediately loves her so he lets it slide

[artificialqueens]

Distractions (Branjie) - Manta

AN: Branjie really did it huh? Made me finally fold and write my first ever drag race fic.

Brooke is getting distracted in the workroom and Vanessa helps her out.

Brooke has gotten into the annoying habit of watching Vanessa from across the workroom. No matter how badly she needs to focus on her outfit or choreography or memorizing her lines, she always catches herself with her eyes trained on Vanessa, current work forgotten. She had thought that sitting far apart while they worked would keep her from getting so distracted. She was wrong.

Right now, Vanessa is joking around with Silky. They’re speaking just loudly enough that Brooke can hear the gravelly rasp of her voice carry across the room, but can’t make out the conversation. Silky says something and Vanessa cracks up, her loud laugh traveling easily to Brooke’s ears. Brooke can’t help but smile despite not hearing the joke as Vanessa throws her head back, clutching to the wig she has placed loosely on her head so it won’t fall off.

“Bitch! How’m I supposed to do your hair if you’re thrashin’ around like that?” Silky exclaims as Vanessa tries to calm down. As she readjusts, Vanessa looks up and meets eyes with Brooke, breaking out into a grin and winking when she catches her staring.

Brooke feels a blush immediately rise in her cheeks and turns her head back toward the garment she is supposed to be working on, though now her mind is further than ever from the task at hand.

———

It is almost time to film the main challenge for the episode, and everyone is bustling around the workroom putting final touches on their looks or going over whatever characters they’re going to be doing. Brooke is touching up her lip when Vanessa walks over.

“Hey, girl.”

“Hey, Papi, how you feeling?” She asks, continuing to drag the lipstick across her top lip.

Vanessa leans forward against Brooke’s make up counter, watching her through the mirror. “I’m feelin’ good. Ready to bring them all this Vanjie energy, you know.”

Brooke laughs, presses her lips together and caps her lipstick. She turns to face Vanessa, planning to respond, but as soon as she is facing the other queen Vanessa leans in. Brooke puckers her lips on instinct, expecting one of the many little pecks they have traded in the workroom. When their lips met, however, and Brooke starts to pull away, Vanessa’s hand finds the back of her neck and holds her in place.

It is a mostly closed mouth, and not too messy because they can’t screw up their makeup, but the force of Vanessa’s lips pressed against her own takes Brooke by surprise. Brooke’s hand rises to Vanessa’s cinched waist, pulling her the final half step closer to where Brooke sits in her makeup chair.

Brooke takes a slow breath in through her nose, inhaling the smell of makeup, of course, but also the scent of Vanessa’s too-strong cologne, that still somehow clings to her even in drag. It is a good reminder of the man that lies beneath all the layers of tights and glitter. Not that Brooke would ever forget.

Vanessa pulls away, her hand sliding from Brooke’s neck down her arm. “Ooh, now I’m really ready to go slay this challenge!” She flashes a grin. “Alright, good luck!” she says as she turns to head out of the workroom and film her part.

“Good luck, Boo,” Brooke calls after her.

Then she turns to the mirror to fix her lipstick again and tries to ignore the flutter of arousal that will make her tuck a lot less comfortable if she doesn’t keep it under control.

———

Between the long, tiring days and being sequestered in their hotel rooms at night, there isn’t much of a chance to tend to certain, more primal, needs.

A quick make out in the van ride to set, and memories of Vanessa’s firm grip on her thigh, have left Brooke especially worked up today.

So really, she can’t be blamed for tracking Vanessa as she runs shirtless back and forth across the workroom gathering everything she needs for her runway look. Vanessa reaches up high to unhook something from her clothing rack, and Brooke can’t help the jump her mind makes to imagining that same bare torso stretched out for different reasons. Imagining how smooth and warm that tan skin would be under her hands. How Vanessa might tremble if Brooke drags her fingers slowly enough down her sides.

Brooke clears her throat, and looks away, trying to snap herself out of it. She is already half hard (blame it on the physical deprivation, okay,) and continuing down that train of thought won’t be helpful.

She sits at a workroom table, staring ahead and trying to force her thoughts toward what paint she wants to do today when she feels a warm body press up against her back.

Brooke gasps at the sudden contact. She hopes that Vanessa doesn’t hear, but luck isn’t on her side.

“What you over here gaspin’ for? Bitch, I bet you’d be so crazy in a haunted house— freakin’ out ‘round every corner.” Vanessa’s arms slip loosely around her shoulders from where she stands behind Brooke, and she leans forward to press a kiss against Brooke’s cheek.

Brooke can tell that the other queen is still shirtless, can feel the heat of bare skin even through her own t-shirt.

Brooke tries to laugh it off and divert the attention, but Vanessa catches on immediately. “What’s up Miss Thing, you actin’ weird.”

“Nothing, just thinking about what look I want to do today.”

“Mmmmm hmm,” Vanessa deadpans as she pulls out a chair and sits down beside her. “And what look is that gonna be?”

“I was thinking maybe a neutral lip to go with the dress,” Brooke spits out, even though she can’t even think of what dress she’s going to wear with Vanessa this close. She rotates on the stool so they’re facing each other. Vanessa scoots a bit closer and lets their knees slot together, mischief shining in her eyes when she sees Brooke’s flustered reaction.

“Yeah, and what dress are you wearin’?” Vanessa leans forward and rests her hands on Brooke’s knees.

“I, umm…” Brooke trails off as Vanessa’s hands slide a little bit further up her legs.

“Have you decided on your hair?”

“Uh, blonde.”

“Bitch you always wear blonde, that doesn’t narrow it down.” Vanessa quirks a brow at Brooke, letting her hands slide up another few inches. She stretches her thumbs down to press into the flesh of Brooke’s inner thighs, feeling the muscles of her strong dancer legs tense up. “You seem stressed, maybe you should go have a cigarette and loosen up or somethin’,” Vanessa says.

There’s a playfulness in Vanessa’s tone when she makes the suggestion that Brooke doesn’t fully understand. “Yeah, maybe I will. Thanks, baby.”

Vanessa’s lips quirk into a smile and she pushes herself back up out of the chair. She cups Brooke’s slightly stubbly cheek closely with one hand and presses a firm kiss to the other side of her face.

When Vanessa walks away Brooke sits for a few more minutes before deciding to follow her advice. Going out for a smoke couldn’t hurt. She walks over to her bags to grab a box of cigarettes and a lighter. Hopefully, by the time she gets back, she’ll be ready to get her mind back on the competition. The hallway between the workroom and the door to the back lot where they’re allowed to smoke is empty. Brooke turns to the door that will take her outside, but before she reaches it the door to the bathroom opens slightly and Vanessa’s head pops out sideways like a cartoon character.

“Oh, thank God it’s you bitch. Took you long enough.” She waves her hand impatiently and Brooke steps towards her.

“What are you—" as soon as she’s close enough Vanessa grabs her by the arm and tugs her into the bathroom. The door closes and she flicks the lock into place and reaches to switch Brooke’s microphone off.

“You seemed distracted. Couldn’t help but feel like it might have been my fault,” Vanessa says with a smirk and pushes up on her tiptoes to kiss the taller queen.

Brooke quickly snaps out of her shocked state and kisses back hungrily as she finally catches on to what’s happening. Her hands slide up under the t-shirt that Vanessa must have put on at some point. They break the kiss to pull the fabric up and over Vanessa’s head. Jose’s head. Because she can only think of him as Jose now. Brock drapes the shirt over the paper towel dispenser and quickly pulls his own off too, throwing it to the same place.

“We could get in so much trouble for this,” Brock says.

“Better be quiet so we don’t get caught, then.” Jose yelps in surprise when Brock reaches down to loop his arm under Jose’s ass and lifts him up.

“What happened to being quiet?” Brock teases, walking them the couple steps over toward the sink and setting Jose down on its porcelain edge. Brock steps between his legs and Jose links his ankles around Brock’s waist, hands traveling to the heated skin of his back.

The next kisses are sloppy and urgent and leave Brock thankful that neither of them has started painting yet. He holds Jose close with one hand on his back and knots the other into his dark hair. Jose moans into his mouth at the gentle tug. Brock pulls harder.

“Fuck,” Jose gasps, and digs his heels into Brock’s lower back, closing the last bit of distance between them. Brock groans at the friction, and feels the press of Jose’s dick, just as hard as his own.

Brock’s lips find Jose’s shoulder, and follow his collarbone toward the fluttering pulse in his neck. Fingers dig hard into Brock’s arm when he sucks at the sensitive skin. “Bitch, I better not have to put foundation over that.”

Brock laughs and pulls away before the hickey can get too dark. His hands slide down Jose’s chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples, and he stares at his hands and how his long fingers can wrap so far around Jose’s ribs. He peppers a few more kisses across his tan chest before their lips meet again.

Brock rocks his hips forward, slowly, but with intention. Jose’s hands press against Brock’s shoulder blades, holding them together and keeping Jose from sliding backward off the lip of the sink.

They break the kiss to breathe, cheeks sliding against each other. Brock feels hot puffs of breath against his ear in time with each push of their hips.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this. About you.” He speaks the words so softly that they’re barely a breath, but they’re close enough that Jose hears them. Brock feels him shiver in response.

“I know bitch,” Jose’s voice rasps out. “You think I haven’t seen you starin’?”

Brock catches Jose’s earlobe between his teeth and the other man gasps. “Alright! Alright, Mary, I been thinkin’ about you, too!”

“Yeah?” Brock says.

“Mmmm hmm. You wanna know what I been thinkin’ about?” Jose pulls back and shoves at Brock’s shoulders.

Brock doesn’t have time to protest before Jose has slipped off the edge of the sink and turned them around so Brock is pressed against it instead.

“Thank God they keep these bathrooms clean,” Jose says, and drops to his knees.

Brock’s cock jerks in anticipation. “Fuck,” he whispers, looking down at a dark head of hair and slim shoulders.

Jose palms Brock’s crotch through his pants and Brock’s hands fly to grip the edge of the sink.

“Remember you gotta stay quiet,” Jose warns as he undoes Brock’s pants and yanks them down along with his underwear.

Brock nods, but it’s only to himself because Jose is too busy staring at what’s in front of him to see. The smaller man falls enthusiastically onto his cock and Brock throws his head back, biting down a swear. One of Jose’s hands joins his mouth on Brock’s cock and he drags some saliva and precum down to act as lubrication as he pumps his fist in time with his mouth. Brock looks down, and watches Jose’s head bobbing. He sees when Jose moves his free hand from where it had been lightly gripping Brock’s calf to fumble with the fastening of Jose’s own pants instead. He manages to get them unbuttoned and pulls his own dick out, wrapping his hand around it and moaning around Brock’s cock.

Brock swears his vision blurs for a second. “Holy shit Jose…”

Jose looks up, his puppy dog eyes meeting Brock’s. The eye contact sends tingles up Brock’s spine. His knuckles are as white as the porcelain they’re gripping from how hard he’s holding the edge of the sink.

“Oh my God, you’re so fucking hot,” he mumbles, as loudly as he dares. Jose whimpers and the hand on his own cock speeds up. The rhythm of his mouth and the hand on Brock’s cock falter a bit, but Brock doesn’t care because the sight of Jose on his knees in front of him, jerking himself off, is so sexy that Brock probably would have come if Jose had kept up the pace.

After a few more strokes Jose pulls off of Brock completely. He sits back on his heels, pumping his own dick and staring up at Brock. “Shit, you like watching me, Brock?”

Brock nods but otherwise stays completely still. Jose’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, and Brock thinks Jose might come, but all of a sudden he stops and removes his hand.

“You lucky my voice already raspy as hell otherwise everyone would definitely be able to tell I did this,” Jose says, and then leans forward and takes Brock’s cock deep into his throat, hands raising to brace against the backs of Brock’s thighs.

“Holy fuck.” Brock prays there aren’t any PAs in the hall that might hear him.

Brock forces himself to stay still as his hips threaten to jerk forward. One of his hands finally moves off the sink and he buries it in Jose’s hair. Jose moans, and Brock feels the vibrations travel up his dick.

“Fuck Jose, I’m close. Please keep— fuck.” Jose’s fingers dig deeper into the backs of Brock’s thighs and he increases his speed. Brock inhales sharply through his nose. His eyes roll back and he looks at the ceiling, wanting desperately to come but also wanting to draw this out for a few more seconds.

His stomach tenses and he returns his attention to Jose. “Ah, fuck I’m gonna come,” Brock warns, and tries to keep his voice low enough that no one outside will hear. “Jose, I’m gonna… holy shit, ah, ah, fuck Jose, fuck, yes…”

Brock’s abs spasm and his hand knots hard in Jose’s hair. Jose holds Brock’s hips close and keeps him in his throat when he comes. He pulls back a little, still bobbing lightly as Brock trembles through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He watches Brock’s face and when he sees signs of oversensitivity he pulls off and swallows. Jose reaches for his own cock again, biting his lip and starting to stroke. “No, let me do that,” Brock says, breathless.

Jose stands, and Brock’s legs are shaky but he manages to lift Jose so he’s sitting on the edge of the sink again and takes his spot between his legs. His fingers wrap around Jose’s cock, swiping over the tip to collect the precum gathered there.

“I’m already so close,” Jose breathes, and Brock starts stroking quickly, eager to make Jose feel as good as he did.

“You liked that, huh?” Brock murmurs. “Liked having my cock in your throat.”

“Uh huh,” Jose says, breathless, and his forehead falls forward to rest against Brock’s shoulder.

Brock feels Jose’s heels dig into the top of his ass as his legs flex. “You were so fucking hot on your knees like that. You took my cock so well, baby.”

Brock speeds up his hand and feels puffs of Jose’s breath as he pants against Brock’s shoulder. “You gonna come, baby? Gotta be quiet, remember.”

Jose whimpers and brings his hand up to Brock’s shoulder so he can bite the side of it.

“Good boy,” Brock says.

Brock can’t see because of the way Jose is curled over the space between them, but he can feel the wet splash on his stomach when Jose groans against his hand and comes.

They stay like that for a minute, breathing heavily with Jose’s head resting against Brock’s shoulder as they recover. Then Brock gently eases Jose down so he’s standing again and turns to grab paper towels to clean them up with.

“Fuck, that was good,” Jose says. Jose’s voice sounds even rougher than usual, and Brock hopes the other queens won’t notice when they return to the workroom.

“It was,” Brock replies, and presses a soft kiss to his forehead before running the paper towels under some warm water and wiping them off.

The two redress and face each other one more time before heading back out. “Thank you for that,” Brock says. “I needed it.”

“Not like it was a chore for me,” Jose says. “Do I look presentable?”

“Yeah, just about.” Brock reaches over to smooth some stray pieces of Jose’s hair out. He leans down for a gentle kiss. “So how are we doing this? We probably shouldn’t go out at the same time.”

Jose is just about to respond when someone knocks loudly on the door. “Fuck,” Brock whispers. They meet each other’s eyes. “One second!” he calls out.

Jose shrugs, and Brock exhales and goes to open the door.

He finds Nina waiting outside, and smiles awkwardly at her.

He’s still hoping there might be some way they can distract her and make a getaway when Jose brushes past him into the hall with a smug look on his face. Nina’s mouth falls open into a delighted smile.

Brock sighs. “Bitch, you’d better not tell a soul.”

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 19

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

From Arthur’s POV

THE NEXT MORNING

SHADY BELLE, INSIDE THE MANSION

Slidin’ the rag up and down my rifle, I made sure all my weapons were ready to go while Eddie gathered his own gear, both of us preparing for the robbery.

Dutch still seemed confident in the plan that he and Micah created, and no one else had protested the scheme yet, but Hosea and I...well...we wasn’t so sure.

I mean, robbin’ a national bank was risky enough, considering how heavy the security was -- but starting another robbery on the other side of town just to distract the law for a few minutes...it felt like suicide. I knew Dutch thought he was buyin’ us some time -- and that we’d be in and out within minutes -- but to me, this plan just seemed like it was gonna end up painting an even bigger target on our backs. And that was the last thing we needed right now.

Ah, well...it was clear to me that there weren’t no use in tryin’ to convince Dutch. For whatever foolish reason, he appeared to be taking Micah’s advice to heart recently, and I knew better than to go in circles with the old man.

I was just worried about what we’d do if things didn’t go accordin’ to plan today. Not only would our gang be split up, we would’ve also attracted the law to both sides of the city, makin’ it much easier for them to corner us.

I just hoped I’d be able to keep Eddie safe. That boy was about to throw himself into one of the most dangerous heists we’d pulled off since Blackwater, and I was gonna do everything I possibly could to ensure he’d get back out.

The money may’ve been Dutch’s main concern today, but the pianist was mine.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” I asked Eddie, earning a hesitant sigh from the boy.

“...Well, I’m not too fond of the idea of robbing people,” he admitted, “but if Dutch is willing to let me stay in his camp, then the least I can do is help the gang earn some money.”

I slipped my revolvers into my holsters, shrugging in response. “If you’re sure. It’s just...there’s a whole lot that could go wrong with this plan, and I wanna make sure you ain’t caught in the worst of it if it does.”

Eddie walked up to me and began straightening my suit, adjustin’ my tie while he spoke.

“I’ll be okay,” he reassured. “I have you by my side, don’t I?”

I smiled at him. “Always.”

The boy let out a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling in a reminiscent manner as he tidied me up.

“You know, Arthur...when we first met, I never imagined I’d be robbing a bank with you one day. Hell, I didn’t imagine any of this. But...despite the struggles we may face, and the many things we’ve fought through to get here, I just want to let you know -- I’m glad to have you with me.”

I beamed at the compliment and retrieved my bandana, tyin’ the accessory around my neck.

“The feeling’s mutual. You happy you joined the gang though? I know these people ain’t exactly your typical civilians, but they’re alright. ...Most of ‘em.”

The pianist nodded. “I am. Miss Grimshaw introduced me to Tilly and Karen yesterday. I had quite a lengthy talk with them, actually. And Mary-Beth as well. She told me she wants to be an author someday. I never expected there to be so many artists in the gang...but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Considering who the leader is.”

I quirked a brow. “You see Dutch as an artist?”

“Perhaps not an artist himself, but he certainly appreciates it. He’s always reading that Evelyn Miller, and the way he speaks to the gang is quite poetic most of the time. Makes me think Dutch is a romantic. Much like yourself.”

“...Heh, I guess he is,” I replied, decidin’ to change the subject. “So...you’ve met the women in camp. You met any of the men yet?”

Eddie thought for a moment. “Well, Micah’s approached me a few times.”

I chortled at that. “I said men, not snakes.”

The musician returned the laugh. “I’ve spoken with Micah, Hosea, John, Dutch...and Bill is surprisingly interested in my work as a pianist.”

I paused. “Really? Huh. Never pegged him for the...musical type. But I guess we all got our secrets. It’s good to hear the gang’s welcoming you though. I honestly weren’t expectin’ Dutch to let you in in the first place. He’s been...skeptical of newcomers recently.”

“I don’t blame him,” Eddie said. “Sounds like you guys have had it rough for a while now. Hopefully, today’s robbery turns that around.”

I gave him an assuring nod. “That’s the plan.”

Interrupting our conversation before we could talk further, Dutch suddenly strolled into the mansion with an assertive kick of the door as the rest of the gang followed him inside, all of them geared up and ready to go.

Everyone was dressed in opulent clothing and had either a bandana or a mask hangin’ around their neck to hide their identity, and the more the image of Micah wearin’ a tight suit ingrained itself into my brain, the more I felt the urge to back outta this heist.

An ecstatic grin radiated on Dutch’s face.

“Gentlemen!” he proudly announced, glancing around the room. “It’s time. The Lemoyne National Bank has waited for long enough, but we are finally ready to hit it. Is everyone clear on the plan?”

There was a confirming silence.

“Good. Then let me explain who’s doin’ what.”

Dutch pointed out a few of the gang members.

“Hosea, Javier, John, and Charles -- the four of you will be in charge of distractin’ the law. Go to the trolley station, and make some noise. Start a robbery. Do whatever it takes to attract the law there, and try to keep them there for as long as possible. We shouldn’t need too long, but you never know what could happen.”

He turned to everyone else, givin’ each of us specific tasks.

“The rest o’ you,” Dutch addressed, “are with me. We’ll wait until they have the law’s attention, and then we are hittin’ that bank hard. Sadie and Lenny, I want you two to keep watch. Let us know the minute you see any lawmen, and we’ll focus on gettin’ the money.”

“Bill and Micah” he continued, “you just make sure everyone in that bank behaves themselves and stays in place. I don’t want no trouble from the security or the civilians -- we got enough to worry about as is.”

Dutch brought his attention to me.

“Arthur, your job is to get that vault open. But avoid using dynamite. We don’t wanna raise the alarm before we’ve even got the money. And as for you, Eddie, you can help Mister Morgan crack the safes. Make the process a little faster. In case things go wrong today though, we need an escape route outta the city. Now, you know Saint Denis better than any of us...so what d’you think is the best way out?”

Before Eddie could reply, Micah jumped in and offered his own idea, cuttin’ the boy off.

“We could take the back alleys.” He proposed.

The pianist rejected the recommendation.

“No,” he responded. “The alleyways are too narrow for all of us. If we go in there, the law will cage us in within seconds.”

Dutch considered the advice. “Then what do you suggest?”

Eddie thought about it for a moment. “...Ironically, the best way out of the city would probably be through the more populated streets. If we can put enough civilians between us and the law, we’ll slow them down drastically. Not to mention there are also trams and stagecoaches going around all the time, adding even more obstacles for them to maneuver around.”

The other man slowly nodded in approval. “Makes sense.”

“We have to move fast though,” Eddie warned. “If we aren’t careful, we could be trapped in the crowd, too.”

“Sounds good,” Dutch agreed. “Well, alright then. I’d say we’re good to go.” He addressed the rest of the gang. “Everyone! ...Are we ready?”

I picked up my shotgun, slingin’ it over my shoulder.

“Ready as we’ll ever be, Dutch.”

The man smiled excitedly, his expression glowing with a passion for larceny as that ever so familiar spark returned to his dark eyes.

“...Then let’s empty this goddamn bank.”

A WHILE LATER

LEMOYNE NATIONAL BANK

Blowing their whistles while they bolted across the packed city, a group of lawmen came rushing past us as we hid in a nearby alleyway, waitin’ for our opportunity to strike.

At the moment, it didn’t seem like anyone had caught onto our plan, and with most of the law hurrying over to deal with our distraction, we had roughly about ten minutes to get in, get everythin’ we could, and get the hell out. Jesus, I really hoped this plan worked.

Just by standin’ next to the bank, I could already hear a large amount of muffled voices comin’ from the inside, and the fact that we was doing this in broad daylight didn’t exactly help to ease my nerves.

We were out in the open, and the law would be back on our asses at any minute.

We had to move. Now.

“Alright, cowboys,” Dutch whispered lowly through his bandana, “this is it. You all know what to do. Be quick, and be thorough. Let’s get this done!”

Marching out of our hidin’ spot, Dutch stormed his way to the bank’s entrance as the rest of us followed him, constantly checking over our shoulders to make sure no one was tailing us.

There were civilians strollin’ around all over the place, and a few of their gazes had fallen onto us already, but so far, no one seemed to have figured out just exactly what we were doing.

Now was our chance to hit.

Swinging the bank’s doors open with a forceful push, Dutch whipped out his revolvers and sauntered inside, immediately catching everyone’s attention as their heads jolted in our direction.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out, raising his guns, “this is a robbery!”

Bill instantly bashed the stock of his rifle into a civilian’s head while Micah held the rest at gunpoint, causing all of them to let out a series of panicked shrieks and screams as they stumbled to the floor.

“Stay down!” Micah demanded, bringing everyone to their knees. “Unless you wanna get shot!”

Dutch turned to me, gesturing to the vault’s door. “Mister M, Mister R! Get that vault open!”

I aimed my own gun at the bank manager and grabbed him by the collar, aggressively hurling the man towards the vault as he yelped out of fear.

“You think we’re foolin’ around?” I shouted at him. “Open the goddamn vault!”

“O-Okay! Okay!” He whimpered, throwing his hands in the air. “Just, please! Don’t hurt--!”

I slammed the grip of my revolver into his head. “I ain’t interested! Just get it open! Now!”

Turning the vault’s lock with a trembling hand, the manager hurriedly followed my instructions and put the combo in, both me and Eddie waitin’ by as we frantically glanced around the bank.

Even with a bandana covering half his face, I could still tell Eddie wasn’t happy with me, and he clearly disapproved of this entire heist. I knew he understood why we had to do this, and he showed no signs of backin’ out so far, but unlike the rest of the gang, the pianist still had his morals.

I was just worried about how this would affect his image of me. He always told me I was a better man than I implied, but...after today’s events, I wasn’t so sure he’d think the same way. Lord. What a goddamned mess this was.

Finally opening the vault’s door with a metallic creak, the manager quickly backed away while I got to work and rushed inside, wastin’ no time in cracking the safes.

“I’m openin’ the safes!” I told Eddie. “Would you kindly get the combos outta our friend here?”

The boy whipped the side of his gun into the manager’s head, leavin’ a rather nasty gash. “What’s the combination?!”

A pained shout escaped the manager and he cowered away from Eddie’s firearm, shakily spittin’ out the numbers one by one.

“S-Seventy-two!” he blubbered out, “Fifty-four! T-Twenty-eight!”

The safe practically fell open once I hit the last number, revealing a beautiful stack of cash on the inside. I instantly snatched the money and shoved it into my pouch, movin’ onto the next.

“Got it! Next one!”

While I worked on the rest of the safes, Dutch brought his attention to Lenny and peered outside the bank’s windows, his body gettin’ a little restless due to our limited time.

“Mister S!” He called out. “How’s it looking?”

“So far, so good!” Lenny replied. “But we gotta get this moving!”

Dutch turned to me. “You hear that, Mister M?”

“I’m on it!” I exclaimed back. “Just got a couple safes left! Mister R?”

Eddie cocked his gun at the manager. “Next combo!” He demanded.

The manager let out a quivering breath, horrified for his life. “Thirty! N-Ninety-five! Seventeen!”

Nearly ripping the safe’s door off its hinges, I fumbled through the valuables sittin’ inside and grabbed as much as I could carry, bringing my attention to the third one.

“Next!”

The manager didn’t even give Eddie a chance to hit him again. “Forty-one! E-Eighty-five! Sixty-seven!”

There was even more money in this one than the last -- and like the petty thief I was -- I shoveled the cash into my bag without a second thought, hopping to the adjacent safe...but there was an interruption.

“Gentlemen!” Sadie alerted. “We have a problem! There are lawmen comin’ our way!”

Dutch cursed. “Already? Shit! Mister M, how much you got?”

I glanced inside my pouch. “There must be thousands of dollars in here!”

Despite his reluctance to leave, Dutch took Sadie’s advice and cut the robbery short, urging all of us to evacuate.

“Then that’ll have to do. Everyone! We got what we need! Grab what you can, and let’s get the hell outta here! Mister R, we’ll follow your lead!”

Jogging to the bank’s front doors, Eddie peeked outside and checked our surroundings, lowering his voice slightly.

“Okay, looks like we’ve got a few lawmen surrounding the bank,” he informed. “But we should be able to take them down and stick to the original plan. What do you think?”

Dutch got a good look for himself, patting Eddie on the shoulder.

“I think we’ll be just fine.” He beckoned the rest of us. “Gentlemen! Let’s ride!”

Hurrying out of the vault, I followed Eddie and Dutch through the bank’s exit as the gang hastily took its leave, all of us immediately gunning down the lawmen as soon as we stepped through the front door.

A choir of screams instantly erupted from the civilians surrounding us, all of them scrambling around the streets in panic as we made our way to our horses.

“There they are!” One of the lawmen shouted. “Don’t let ‘em escape!”

Practically leaping onto my horse’s saddle, I mounted up and fired a number of shots at the lawmen chasin’ us before breaking into a sprint, galloping side-by-side with Eddie as we led the gang outta Saint Denis.

“This way!” He instructed, takin’ a sharp turn.

By now, there was folks boltin’ left and right all over the place as we slithered through the thick crowds, causing people to throw themselves out of the way before we could trample over them.

The sounds of gunfire, whistles blaring, civilians hollering, and horses neighing all filled the air along with my own heartbeat as it hammered in my ears, fueling me with an adrenaline like no other.

It didn’t look like the law was gonna let us go quite as easily as we had hoped, but fortunately, they seemed to be fallin’ behind the mayhem just like Eddie said they would, giving us just a few more minutes to escape.

I whipped my reins, urging my horse to pick up the pace.

“Come on!” Eddie encouraged. “We’re almost out!”

Ridin’ through the packed streets, the gang wildly charged its way across the city like the goddamned cavalry as it shot down any lawmen that got too close, leavin’ a trail of smoke and corpses in its wake.

There were stagecoaches and trams rolling all throughout Saint Denis, and we was forced to swerve our way around them as some of the lawmen got stuck behind the convenient obstacles, leading them to lose sight of the gang. Our plan was working.

“Just a little further!” Eddie called out, gesturing to the city’s exit that was comin’ up in the distance. I fired a series of bullets behind me, puttin’ down the lawmen that were tailing us.

“Nearly there, gentlemen!” Dutch announced. “Don’t get tired on me just yet!”

Puttin’ all my energy into the last bit of this escape, I kicked my spurs into the side of my mount, causing her to haul ass towards the bridge that led outta Saint Denis as the lawmen started closing in on us.

At this point, it looked like they had figured out the “robbery” at the trolley station was nothin’ more than a distraction, and the longer we remained in this dreadful city, the more of ‘em there seemed to be.

But we could still make it. We could still take the money.

And I’d be damned if we didn’t.

Racing across the bridge, the gang rode like there was no tomorrow as we approached the other side, only to hear a familiar voice calling out to us from the woods just before we could leave.

It was John.

“Get clear of the bridge y’all!” He shouted. “I’m about to blow it to hell!”

Making ourselves scarce, we all made sure to put a decent amount of distance between us and the bridge just as the law started gaining on us, queuing John to get ready.

With a simple pull of a trigger, Marston suddenly split the bridge in half as he shot the generous amount of dynamite he had placed on the side, sending lawmen flyin’ all over the place due to the thunderous impact.

Dutch let out a hearty laugh at the sight. “Oh, John! You are a genius!”

John mounted his own horse and joined our group, shaking his head. “Actually, it was Hosea’s idea. He figured you’d be comin’ this way. Thought we could help smoothen the ride.”

“And where is he?”

“Back at camp,” Marston replied. “Hosea and the others made it back early.”

Dutch grinned. “Then let’s not keep them waitin’ any longer.” He glanced over his shoulder, lookin’ back at the rest of us.

“Gentlemen! We made it!” A victorious guffaw escaped him.

“We goddamn made it!”

THIRTY MINUTES LATER

SHADY BELLE

Returning to camp like a group of esteemed heroes, Dutch, Eddie, and I hopped off our horses while the rest of the gang settled in, all of us tired but also filled with exhilaration thanks to the pile of cash now sittin’ in our pockets.

The plan admittedly went much better than I first expected, and despite the many fears I had goin’ into this heist, I couldn’t lie: my faith was well-placed this time.

It turned out Dutch actually knew what he was talkin’ about after all, and regardless of any disagreements the gang might’ve had with each other in the past, every single one of us owed Dutch our thanks. We was a whole lot richer now because of that man, and with the newfound wealth we just stole, we had a lotta opportunities waitin’ for us to seize them.

Heh. I guessed there was hope for us yet.

Yanking my bandana off my face, I fed my horse a quick treat and sauntered towards the mansion, only to find an elated Hosea walkin’ up to me.

The old man smiled proudly in my direction and patted me on the shoulder, glancing at the sacks of money now resting in our camp.

“Well done, Arthur,” Hosea praised with a friendly chuckle. “Well done. Dutch said you guys weren’t able to take everything in the bank, but this should still be more than enough.”

I returned the smile, beaming happily at him. “You think we’ll finally be able to leave?”

“Not to another country perhaps,” he answered, “but we should be able to look further beyond the horizon now. Lord knows I’ve had enough of this godforsaken swamp. It’ll be nice to settle down someplace else.”

“Absolutely.” I agreed.

Hosea brought his gaze to Eddie who was currently helping Pearson carry in some of the sacks. “And what about the boy? He make it out alright?”

I let out a sigh. “Yeah, I think so, but...he ain’t happy, Hosea. During the whole robbery, he just had this look of disgust in his eyes. Especially after the way he saw me beat the bank manager. I think he’s feelin’ a bit guilty.”

The old man nodded in understanding. “Eddie’s not used to this life like the rest of us, Arthur. You need to give him time to adjust. Let him adapt to our world. He’ll come around eventually. But I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. Eddie seems happy to be with you. As long as you’re around, he’ll stay strong.”

A question suddenly popped up in my mind.

“Hey, that reminds me, I’ve been meanin’ to ask -- back when we was talking to Dutch about letting Eddie in the gang, you compared him to Annabelle. And Bessie.”

Hosea paused. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that not the relationship between you two?”

“No, it is,” I corrected. “I was just wondering how you knew. Did Eddie tell you?”

The old man smirked. “Didn’t need to. I, ah...I saw the way you interacted with each other back at that gala. It was a dead giveaway.”

I chuckled, admittedly slightly embarrassed. “...Ah. I see.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Arthur,” Hosea reassured. “I know some of the fellas here have been pokin’ fun at you because of it, but truth be told, people like me, and Dutch, and Susan...we’re just happy to see you’ve finally moved on from Miss Gillis.”

A soft flutter filled my chest, and I bashfully rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

“Mary was a sweet girl,” he reminisced, “and the two of you made some wonderful memories during your time as a couple...but that’s all in the past. You and Eddie, on the other hand, have a future together. You have a chance to make something out of it. Though, that won’t happen if you allow him to continue down the path he’s currently on.”

I quirked a brow. “What d’you mean?”

Hosea gave me a sorrowful gaze, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

“...I know you were stuck in bed this past week, Arthur, but I’ve actually spoken to Eddie quite a bit since he first arrived, and I know about his past. I know Atticus Rose killed his entire family.”

“...Yeah,” I confirmed. “He’s the last one left.”

“And that ain’t easy,” Hosea empathized. “You know that. I know that. Hell, most of the people in this gang know that. But the thing that concerns me the most about Eddie is...he seems adamant to take revenge. He wants to make Atticus pay for what he’s done, and rightfully so. But you and I both know vengeance is a fool’s errand.”

“That it is.”

The old man switched to a more cautionary tone. “Eddie can be of use to us, Arthur. Not only is he a good shot, he’s also smart. We need that. But he needs you to help guide his strength in the right direction. Don’t let his desire for revenge consume him. Show him how to find peace in acceptance, and keep him safe. Can you do that?”

I gave Hosea a sincere look, peering at him from under the shadow cast by my hat.

“I intend to.”

He seemed to approve of that response. “Good. I’ve seen too many folks be killed as a result of their own actions, and I don’t know if I could watch the same thing happen to Eddie. ...But enough of that. I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure Dutch could use your help, and I’ve got matters of my own to attend to. Take care of yourself, Arthur. Things are getting rough out th--”

Zipping right past me and interrupting our conversation, a bullet suddenly implanted itself into Hosea’s forehead with a sharp bang, causing the man’s blood to splatter onto me as he collapsed to the ground.

“What the--?!” I breathed out, frantically darting my eyes around as Hosea fell into my arms.

I dropped the man out of shock and immediately dove behind one of the camp’s barricades as another bullet came flyin’ my way, causing me to suddenly notice the horde of strangers shootin’ at us from the woods.

“...Sh-Shit!” I cursed, whipping out my guns. “Everyone! Take cover!”

Changing into fight mode, the entire gang instantly dropped what they were doing and began shooting back as they scurried behind whatever cover they could find, all of us forgettin’ about the money we just robbed.

“What the hell is this shit?!” Williamson exclaimed, cocking his rifle. “Who are these people?!”

Javier poked his head out, firing aimlessly into the forest. “Is that the law?”

“No!” I yelled back. “They don’t look like lawmen!”

“Who then? O’Driscolls?”

Dutch jumped in, puttin’ an end to our speculation. “We will figure out who these bastards are later! For now, just shoot them!”

I finally regained a portion of the senses I lost from the initial shock and stared at Hosea’s body, suddenly feelin’ like my blood was boiling once his death sunk in.

“Aw, Hosea...!” I growled through gritted teeth. “They got Hosea, Dutch!”

A dark fire ignited in his eyes.

“Goddammit...!” He whispered, his voice abruptly exploding into a hoarse shout as he began gunning down as many people as he could.

“KILL those sons-of-bitches!”

Aiming directly at my head, one of the men shot the barricade I was hidin’ behind as I ducked outta the way, causing wood and dust to splinter everywhere before I fired straight back at them.

“Eddie!” I shouted over the commotion. “Are you alive?!”

A distant voice answered me.

“I’m right here!” The boy replied.

“Good! Keep it that way!”

Continuing to shoot at our unknown enemy, I desperately fought back with nothin’ but a flimsy wall shielding me and no more than twelve bullets to defend myself as they rained hell upon us, filling my cover with more and more holes.

I was currently in one of the worst positions to be in at the moment, and since I weren’t too far from the camp’s entrance, I had the biggest target painted on my back right now.

I was running low on ammo, and I had no idea how much longer this barricade would hold up. I’d have to move soon if I wanted to stay alive.

“Has anyone seen Jack?!” John exclaimed. “If any of those assholes laid a finger on him, I swear I’ll kill them all!”

Charles fired his shotgun. “Christ...where did they even come from? How many of them are there?!”

“None once we’re done with them!” Dutch replied.

Pulling the trigger on my gun, I shot a few more bullets in their direction and put down a number of men, only to hear an empty click once I reached the end.

Shit! I couldn’t run out of ammo. Not now.

Holstering that revolver, I relied on the few remaining shots in my other one as I hurriedly maneuvered my way around the camp, dodging the oncoming fire and rolling into safety.

By now, there was bullets of all types soaring through the air in about eight different directions as they whistled past my ears, causing me to hear a sharp, ringing noise while I continued to fight.

All around me, I could see nothin’ but corpses that had been shot to hell, dirt and blood flyin’ all over the place due to the impact, gun-smoke clouding the air, and a seemingly endless army of enemies pouring out the woods. It was hell on Earth.

“Arthur!” Eddie called out. “Watch out!”

Glancing to my side, I spotted a sniper not too far away from me and managed to dodge their attack just in time as Eddie put his own bullet in the man’s head, leading his body to jolt backwards.

The pianist ran over to my location once the sniper was down, his hands clinging onto his Schofield for dear life as he slid next to me.

“You okay?” I asked him. Eddie nodded, albeit without confidence.

“For now. Jesus -- how did we not see them coming? There’s so many of them!”

“Just focus on killing ‘em! We’ll sort all this out afterwards!”

Lending me his other revolver, Eddie peeked over the top of the barricade and shot a few men who had gotten too close to the camp, getting back down just as another bullet came bolting in his direction.

The crowd of enemies seemed to be thinning out by now, and as far as I was aware, no one else had gotten killed...but even then, we were in deep shit.

We had just lost one of our best men -- a man who was like a father to me -- and now that Hosea was gone, I had no idea how Dutch was gonna cope with this.

It felt like I had just watched a flame be extinguished, and I doubted it was gonna get any easier from here on out. The gang’s lieutenant was dead, our camp was in ruins, and worst of all, we had no idea who was responsible.

Jesus. What a goddamned mess this was.

Gunning down what appeared to be the last man, Dutch took a moment to observe our surroundings as a deathly silence loomed over us following the end of the fight, our heavy breaths being the only audible sound right now.

We didn’t hear anything else. There were no movements, no footsteps, no gunfire...nothing. Did we make it? Had we truly won...? It certainly didn’t feel like a victory.

Slowly rising from cover, Eddie and I gradually stood up from the ground along with the rest of the gang as we came outta hiding, only to see what had become of our home.

There were countless bodies littering the entire property, the front of the mansion was covered in bullet holes, Hosea lay motionless in a cluster of red grass, and some of our horses had even been killed too. It looked like somethin’ straight out of a nightmare, and I mentally yelled at myself to snap out of it...but I knew this weren’t no dream.

This was reality.

And it was time for us to wake up.

Eddie let out a shaky breath, his eyes widened with shock and despair. “Is...is it over...?”

I stared blankly into the trees, suddenly feelin’ so lost and alone.

“I think so,” I murmured. “I...I dunno.”

Countering our morose mood, Dutch stormed over and took a look at Hosea’s corpse for himself, his jaw clenching in rage and heartbreak once he saw that his brother was indeed gone.

The man appeared more broken than I had ever seen in my life, and the longer he gazed hopelessly around the camp, unsure of what to do with himself...the more I feared some part of Dutch may’ve died with Hosea too. It was clear that somethin’ in him had snapped, and for the first time ever, I weren’t sure if I could mend it.

My God...what the hell was happening?

Before we could mourn any further however, a soft rustle emitted from the woods in front of us, causing everyone to perk their heads up in curiosity.

All our hands were instantly resting on our guns’ grips, and it looked like a group of people was headin’ our way...but we still couldn’t tell who they were. They didn’t wear the uniform of the law, and they didn’t resemble O’Driscolls either. In fact, I had never seen anyone like these fools. ...So just who the hell were they, exactly?

Answering my question, a familiar face suddenly emerged from the shadows, giving me a sense of dread and fear I hadn’t felt in ages.

The stranger was approaching our gang with a child in tow as his friends followed behind -- and the closer they got to our camp’s entrance, the more I started to recognize them.

Oh, shit. This was the last thing we needed.

Rodrick Kingsley gave me a malicious grin as he let out a low chuckle, the barrel of his gun pressed directly against the back of Jack’s head.

“...Remember me, sunshine?”

John instantly flew into a rage at the sight of his son, and he wasted no time in running towards him.

“Jack!”

Rodrick strengthened his hold on the gun, warning Marston to stay back.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you, cowboy.”

John came to an abrupt halt, his eyes nailed onto Jack as the boy called for help.

“Pa...!” The child exclaimed. “I’m...I’m scared!”

“I know, Jack,” Marston comforted. “I know. But it’s gonna be alright. We’re gonna get you back! I won’t let these people hurt you! It’s going to be alright.”

A third, unknown voice stepped in the conversation.

“Enough, Rodrick.”

Calmly approaching the front of the group, an older man came sauntering out of the gun-smoke as he took a position in the middle, his stern, blue eyes never leaving Dutch.

The man appeared to be in his late forties and had a groomed, graying beard covering half of the wishbone-shaped scar on his right cheek, and his hair was hidden beneath a Gaucho hat.

He wore a chocolate, leather duster over a gray vest and red shirt, and had a pair of sleek riding boots covering his neat pants.

This man definitely looked like he could be their leader. He carried a slightly regal nature to him, and had the temperament of someone who’d rather kill than forgive. Despite the cold-blooded impression he made though, there was also something...almost fatherly about him. Like a strange sense of reason and wisdom that he somehow managed to preserve over the years. Similar to the way Hosea was...only minus the compassion.

Dutch steadily walked up to the man with his hands near his holsters as both our gangs stared each other down, silently demanding answers with a simple glare.

He tried to keep his tone as tame as possible.

“...Who...are you?”

The other man examined Dutch for a minute and looked him back in the eye, not even blinking once as he promptly uttered a response.

“Atticus,” the man replied. “Atticus Rose.”

[pierregasly]

Hey presley, how you doin'? i wanna do a request to! i would do it in spanish because, yea i need to practice my spanish in somewhere lol: Podrias hacer por favor una historia sobre JEV and André algo como un SpyAu! o algo por el estilo? Gracias por tus fics que son geniales ♥

Gracias! Here you go, I wrote it all up for you. I hope it’s not too long for your liking? It’s not my best work :( Anyone can feel free to request anything! This is also posted here on ao3. Hope you like it:

__________________________

          Andre’s lips always taste like bullets. It is mixed with the stiff scent of his cologne and, of course, a lingering aftertaste of gunpowder or sweat. But it is strange that despite everything that occurs, he always stays the same. A part of him wishes that he could match that type of consistency. JEV understands he has a tendency to overthink things, not just his actions, but it is his overwhelming sense to save the lives everyone around him. These are the thoughts that paint him when the filth of the day is stripped from himself and he lies on the bed. This time, it occurs for him while Andre is away in the shower and JEV is quietly humming underneath his breath as he watches the ceiling.  

         The mattress he is laying on squeaks beneath him with every shift of his weight, there isn’t any coffee and he despises the Russian cold. He’s usually been quite good with timezones, but for now, his eyes are wide and alert with every footfall in the narrow hallway. JEV hears the water shut off and rolls over onto his side to make room. A few minutes later, Andre emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist. Amused, JEV leans on his elbow and passes an almost flirtatious grin.

         “Finished?”, he mutters, shivering at a cold chill that gusts from underneath the crack in the wooden door.

         Andre smirks smally, “да.” He moves to take a shirt from his bag on the floor. “You need to work on your Russian, моя любовь,” he tugs it over his head. JEV knows the language plenty well, but it is his French accent that digs out beneath every word

         “Why?”, he raises an eyebrow, “I am never sent out to mingle anyways.”

         Andre follows him from the corner of his eye for a moment, disregarding his belongings and stepping towards the bed. Cheap motel, Di Grassi, JEV thinks disdainfully. The frigid weather nips at his nose and Andre is surprisingly warm to the touch when he reaches to place his hands on either side of his shoulder. JEV enjoys this, small moments with only eye contact to sustain the long occasions they are otherwise apart. Andre touches his face with his fingertips, leaning over and his lips brush his shortly, “But it’s safer.” He pulls away and JEV lets out a whimper of annoyance. He digs into the bag for a second and tosses a pair of pants over. “Put some pants on,” Andre suggests, “You’re going to freeze to death and then I’ll have no one.”

         JEV pauses briefly and these words cause him to think more than he believes they were supposed to. Then I’ll have no one. He himself feels that he could’ve said the same. “You’ll have Lucas still,” he mumbles before crawling back underneath the sheets.

         “I suppose,” Andre shifts in besides him and his face is warm against the back of his neck as he tosses an arm over his waist. “But then again,” and his breath brings a heat to his spirit, “He’s not you, милая.”

         It was dangerous of them, to do with each other this way. JEV had promised himself he wouldn’t fall too deeply into things this time, a second chance. He only hopes Antonio will bring the equipment quick enough tomorrow. He falls asleep frozen, exhausted, with Andre’s breathing to lull him into sleep. He ponders:

         Life is too short, moments such as these too rare.

         It is a warm belief.

____________________________

         The both of them get three hours of sleep before Antonio barges into the room, shuts the curtains and flicks on the light. Immediately, Andre shoots upright, stretching to the bedside table for his weapon.

         “Chill!”, Antonio raises both of his arms defensively and Andre has to blink momentarily before setting it back on the table. JEV rubs his eyes, he hadn’t noticed he was gripping Andre’s upper arm until Antonio raised a brow at them. “You guys didn’t fuck did you?”, he grins and pressing his elbow down on the bed, releasing the pressure as the olden springs scrape together. “You would’ve blown our cover with your noises,” he rolls his eyes. Embarrassed, JEV pulls his hand away and places them into his lap.

         “Shut up, de Costa,” Andre growls, slipping out of the bed into the chill of the four am morning air. “You couldn’t of knocked?”, he whispered, shutting the crack in the drapes.

         “Nope,” he draws it out and then smiles cheekily. Antonio’s attention shifts to JEV and his brows arch high on his forehead once again, “Where is your gun?”

         JEV doesn’t want to talk about his last mission. There is a brief minute where his throat closes and his hands begin to quiver. There is an image that comes with this; sometimes he peers under his nails and he still believes that there is blood caked in the cracks. Andre notices this moment of discomfort and chimes in. “Skills testing,” he interrupts before changing the subject, “Di Grassi asked for it.”

          In actuality, Di Grassi asked for my gun, six months of deskwork and almost my certification.

         Antonio has a short attention span and loses interest soon after not receiving a reply. “Why the porra is it so cold?”, he moans, complaining and turning around the undo the technology onto the corner desk.

         “Ask Di Grassi to assign us to Spain next time,” JEV mutters, not like we have any choice. “Mortara and Engel are in Italy, Piquet in Nicaragua, Prost and Buemi in South Africa…”, he drones as though nobody cares.

         “We always get the winter,” Andre chorals in good humor, “Sweden, Finland, D.C. and now Moscow? Even Frijins and Bird are in Lisbon for Christ’s sake!” A momentary lapse of uncomfortable silence transform the air. It feels soft on his cheeks, the cold, as though it were preparing himself for something. Antonio respites amidst that reticence and his back remains turned. An audible sigh leaves him. “Da Costa?”, Andre edges carefully, glancing to JEV with a hint of confusion in his eye. Neither of them approach and the normal, easy-going air has left the atmosphere.

         “Antonio?”, JEV stiffens, “What is it?”

         They can practically hear the gears in his head shifting. “I heard only just before I arrived,” he started quietly.

         JEV’s heart race kicks up, spilling messily into his breath. “Heard what?”, he pushes.

         “There was a problem in Lisbon.”

         “What kind of problem?”

         “Robin Frijins is dead.”

         The words don’t hit him immediately. Andre’s eyes fall to him but JEV cannot do anything for stare at an empty corner of the room where the carpet is molding. He had just seen him, just before the plane to Russia, Robin had slapped his back and congratulated him on the end of his detention in office buildings. It steals the breath straight from his lungs and he suddenly feels extremely sick. JEV only wishes that the information would’ve left him with at least one lung with which to inhale with.

         “That’s not the end of it,” Antonio finally wheels around to face them and his eyes are dull beads bleeding out from their absence of light or excitement.

         Andre swallows, sitting calmly on the edge of the bed. “What-what do you mean?”, his voice breaks and JEV can hear the sound of him chewing on his inner cheek to contain himself.

         Antonio sighs, “Bird is missing.”

         JEV sucks in a pulse of air and shifts his focus from his absent stares to a small crack in the window where the night sky folds out over the horizon. “Why the hell weren’t we notified?”, Andre growls, his jaw moving upwards.

         “We only found out an hour ago. They missed their reconnaissent, Di Grassi sent Heidfeld to check and…”, he alters his gaze away nervously biting on his lip.

         JEV doesn’t want to imagine what that was like for Nick to see. But he remembers Lynn leaving his certification on Di Grassi’s table all those months ago. Perhaps it is more haunting than the failed mission, the lifeless gaze and Alex’s disheveled appearance. It was standing in that hallway with the memories of a phantom’s last breath in his arms. Blue lips, stiff eyes and cold hands at their sides. Sam once mentioned to him that Alex still wears his ring even after everything had happened. Maybe I’m not ready for field work again, JEV muses.

         “Why are we here then?”, Andre demands, his tone taking a sharp tone that is only occasionally heard. “We should be out there looking for him,” Antonio steals a step away from him cautiously and deviates the subject even though JEV can see that his hands are visibly shaking.

         “Come on,” Antonio begins to set up the pieces of two microphones together on the table, clearing his throat, “You two need to get ready.”

         With an empty gaze, both JEV and Andre peer to each other. There is a hint of clarity in how their eyes branch together. His soul shows itself itself to the sun, shows to the rain. There isn’t anything covering his open, disillusioned thoughts. There is a pale streak of early morning light that shines through muffled curtain. He can’t help it then, but he thinks of Robin. He hates not the loss, but the remembering most of all.

         Slowly, Andre nods in confirmation and broadens his stance once again. “Okay,” he sighs.

         JEV only studied the blue tint of light fade father away from Robin…

________________________

         Andre maintains a cautious air around him until they get into the car and Antonio is absent. He nudges his shoulder gently with his own, “You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?”

         JEV peels his eyes down to the hands in his lap. He flips them over and over again but still there isn’t any blood underneath the nails as he imagines there should be. “Which one?”, he grumbles.

         “The first one,” Andre replies.

         “No.”

         “Don’t lie to me, please.”

         “Fine,” JEV shifts uncomfortably in his suit, “I am.”

         Andre exhales, reaching over discretely and sliding a hand over his knee. JEV looks to it, he should tell him to stop that, he could buck it off. But he doesn’t. It fills him with an odd sense of comfort as he leans to put his hand over the interaction. “You’ve heard this a lot, but it was not your fault and you know that, right?”, his tone begs him to look to his face but JEV doesn’t.

         “I know,” and he sounds tired like he has aged a century in only two months.

         “When’s your next meeting with your therapist?”

         “I haven’t scheduled it,” he leans his head on his elbow, his forehead meeting the glass of the vehicle.

         “Why?”

         “I didn’t know when I would be coming back. Or if…”, to not upset Andre he hushes to a stop but the magnitude is enough.

         Andre’s grip on his knee tightens and JEV sees the carved veins of his wrist pop out under the tanned flesh. “Don’t say that,” he hisses, “Don’t ever say that, JEV.”

         My last partner was supposed to get married in a month.

         Eventually, in a small movement, JEV moves his head up and their eyes meet. It is calm, serene almost, witnessing the little sun behind his shadowed eyes suddenly burst into life. “J’aime,” he murmurs discreetly into his hair.

         Andre grins and then removes his hand from his thigh. The reply of, “Moi aussi,” blends into the scenery as the car begins to move.

         JEV wonders where Mitch is right now. He hopes Alex knows that he is sorry.

________________________

         “Caralho sagrado! Did someone just get shot?!”

         “You’re not helping, Antonio!”, Andre objects angrily, ducking his head with a shove to JEV’s back as they pass into a long hallway.

         “Seriously, are you guys okay?!“

         JEV has learned to expect the unexpected in this job. He hadn’t imagined he’d be losing his hair and thining up, but he has through these years. It’s strange that he peers into the mirror and finds that he recognizes himself less and less with everyday. It was a simple mission: Andre sweet talks himself with a glass of champagne rolling lazily in his hand into a group of the Russian political elite. Dmitri Raskolnikov (the last name was actually Nico’s idea).

         “Why the hell do I get to be called Александр?”, JEV groaned a week earlier, leaning back in his chair, “That’s a boring name.”

         Nico scoffs, “Are you really going to be picky about your alias? ”

         Robin had bumped JEV’s shoulder playfully behind him, “What are you talking about? He is always picky! Why do you think he never drinks the coffee here?”

         Robin was alive then.

         JEV’s mouth is dry and his hands stiff in front of him as he sprints. It’s a long marble hallway, little reflections of the tile glisten of the ceiling. If, perhaps, he wasn’t being shot at, then he could’ve thought that it was beautiful. He sweats beneath the collar of his suit and his fingers are beginning to quake. The footsteps and shouts follow them with a peculiar whizz of bullets dashing into the stone. Suddenly, hands wrap over the back of his neckline, tugging him backwards. JEV chokes, stumbling backwards and reaching for his throat.

         “Be quiet,” Andre demands, ripping him into an open doorway along the hallway. The footsteps still beat down in the hall towards them. The only thing JEV thinks un-ironically is: Блядь. Andre’s hand clasps over his mouth, tugging him into his chest. “I have another pistol on my calf,” he whispers, “Reach down and get it.”

         JEV realizes it is against the rules, considering he doesn’t even have him own weapon with him at the moment. He nods and he Andre’s frantic heartbeat beats through his chest to his skin. Swallowing, he unloops himself, crouching down in the shadowed room. JEV reaches his hand up his pant leg out of the holster. At that precise moment, the shouting picks up again and a stray bullet splinters the wooden frame of the doorway. JEV throws an arm over Andre, ducking his head at the splinters fraying into his hair.

         “Andre!”, JEV shouts, a white noise ringing in his eardrums. His eyes press shut, his hand rubbing over the side of his hand. Baise, that hurt.

         “JEV, what is going on?!”, Antonio’s voice shatters in his earpiece.

         Andre groans underneath him, his back folded from the ceiling and his body hunched. “Andre?”, JEV swallows thickly, blinking his eyes through the dust and caressing a hand over their spine. At this slight contact, they crumple, sliding to the floor with his head in between his knees. He almost appears like a small child crying out. JEV lowers himself, meeting both of his hands and planting them onto his shoulders. “Please,” he quivers, prodding him, “Talk to me.” A finger taps underneath their chin, lifts his attention to his eyes. His dark pupils are wide, blown and this skin is stiff with a certain shock. JEV’s attention falls to their shoulder, “Why are you holding yourself? Show me.” Hesitantly, eyes squinting, Andre removes his hand from underneath his waistcoat. JEV has experienced his world crumpling quite a few times. He felt it when he watched Mitch’s eyes fade, when he saw Alex in that long hallway, and now as he kneels on the ground beside Andre. “What is that on your hand?”, he trembles, everything slowing.

         Andre peers into his eyes and it is perhaps the only time he has ever seemed afraid.

         JEV knows then what it is.

         It’s blood.

____________________________

         Less than thirty minutes ago, JEV had been able to sneak himself out of the eye’s view into the backroom at the top of the stairs, stripped the hard drive and hidden it into his coat pocket as though it never had happened.

         “Do you have it?”, Antonio questioned quietly.

         “Yes,” JEV whispers, searching both ways. There must have been a silent alarm because seconds later he is on his knees with a pistol to his skull. The cold metal stabs into the outage of his neck. He is of few who doesn’t believe it’s cowardly to close your eyes when you believe you are going to die. If he closes his eyes, he could imagine anything he pleases: he chooses what he sees last. That’s what he envisions, a two story house with green fields and a setting sun. There is a sensation of ardor like no other and Andre is dressed up in these colors, all of these hues as though they were specifically for him and him alone. The gunfire goes off and JEV laments: I must be dead. Something thumps to the ground.

         “JEV!”, a voice hollers in the space.

         He parts his eyes and Andre is standing above looking into him. “Andre?”, he edges, nictating widely.

         “We don’t have much time,” he grabs the pads of his shoulders and tugs him onto his feet, “We have to run.” The confidence in his voice causes JEV nod and reach for his hand.

         This is my confession.

         I am dark.

         And you will always find those lighter pieces of me.

         All of my pieces.

         Just for you.

         Andre moans again and JEV snaps back to his attention. “Lotterer has been hit,” he stammers and his eyes spy about wildly.

         “Is he–is he…”

         “No,” JEV interrupts and Andre’s eyes are slits, his head reclined back and his features tight.

         “Plan B–”

         “No,” JEV snaps and Andre smirks slightly, a bit of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “We have to get him out of here,” he barks.

         “You have a mission.”

         “Andre has a life!”, he shouts frantically, his face heating and rising with every drip of energy. JEV can’t stand the thought of coffins, or funerals. He’s lost too many in his years, too many. For a moment, Robin snaps into his mind but he quickly shakes it away. “I can’t–”, he can hear the voices approaching, “We can’t lose another.”

         There is a recess as if all of the activity in the world as ceased. A breath, “Then do your job.”

         JEV’s fist pounds into the floor and he rubs his face roughly. “JEV…”, Andre whimpers and he immediately spins towards him.

         “Yes?”, he uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away the blood. “Just keep pressing there,” he directs his hand to the wound in his collar.

         “Take this.”

         Something chilled, hard and metal drops into his hand. It takes JEV a second to want to look away from Andre’s face. “You’ll need this,” he beams softly and the light bulb in the chandelier flickers and wanes like a candle across the sweaty grime of his face. It’s a pistol. It’s his pistol. “Remind us all of why you deserve this,” he nods.

         “Andre–”

         “Go,” he demands, shooing him away, “Go save us.”

         Andre always tastes like bullets.

         A ticking time bomb.

         The both of them are fumbling to cut the right wires.

         JEV slides along the tile, scampering at the sting of bullets erupting behind him. One crumbles the marble above his head. “Which way?”, he huffs, the adrenaline coursing through his veins causing him to be suddenly aware of everything in his surroundings.

         “Right. At the end you’ll get to the staircase.”

         It’s oddly quiet at this end.

         Andre once told him: “I’m not a marrying man.”

         JEV had believed the same thing. But for now, as he dodges life and death for the first time in six months, he believes that his hand looks rather naked without a gold band on his left finger. There is a box on the door. “What is the code?”, he frantics, panning over his shoulder and then back again

         “1-9-1-8.”

         Ironic and tragic.

         He punches in the code with a shaking finger and the door buzzes.

         “Now, go up the stairs and Lopez–”

         JEV’s hand tugs open the door. But then something makes him pause on the first step. Andre. “No,” he strides away, the door crashed shut behind.

         “Vergne, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

         “I’m not leaving Andre,” he purses his lips. The cuff of his sleeve is ripped, the collar of his shirt is patent at the neck. “I am not losing another person,” the ear piece irritates him and he contemplates taking it out as he passes back the way that he had come through a maze of marble hallways and doors. His heartbeat drums in his ears.

         “Listen to me,” and it causes JEV to stop, his hand catching on the wall to steady himself. “You can’t save everyone,” and those eyes, they are there glaring into his, lifeless and dull. “You’re risking your life, your risking the life of others. He isn’t Mitch, JEV, Andre isn’t Mitch. You didn’t know what was going to happen that day. No one of us did. Robin was on that mission, Bruno was there too, you aren’t the only person at fault,” a sting pierces into his core, prodding at the very sense of who it is he is.

         “Robin is dead. Bruno retired. I am all that is left,” his throat closes.

         A slow draw of air arrives from the other end. “Come home,” and the last sentence shatters his illusion.

         His bones ease together. “Have you ever seen someone become more and more beautiful everytime that you saw that them?”

         “Where are you going with this?”

         “You can’t live without them.“ He reaches towards his ear, “I can’t live without him.” He tugs out the earpiece, “I can’t make the same mistake I did before. I’m sorry.” And, in the end, not a part of him feels guilty.

         Andre’s eyes are closed when he arrives again. JEV gasps, sliding to the ground and his arm folds underneath his arms. “Can you stand?”, he whispers, struggling to lift his weight up. The tufts of his brown hair tickle up underneath his chin. “You’re going to be okay, Andre,” he ushers him out of the doorway.

         “JEV…”, he stumbles at a corner, fighting to regain his balance.

         “We are almost there,” JEV soothes, rubbing circles into his back.

         “I need to ask you something.”

         “Please,” he begs, “Don’t speak.”

         “No,” Andre frowns, his mouth twisting firmly in pain, “I have to ask you.”

         “What?”, the door is just a few meters away now.

         “Will you marry me one day?”

         JEV doubletakes and his body freezes involuntarily. The image is there once again, the nature and the sun. Everything that makes the world so beautiful in the end. His future plays like a spell in the back of his mind. He shakes it off and continues, “Why are you asking right now?”

         “Just in case.”

         “You’re not going to die,” JEV darts, his hand shifting over the keypad and the door closes behind them.

         “Please,” his whimpers. His voice is so tiny under his shoulder as he drags him up the staircase.

         “Lopez is waiting with the helicopter.”

         “Jean-Eric.”

         The breath catches in his throat. A ball of matted words clinging to his tongue. “I-”, he swallows, “I will. I’ll marry you one day.”

         Andre chuckles lightly, his head tipping forward and his feet dragging, catching on the edges of the steps. “I knew you would,” he simpers. Their eyes close just before they reach the roof, his body crumpling.

         “Andre? Andre! Hold on, love, just hold on for me.”

______________________________

         JEV hates hospitals. He despises the way that they smell, the sensory they give him. But he’s sitting beside Andre on a bed as they pick and prod at his wound. Because he is too nice, Andre doesn’t snap, he only digs his nails into the palm of JEV’s hand to contain the pain. In a simple moment of clarity, he turns to him, his attention blinking faintly into his.

         “Do you still want to get married one day?”

         The doctor holds back a laugh, “Where do you guys work?”

         JEV peers down at his clothing: his torn suit and haggard appearance. A headache throbs deeply behind his brow and bags weight heavily on his cheeks. The clock on the wall ticks past five in the morning and his vision blurs as his eyes drip for the need of sleep. “We’re lawyers,” he lies.

         Andre raises a curious brow and his face is pale, pallid in the fluorescent lighting. “Yes,” he confirms, nodding slowly, “We are lawyers.”

         The Doctor hums. “You do a lot of shooting as lawyers?”

         “Of course,” JEV chimes.

         “Absolutely.“

         The curtain around them shuffles and Heidfeld’s head peers through the parting, catching everyone’s attention. “Sorry to interrupt,” he ruffles his blonde hair with his hand and glares to JEV. “Di Grassi wants to see you.”

         Oh boy.

________________________________

         JEV would prefer if he could go back to the hospital with Andre’s kisses on his forehead and crawl in beside him after a long shower. The disgust is heavy upon his wretched soul. Antonio is exiting the office as he enters. There is a still moment of tension and contact before he glances to the ground and brushes past him in the doorway. Lucas stands with his head down staring at a stack of papers and he glances up at the knock gently rapping at the frame. But he doesn’t smile. He only gestures to the chair in front of his desk with a low, unruly gaze. JEV sits, his long limbs crouching and knocking together in the tiny office space.

         “You disobeyed the plan,” Lucas stiffs out. The only thing JEV notices is that they forgot to brush their hair that morning.

         JEV leans back in the chair, “I know.”

         “You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” Lucas’s vision narrows, his shadowed eyes staring out at him from behind his desk.

         “I know.”

         “You sacrificed not only your team members for yourself or your own personal agenda.”

         He rises heatedly, “But–”

         “But,” Lucas lingers, his fingers unlacing from in front of him. “You did get the hard drive, and you saved your partner successfully with a clear head.” Lucas is the type of man to draw in dramatics, the theater type nearly.

         “And…”

         He squints and then reaches into his desk drawer. A leather badge glistens the light. “You can have your certification and your gun back.” JEV blinks blankly for a moment before reaching for it. Sliding it across the table closer towards himself and peering around it. Just the same as it was before, cracked, fraying from years of work and the weapon with his fingerprints planted all over it.

         “What are we doing to get Sam back?”

         Lucas recesses, licking at his lips in thought. “Da Costa told me you want somewhere warmer?”, he raises a brow.

         JEV shrugs, “Sure.”

         There is a pause. “How do you feel about Portugal?”

         “Why Portugal?”

         Lucas smiles sadly, “So you can murder the sons of bitches who took Sam Bird.”

         Andre told him something before he had left the hospital in between swears of agony and broken sentences:

         “Not everything is terrible in the end, isn’t it? The world isn’t so frightening after all.”

         JEV had shut his eyes and leaned his head on his shoulder.

         Especially with you, love. Especially with you.

[deadfractals]

2

2: What is their favorite memory?

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaake up!”

“Five more minutes... I’m havin’ the dream about th’ hot blonde twins again...”

“The one where they’re both girls or one’s a guy?”

“Does it matter? Fuggoff, October.” Rory insists, pulling the blanket of his bunk up over his head. “Noooo, come back... ugh. Fuckin.” He turns, squints against the sunlight filtering through the back window of the van, squirming his way out from underneath the top bunk he’d built mere months prior. “Okay, I’m up. What’s goin’ on?” He fixes October with a tired expression.

“We’re playing early today.”

“It’s hot...”

“Very good, RJ, it is, in fact, about 107 degrees out here and we’re on blacktop.”

“I’m getting back in bed-” He’s snagged by the back of his boxers and dragged back out of the van as he tries to retreat, yelping and groaning when October sits him back on the pavement. “You guys can find a different drummer! A drummer who isn’t sleepin’ off Warped Prom.”

“Oh, is that why you’ve got a corsage on your dick?”

“Hm? oh.” Rory takes a moment to unclip the squished up flowers and dig his beanie out of the blankets, pulling it on over a messy mullet. “There.”

“Get dressed, dipshit, we ain’t finding another drummer and you’re gettin’ on my last nerve.” The older vampire insists, graphic tee already soaked with what’s certainly bottled water to simulate ‘sweat’ from hours of setup for the show. “Come on, clothes on.”

“Alright, alright, fuck.” It doesn’t take long for Rory to turn up again, dressed for the day with his drumsticks tucked into the back pocket of his shorts, October slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Was waiting for me that long so hard?”

“I longed for your presence every second you were gone.” October declares dramatically, swatting him good-naturedly on the back. “And now that you’re here, I can’t imagine why. Come on, man, we’re on in like, 20.” Rory rolls his eyes, waving the rest of the band to follow along to the little side stage they’ve been sequestered to.

----------

“DID YOU SEE THE LOOK ON HIS FACE THOUGH, HE WAS LIKE ‘you can’t be in here this is for bands only’ AND RORY WAS LIKE ‘but I am in a band I’m in Porphyria’ AND HE WAS  LIKE ‘well i’ve never heard of you’ AND THEN I WAS LIKE BAM! RIGHT IN THE FUCKIN JAW MAN! Nobody gives my boys shit but me.” October’s laughing, waving a bottle of cheap vodka animatedly and tuning his guitar around the little firepit they’ve built beside the van. Tomorrow, they’ll be driving again, in thousand degree weather with no AC, agitated and hot even as vampires, at each other’s throats, like always, but tonight, they’re friends, as they always have been.

The moon beams down at them, October’s glasses perched high on his nose and hair a mess of curls, Calem and Duke passing beers around the circle from the coolers they’re perched on. They’re all barely dressed, shirts and jeans shed for the comfort of swim trunks or boxers and the peace of singing along to whatever their frontman chooses to pluck out. Yes, of course he knows that tomorrow, they’ll be fighting, October will be high, Rory will be high, and Warped 2003 will continue as it has for the entire run. But for now, for tonight, with only liquor in their systems, and the comfortable sound of laughter and acoustic guitar, they’ll be friends. Best friends. And as October slings an arm around his shoulders and Calem throws him a beer, Rory reasons he can take ‘nights like tonight’ as they come and hold on to them fondly. He examines the beer cap in his palm, and turns it over slowly.

-----

“Ay Kirby! Mind slidin’ me that glass?” Rory calls, catching it as it comes down the bar. He adjusts the collar of his jacket carefully, straightening a handful of pins before pausing on one, thumbing the flattened edges of a beer cap- ‘07/13/03′ written in smudged marker on the inside, sealed with epoxy and a chunk of a band pass beneath it. He smiles. Nights like that were rare, still are, but there’s a fondness for them even still.

[mikenips]

Together Now

Fuck.  People better start showin’ up soon.  Ate the tab too early.  Already did my Johnny Thunders makeup.  Shirt with a missing sleeve Dylan tore off.  And the classic shredded denims around my waist.  Even wore a dog collar this time.  Jake better have been serious about gettin’ people to dress up.  Hope he was able to find one of those oversized greeting cards.  Went to three places and couldn’t find one for Brendan.  Even rearended someone in the process.  Some Vietnam vet that didn’t even bother to take the cig outta his mouth while gettin’ my info.  That’s what I need to calm these nerves.  A cig.  Bought a second pouch in case I start chiefin’ ‘em.  That’s how the acid goes.

Take a shot of etizolam.  Half dose.  Don’t wanna kill the trip.  But definitely need to slow it down.  Would’ve been fine if I had waited another hour.  But wanted to peak during Brendan’s last Toeheads set before dippin’ for the Navy in Rhode Island.

Blink and the living room is startin’ to fill with bodies.  Jake’s orange wool hat clashin’ with his costume.  “Brendan isn’t here yet is he?”

“Nah.”

“Cool.  Pass around this poster board.  Have everyone sign a goodbye card for him.  Couldn’t find a real card.  So we’ll fold it in half.  You got any good photos of him?”

Tear the one off the wall.  Stimmed out in the cig room at the end of Summerfest.  Tape it to the center.  Not a bad turn out so far.  For a show thrown together in a couple days.  Luckily Wednesday is my off day at work.  Devil’s Night.  Fifteen minutes after start time.  Hour after load in was supposed to be.  Jake never did clarify what time music was gonna start.  Just asked to use Belmont for the occasion.

“We’re on first right?”  Chuck says from the front door behind me.

“Yeah.  Go ahead up and you can start settin’ up.”

Jake hides the card in the coves upstairs where 208’s gear is already tucked away.  KQ adjusts Jordan’s kit.  While Owen and Ben plug in amps.  Chuck sets a pumpkin on the ground.  “PHARMA” scrawled over the front in Sharpie.  A large pill bottle with the label torn off next to it.  They dip for the front porch for a preshow cig.  Cig room already hotboxed by Dee and everyone at Ham House.  They do this shit everytime.  Just need to step in for a minute.  And the second hand smoke smothers the urge for the cig you just rolled up.

Dylan is on the front porch with a sheet over his head.  Makin’ everyone guess who the ghost is.  Drew and Tina drinkin’ Buzzballs in the kitchen.  X’s on their foreheads.  “They taste like a flat Four Loko.  Not good.  But named appropriately.”  Pop the empties on the shelf in the kitchen with the memorabilia from after parties and other sets here.  Glad people actually wore their costumes.

Everybody’s here and the benzos are makin’ the night extra surreal.  Like this night is somethin’ from a dream we all avoided sleepin’ through.  The King of the Scene arrives.  Different pair than his normal octagon sunglasses over his eyes.  Stroh’s already cracked as he walks in.  Peter’s upstairs testin’ the projector setup.  His hazy visuals on the ceiling and the Peanuts sheets on my mattress propped against the wall.  Time to uncork the liter and a half wine bottle.

The feedback whistles from Owen’s cranked amp upstairs.  Whistlin’ everyone into the dark bedroom.  The neighbors only complain about the noise when the hardcore bands play.  So tonight might not be their favorite show.  But after this Belmont is closin’ for the season.  Gotta clean the bathtub for my landlord’s property inspection next month.  Can’t believe I’ve been here for two years now.  And averaged a show a month this past year.  Couldn’t pick a better closin’ ceremony the King’s departure.

The crowd stands anxiously against the wall as Pharma plows through their first song.  Chuck pacin’ around the room with mic in hand.  Scoops the pumpkin from the ground as KQ beats the sticks together.  One two three.  And on the fourth the orange splinters on the blue carpet.  Tyriq shoves Joey mid kick as Chuck’s screams clip the speaker.  Everyone’s flesh collides.  Oozes against each other before slidin’ off the sweat.  No amount of AC or open windows able to stop the humidity of body friction.  Bones crack and disintegrate to the marrow of our lives.  Rail the line and jump in.  Bottle in hand.  Joey’s skull makin’ contact with the base.  Spewin’ a geyser onto the wall from the palm of my hand.

The red wine paints streaks on the white drywall that still stands defiantly against our chaos.  Drops run down at a fraction the speed of Owen’s blurred hand makin’ the strings wail.  And in ten minutes, the masochistic treatment of our eardrums unfortunately ends.  Light flicks on.  Showin’ a mess of pumpkin guts.  Seeds.  And capsules of an unknown drug woven into the carpet by our feet.  When did that shit burst?  “Nips, you want me to clean this up at the end of the night?”  Chuck pants.  Red in the face.

“Nah man.  It really ties the bedroom together.”

He smiles as Kyle drags his amp from the cove for their set.  Shelby adjusting the kit.  Walks away as Jake towers into the room.  Emptyin’ a Stroh’s into himself.  “Thanks for askin’ us to play Jake.  Super stoked to get to play a show with Toeheads.”

“Man.  Thanks for comin’ here from Florida.”

“Well thanks for acceptin’ us into this.  We didn’t know anybody here when we moved out here.  But you all made us feel so welcomed into this family.”

Gotta get a cig in before this set.  Once 208 starts you’re gribbed in.  As tight as the stranglehold Kyle has on the neck of his guitar.  The reverb slaps back with the thud of Shelby’s drums.  Bouncin’ you from wall to wall.  Body to body.  Drowns out the thoughts reverberatin’ off the walls of your skull.

He’s gotta have the shoes off every show.  Release the hounds!  Let the brutalization of instruments begin.  The things we do for tone.  He mumbles almost incoherently into the mic behind shags of hair.  “This next one’s ‘Hotel California.’”  Shelby’s tom thumps in the background as Peter’s lights pulse on the walls.  Kyle droppin’ to the floor.  Body twitchin’ with each crunch of distortion he bends outta the amp.  Until it gives out.  Forcing a finale from the duo.

“I forgot the tambourine!”  Drew yells to Joey.

“Fuck.  Should we run down the street to grab it.”

“I got bongos.”  Pass ‘em to Drew while the three Toeheads debate their setlist.  Gonna play the full EP that drops at midnight.  Cassettes from Remove Records comin’ soon.

Grab a beer from the fridge.  Drew standin’ in the kitchen.  Joint tucked between lips.  Greasy hair falls on the shoulders of his bright shirt.  Tappin’ the bongos surrounded by women with X’s on their foreheads.  “That’s gotta be the most cult leader lookin’ thing I’ve seen in my life.”  Joey passes by.  Tosses a beer can in the sink.  And grabs a plate to set upstairs.

The ceiling and wall covered in shots of the trio performing on the front porch.  The same front porch I first spotted Brendan and Jake from at the first show I threw a year ago.  Just two goons sittin’ in a red Dodge.  Drinkin’ Labatt.  Heavy.  And the one hidin’ behind octagon shades tells me about this tape label he started.  Remove Records.  “King of the Scene!”  Drew yells perched on the head on top of Joey’s 8x10.  Jake cuts his goodbye speech off early.  Don’t wanna get too heavy before the heavy music.

The chords crunch under his fingertips.  The brass crashes under Brendan’s sticks.  Joey gettin’ some futuristic fuzz from the bass.  This is the future of garage.  Happenin’ right before my dilated pupils.  The noise ceases as Jake’s mumbled first line grows into a scream.  Then pounds faster.  Harder.  Sloppier.  How can Peter’s camera even handle this noise?  “With a knife!”

Standin’ by the stairs the group begins a cover of “Anna (Go to Him.)”  The crowd dances with each other.  Belts the chorus in unison as the peak takes my brain into this dream.  Everybody gathered in this sweaty bedroom.  Vibin’ together.  What more could you dream of?  One last night for all of us to be together.  Together right here.  Right now.  Hidin’ the makeup streakin’ under my eyes in the cig room from Rae and Kyle from the Waterheads.

The group ends the onslaught of feedback.  Screeches.  Of both instruments and vocal cords.  Reverb.  Thuds and crashes.  Hi-hats through the wall.  And every jarring sound your ears dream of bein’ berated by.  Joey trades the bass for a second guitar.  Yells for a pick.  While Jake begs for some noise to stop him from continuin’ a corny speech.  It is Devil’s Night after all.  Brendan trades his sunglasses for the pair of octagons in his leather jacket while takin’ a bow.

“Burn down Midtown!”  From Drew.

“Has anyone seen my wallet?!”  From Dee.

“It’s not fuckin’ workin’!”  From Joey who can’t rail a line through the humidity.  Gives it up before his ode to DMT and a rambunctious cover of “Blew My Mind” to close the set.

“Don’t we have a bunch more?”  Joey yells across the room.

“Well some of us working class folk have a job to go to in the morning.”  Evan jokes.

“Alright.  We’ll do an encore for Brendan’s last ride.”  Jake plugs back in.  Drew stands in the center of the room.  Pulls back up the bongos in sweaty, red hands.  “This one’s called ‘Demon House.’

“I’ve been livin’ in a demon house!”  None of the notes are distinguishable in the final barrage of sound.  But the bodies crash into each other.  For one last connection to the King that gave everybody somethin’ to show their parents.  I can still hear him behind the bottle of Stroh’s at Painted Lady before we bootlegged the Milk Bath gig at Outer Limits.  “Just somethin’ to say ‘you guys might not be into this.  But somebody out there thinks it means somethin’.’”

As the party filters out, Jordan video calls me on Snapchat to say goodbye to Brendan before he sets sail.  Says the broken hi-hat stand was the least he could offer in return to the King of the Scene.  Joey spills the bottle of wine next to me.  Looks up from rollin’ around on the floor.  “That’s the difference between me and Jay Retard.  I know when not to break shit.”  The words fill the holes the acid burns into my brain as he dips to prep Ham House for the after party.  Leavin’ his shoes behind.  The picture of me and him in his underwear will surface in a few days but doesn’t help fill the gaps in the night.

Sittin’ next to me, Brendan dents a Stroh’s can in his hand.  Hood over his head.  But no octagons to hide the tears in his eyes.  “It’s just…  For the first time…  I feel like I finally got a family.  And now that I have that feeling.  I gotta leave my home behind.  Over a mistake I enlisted in months ago.”  He sniffles and kills the can.  Somethin’ about the way that last drop of beer hits makes you puke it all up.  “And I don’t know how long until I’ll be able to get back to that feeling.”

“But that’s the beauty of it.”  Take a swig from the remains of the wine bottle.  “No matter what happens now.  You got the security of family.  We’re all still gonna be here.  And whenever you get back, the empty space you left will still be here for you.  Ya know now no matter what you always got a family somewhere.  Forever.  Maybe the scene ends.  Maybe Joey moves somewhere like New Mexico or some shit.  Maybe I finally clean the bathtub like my landlord and Jake keep askin’.  But no matter where any of us are or what’s different.  You’ll always be able to show up and have people and a place where you belong.  No matter where we are we’re all together now.”

One by one people nod to sleep at Ham House.  People find their way back to their beds.  And don’t have to dream about a home.  Cause they got a place to be free.  Like Manson sang about.  Brendan hugs me goodbye.  And I find my way to the after hours where my friend Josh asks sincerely if I’m doin’ alright tonight.  Cause he knows it’s not just the acid and benzos makin’ everything feel surreal.  But at least when I get home.  There’s a pair of octagon glasses in the explosion of pumpkin seeds and prescription strength anti-inflammatories.  I’ll end up losing ‘em in a few months.  Life’s cruel that way.  Even all the shit that means somethin’ to us will pass.  But at least we got it together now.

[dylanradio]

Now Playing on DylanRadio.com: Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan from The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say "I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin' three queens And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin' around a pinball machine And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed And no matter how you try you just can't say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin' On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' On this curve I'm hanging On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking In this air I'm inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' In the words that I'm thinkin' In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why they're around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that it's something special you're needin' And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler That's been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race That won't laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That it's you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting That the world ain't got you beat That it ain't got you licked It can't get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hope's just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill And it ain't on Macy's window sill And it ain't on no rich kid's road map And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it ain't on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks it's funny No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club And it ain't in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell you're bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you And it ain't in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie star's blouse And you can't find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you can't even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No you'll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache« And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do And think they're foolin' you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' Where do you look for this oil well gushin' Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital You'll find God in the church of your choice You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though it's only my opinion I may be right or wrong You'll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

Picture Perfect - Chapter 8 (also on 9L)  (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)(Chapter 4) (Chapter 5&6) (Chapter 7)

Carol believed what he said; the desire in his eyes, the predatory stature of his body, and the heat in his tone all told her he meant business. But she knew too many downed drinks prevented him from stalking towards her and finding a solitary place to pleasure them both.

Without breaking his gaze, she set the flowers and the grapes on the table and took a small step back from him, her hand trailing along the table’s edge to guide her. “Come and get it,” she taunted.

He put the doll by the flowers, moving toward her slowly. Each step felt like walking through molasses, but he held on to the table, matching each of her backward steps with a forward one of his own.

“Still wanna play, huh?” he queried, amused with and wildly aroused by her seduction games.

He’d love her for so long, and watching her thrive made his heart bloom in his chest, causing a physical ache. She had hands like silk, smoldering bedroom eyes, searing kisses, and a lithe body made as his match, all which made loving her that much more erotic. But watching Carol flirt without reservation, with confidence and surety, owning her sexuality like an experienced vixen pursuing her prey made his head swim. She’d teased him before in the confines of their room, but this…brazen seductress retreating from him had stoked the fire to a raging inferno.

“Oh, yeah,” she breathed, still moving away from him.

He paused as she rounded the end of the table, watching her until she stood opposite him, the wide table, heavy with fruit, between them.

What was the saying…the closest distance between two points is a straight line?

To hell with it, he thought, then haphazardly shoved the food trays out of his way and hiked a knee up onto the table, praying it would hold.

“Daryl!”

Carol’s gasp reached his brain, and he saw her snatch a candelabra up from the end of the table near his head, flames licking close to his hair.

For a moment he felt airborne, like he’d jumped from a plane he didn’t know he was on. But then he leaned forward and his hands and knees made contact with the table and the world stopped spinning long enough for him to peer up at Carol’s startled but bemused face.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Shortcut to get to ya,” he managed to say before dropping his head for a moment to try to right the world.

“You know you don’t have to set yourself on fire to make me think you’re hot, right?”

“Wasn’t sure,” he quipped.

“Now that you are, you still comin’ for me?”

Damn, Carol did double entendres better than anyone he’d ever met. He wracked his brain for a witty comeback, but the organ didn’t seem to want to work.

“Maybe just...” He pushed more platters out of his way. “…give me a few minutes.” He dropped to his side and propped himself up with one arm, reaching for her free hand with the other. He looked at her, draped in shimmering royal blue, like a goddess come to life.

“World stops spinnin’ whena look at you,” he murmured.

She smiled, humoring his drunken stupor, but he couldn’t stop staring at her.

He’d seen her at her worst, bloody, covered in viscera, sweaty, unshowered for weeks and wearing clothes that didn’t fit. After the loss of children and homes, starving and sick, in heartache and self-hatred, cold, exhausted, and grouchy. And still he’d loved her so easily it confounded him, this woman who’d made him feel, for the first time in his life, like a man. Like a person. Who, despite his history, personality flaws, and the legacy of the Dixon name, had chosen him at the end of the world to share all of her final days with. Despite their lack of hygiene over the years, he’d always found her stunning: from her sparkling baby blues and the gentleness and strength of her hands to the way her mind strategized and how passionately she loved those she called family.

He only belonged to that family because of her, because she’d seen so much more in him than anyone ever had.

He owed her his life.

“Don’t just mean ‘cause I drank too much,” he confessed, his words slow. “I mean...all the time. I never lived so close ta so many people til everything happened. Didn’t know how. Didn’t even know who I was. World felt outta control Before, but…once it all happened, when Merle was gone an’…I was just spinnin’ my wheels, you made things make sense. Gave me a purpose. And friendship. Don’t know where I’d be withoutchoo.”

Drunk words are sober thoughts, she’d once read.

Her throat, thick with unshed tears, swelled, and she tried to swallow past the burgeoning emotion. So much time had passed, so many things had occurred, that they didn’t much talk of the Before any more, but the gratefulness, the tenderness of his tone caused a sweet ache in her chest.  

Who’d have thought Daryl Dixon, the motorcycle-riding, crossbow-wielding, rough and dirty, don’t-touch-me redneck could spout words to rival one of the rom-coms she used to watch as a silly girl, praying for someone who could love her?

Blinking away tears, she leaned toward him and gave him a chaste kiss, all at once feeling a little guilty at having made him come to a party he had to get drunk at to have fun.  

“Maybe sober. In bed.”

He snorted. “Passed out in the floor sounds more like me.”

“In the floor, huh?” She chuckled. “Then it’s good for both of us that I’m here.”

“Why you?”

“Because I’m not alone: in this world, at home, or at this party. I never knew what that was like til you.”

Though his eyes burned with fatigue, he stared at her, this woman who’d endured so much to stand before him tonight with fire in her hands and her eyes and her heart. “You’re stunning.”

“And you’re drunk.”

“But not blind. And not alone either. But as soon as I can get up, I’m takin’ you home so we can be alone together.”

“Yeah, I can see why you’d have a hard time getting it up right now,” she teased, treasuring the heavy moment that had passed between them in her heart, even as it drifted away.

“That’s what you think.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” she protested, holding the candelabra away from him and placing a hand against his chest as he started to get up to prove her wrong. “Stay put, Romeo. Give it a few minutes.”

“Been givin’ it a few minutes all night. You been tauntin’ and teasin’ and—”

“And you love it,” she countered confidently. “And you’re not going anywhere for a bit, so you might as well stay there and enjoy it.”

“Yes, your majesty,” he sassed.

She quirked an eyebrow, trying to hide a smile, then turned and leaned back against the table.

Only a handful of couples remained, and most of them seemed more drunk than Daryl. Someone—Carol couldn’t remember who, now—had suggested they hold on to their newly acquired stock of alcohol, but most everyone else had argued against it, knowing any day could be their last. Saving the best for later didn’t exist anymore since the best was whatever they had at moment and no one could promise them tomorrow.

Gratitude filled her at the joy she’d experienced this evening. Watching her friends smile and laugh, the women dressing up like in the good old days of Before, giving them a boost of confidence, watching Daryl let his inhibitions go and trust her to take care of him, seeing herself fancied up in a way she never had, letting the hungry vixen in her have free reign instead of caging her in shame and embarrassment. It felt dangerous and fun, and the fact that Daryl responded so easily—to her touches and teases, her double entendres and innuendos—she wondered why she’d never allowed this side of her out to play before.

That would have to change.

Daryl’s hand, hot against her even through her dress, trailed down her back and rested on the curve of her butt. “’Cha thinkin’bout?”

She peered at him over her shoulder, smiling. “Tonight. You, me, us.”

“Good, huh?” he leered at her, sliding his hand back and forth along her lower back. “But gonna get better.”

“We still gotta get you home.”

“You still gotta dance for me.”

She turned away from him, hiding a smile. Holding the candelabra up and focusing on the candle light, she wriggled her hips playfully, fire before her, the intensity of his gaze behind her. But without a partner, bopping to the music fell flat, and she stopped after a couple of seconds.

“That’s it?” he asked, incredulous.

“Did I promise more?”

“More or less.” He reached for something on the table behind her, then produced an unopened bottle of champagne. “Guess someone lost this. Pity.” He held it up to her. “Liquid courage?”

Her head didn’t feel like cotton anymore, but it still buzzed. “Think I’ve had enough.”

“Let’s see it then,” he encouraged with a nod.

“See what?” she asked innocently.

He mock-glared at her. “Your moves.”

“Been showing you my moves all night. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

Her faux exasperation tickled him, but he wanted dancing. “Oh, I been payin’ attention,” he confirmed. “Slidin’ your hands all over me where no one can see, under tables and durin’ pictures—”

“Which I want to see, by the way,” she interjected as though they talked of the weather.

“Kissin’ and teasin and pressin’ up against me all soft and hot. Playin’ innocent in front’a everyone and wildcat in my ear, whisperin’ and makin’ me so hot I’m ready to beg.”

Her cheeks flamed as he recounted the temptress she’d played tonight, his voice dropping lower and sending an aching need thrumming through her body.

“Seductive and sexy and makin’ me so bothered I’m gonna use my mouth to—”

“Shhhh,” she interrupted again, this time pressing a finger to his lips.

He noted the red tinge of her cheeks, her embarrassment evident, and his heart fell that he’d unintentionally caused her shame when he’d only meant to compliment her.

He flicked his tongue out against her finger, and her eyes snapped to his. He moved his head, enveloping the tip of her finger with his mouth and sucking lightly as she withdrew it.

“Sexy as hell. Don’t stop,” he entreated. “Never seen you like this, and I don’t want it to end.”

Even if it was the longest session of foreplay he’d ever indulged in.

Carol swallowed hard, determined to hold on to the confidence, the power she’d felt all night.

“I’ll just…” He looked down at the fruit surrounding him and picked up a peach. “…watch you ‘n keep my mouth shut.” He held the peach to his lips, nibbling at it slowly as he caressed her with his eyes.

Carol set the candelabra far away from him, grabbed the champagne bottle out of his hand, twisted the wire cage, and popped the lid off. Holding his gaze, she took a slow pull from the bottle, then another, and handed it back to him.

She stared at him for a moment, letting the sparkling drink wash through her, the music pulse in her veins, the beat take over her body. Then she closed her eyes, imagined he stood with her, and moved her body, undulated her hips, shimmied her shoulders, let her body flow with the sounds around her and the feelings he evoked in her and the daring notion that he lay just behind her, splayed out like so much tempting fruit, as she danced just for him.

[evenstevensranked]

#25: Season 1, Episode 12 - “Deep Chocolate”

LET THE TOP 25 COMMENCE!!! 

Louis and Twitty’s friendship is put to the test when they end up competing against each other in the school chocolate sale. Meanwhile, Ren has made a deal with her parents to be nice to Louis for a week in order to get her own phone line. 

This one opens with Ren giving a presentation to Steve and Eileen on why she deserves her own phone line. Yes, phone line. As in... a LANDLINE. Crazy how today she probably would’ve already had her own iPhone since the ripe ‘ol age of 8! But, yes. It’s 2000 and Ren wants her own landline in her bedroom. 

Louis interrupts the presentation by running through the kitchen like a tornado and Ren naturally starts complaining about him. That’s when Eileen gets the smart idea to give Ren some incentive “If you can not put your brother down for a whole week, we will give you your own phone line.” Good idea, tbh. 

Cut to school where Louis, Twitty and Tawny are in the auditorium for a chocolate sale assembly. This is one of my favorite bits ever omg. A rip-off of the 20th Century Fox jingle plays as this scam artist with a rats tail hairdo(n’t) named Wallace Randall from Real Good Chocolate Industries walks out on stage. He tries way too hard to motivate the kids -- telling bold-faced lies like “Zeus sold chocolate!” Sounds legit. He announces that the grand prize is this fancy motorized scooter with a cheetah print butt seat. Snazzy. Mr. Randall says the person who believes they were put on planet earth to sell chocolate is the person who’ll be the top seller and win the prize. Louis' mind is so clouded by the scooter, he feels the spirit. 

I always crack up when Louis dramatically mumbles “that’s why I’m here...” to himself. I also love how Mr. Randall uses Shaq in “KAZAAM” -- a cinematic classic that boasts a 6% rating on Rotten Tomatoes -- as an impressive example.  

Louis really, really wants that scooter. So he decides that he and Twitty should team up to sell 400 freakin’ boxes, ensuring that they’ll be the top sellers. Yeah, I don’t remember chocolate sales working like that? I remember every student was given a suitcase-size box of assorted chocolates and that’s it. What the hell is this 400 boxes nonsense?! Then again, I mostly remember doing the Hershey’s Fundraising sale. Obviously, this episode is a spoof on the “World’s Finest Chocolate” brand -- which I definitely remember selling at one point, too. I checked their website and it seems like they cap it at 25 boxes, although you CAN order more than that if you want. But, who would??? 400 IS SUCH A STRETCH. 

I tried to check out with 400 boxes, and it said “TOO MANY ITEMS IN CART” ..........ya don’t say. Imagine paying $12,000 for chocolate. 

Ren struggles to be nice to Louis throughout the week. It’s pretty funny. She’s constantly yelling at him, and then following it up with an awkward compliment lol. She also thinks selling 400 boxes is asinine “You actually think you’re going to sell 400 boxes? You are a total and complete........ i...nspiration to all of us.” Good save, Ren. 

The next day Louis and Twitty are at the Stevens house trying to come up with creative (and insincere) ways to sell their 400 boxes, trying make the product seem amazing to prospective buyers. I think this is freaking hilarious. Louis says “I hand you the chocolate, you eat it, and then you say...” Twitty looks at his hand for the words “It’s a miracle. I can see again” which he repeats super robotically. Louis kills me here. “No... that’s not what ya say. ‘Cause you were blind -- and now you can see. That’s a miracle!!! YOU CAN SEE NOW.” He says that Mr. Randall said you have to make people feel that chocolate has changed your life. So Twitty dramatically falls to the ground shouting “IT’S A MIRACLEEEEE! I CAN SEE AGAINNNNNN AHHHHH!” and I die every time.

I’m pretty sure if one bite of chocolate could restore your eyesight, it would cost a little more than $1 per bar. 

Just then, Mr. Randall unexpectedly visits to personally deliver and congratulate them for setting out to sell an ambitious 800 BOXES. Yeah. Turns out Louis ordered 400 boxes and Twitty also ordered 400 boxes. So now they’re stuck with 800 boxes they obviously will never be able to sell. This is where the drama really strikes. I love Louis’ face when he realizes the problem: 

That zoom in, lol. It needed to be gif’d. 

Mr. Randall goes on to tell them they’re financially responsible for every box they ordered. Are you kidding me? That’s roughly $24k according to the World’s Finest prices. They’re 13. I love how Twitty says the title of the episode here! “Louis, we’re in deep...... chocolate” haha. Louis gets super angry at Twitty for ordering 400 boxes without consulting him because that’s how all the great duos work according to Louis Stevens: “Batman, he rescues people. And Robin... Robin... checks with Batman before he orders 400 boxes of chocolate!!!” I love that line. This leads to an all out war between Louis and Twitty. Louis takes his 400 boxes, and Twitty takes his. They’re officially competing against each other now. Twitty even says “this friendship is over!” Yikes. Let’s take a moment to appreciate Twitty’s face as he tries to talk while carrying large boxes tho:

The next day, Louis wakes up to find his family tap dancing in the living room. The usual. He’s up at 6am ready to start selling some chocolate, but Twitty is way ahead of him. Eileen already bought 6 bars from Twitty not knowing that they’re no longer working as a team! I love two things about this scene. Louis says “Me and Twitty had creative differences -- Because I’m creative and he’s different,” which is incredible. I’ve used this line irl before. And the second is Steve tap dancing while passive aggressively telling Louis to get his 400 boxes of chocolate out of the garage so he can have his parking space back. 

“I’m not gonna ask you again... *jazz hands* GET THEM OUTTA THERE!” Tom Virtue is hilarious. 

Louis then sets out on his chocolate selling mission and he’s absolutely terrible at it. He’s breaking into people’s homes, jumping on their beds... I can’t. Meanwhile, Twitty is THRIVING and coming up with much more creative ideas than Louis. Which is ironic because Louis just said HE’S the creative one, lol. Twitty’s ideas include a tricycle cart shop and a “Chocopalooza” performance -- a spoof on Lollapalooza obviously. 

Not sure how his fake Jamaican accent and hat with mock-dreads would go over today though. 

Twitty’s raking it in, and Louis has yet to sell one bar. He goes to Tawny for help but she refuses to buy from either of them because 1. The chocolate tastes like dirt and 2. they’re ruining their friendship over nothing basically. 

I love how Louis has a girl take a bite of the chocolate and asks her “Is that the best chocolate bar you’ve ever eaten?” and she says “That’s NOT the best chocolate bar I’ve ever eaten.” World’s Finest happens to be quite nasty tasting too apparently. Well, according to their Amazon reviews at least. So this episode is pretty much true-to-life all around, lol. 

Back at home, Donnie has turned their bathroom into a steaming hot sauna. This ain’t good because he blasted the hot water heater to do so. Which happens to be located in the garage.......... where 400 boxes of chocolate are stashed. 

It’s like that trope where someone puts too much soap in the washing machine and then leaves it unattended... except with chocolate, because this is Even Stevens. 

Louis and Ren notice some chocolate leaking into the driveway and panic. I mean, how do you stop 400 boxes of melting chocolate? “WE GOTTA EAT IT!!!!” is Louis’ suggestion, which is so funny omg. The chocolate leaks EVERYWHERE and we get this terrible CGI aerial shot to prove it: 

Mr. Randall decides to conveniently show up here and demands money for the chocolate. Of course, Louis doesn’t have the money. Steve comes waltzing over as well and both he and Mr. Randall start slippin and slidin all over the place. It’s a little annoying but... hey. Steve, being an attorney, threatens to shut down Real Good Chocolate for being a scam. One thing I do not understand: Steve says that Mr. Randall will get his money back. (WHY?! I’d refuse.) And he also tells Louis that he’ll be doing chores for the next few months to pay for the chocolate. Does he mean he’ll be doing chores for the entire neighborhood? No amount of chores would raise the $1,000s of dollars Louis needs, lol. (Again, I’m overthinking this. I know.) 

Naturally, everything works out in the end though. Louis and Twitty make up. Twitty ends up winning the sale and gets the fancy scooter, which Louis is cool with because he at least gets to ride it now. 

The last minute of the episode is Ren talking on her ~new private phone line~! Except it ain’t so private. Louis has rigged her conversations to be broadcast through two megaphones outside. 

I love how everyone and their cousin decided to walk through this residential neighborhood right as Ren declares she has a “major crush on Bobby Deaver.”

And that’s it! I just really like this episode. I always have. Idk what it is about it! There are quite a few things I find hilarious, which I’ve mentioned here. This one went by lightening fast when I was re-watching it, which can only mean one thing to me: It’s entertaining! I like how this episode actually deals with Louis and Twitty’s friendship as well as a bit of the sibling rivalry between Louis and Ren. I just think this one is solid all around and a good one to kick off the Top 25! Ayyyyy! Can’t believe we’re at the Top 25. Wow. 

Thanks for reading!!

Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

[mysoulswoonstothisstuff]

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb

When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb

When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace

In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race

No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up

If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup

If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on

And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone

And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it

And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it

And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long

And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong

And lonesome comes up as down goes the day

And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away

And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'

And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'

And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys

Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys

And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'

And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'

And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'

And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'

And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm

And to yourself you sometimes say

"I never knew it was gonna be this way

Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"

And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat

And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet

And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air

And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare

And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying

And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'

And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet

And you need it badly but it lays on the street

And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat

And you think yer ears might a been hurt

Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt

And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush

When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush

And all the time you were holdin' three queens

And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean

Like in the middle of Life magazine

Bouncin' around a pinball machine

And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying

That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'

But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head

And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed

And no matter how you try you just can't say it

And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it

And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head

And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead

And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth

And his jaws start closin with you underneath

And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind

And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign

And you say to yourself just what am I doin'

On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'

On this curve I'm hanging

On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking

In this air I'm inhaling

Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard

Why am I walking, where am I running

What am I saying, what am I knowing

On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'

On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'

In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'

In the words that I'm thinkin'

In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'

Who am I helping, what am I breaking

What am I giving, what am I taking

But you try with your whole soul best

Never to think these thoughts and never to let

Them kind of thoughts gain ground

Or make yer heart pound

But then again you know why they're around

Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down

"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping

And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping

And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'

And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking

If that was you in the dream that was screaming

And you know that it's something special you're needin'

And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'

And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding

And you need something special

Yeah, you need something special all right

You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track

To shoot you someplace and shoot you back

You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler

That's been banging and booming and blowing forever

That knows yer troubles a hundred times over

You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race

That won't laugh at yer looks

Your voice or your face

And by any number of bets in the book

Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze

You need something to open up a new door

To show you something you seen before

But overlooked a hundred times or more

You need something to open your eyes

You need something to make it known

That it's you and no one else that owns

That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting

That the world ain't got you beat

That it ain't got you licked

It can't get you crazy no matter how many

Times you might get kicked

You need something special all right

You need something special to give you hope

But hope's just a word

That maybe you said or maybe you heard

On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad

And yer trouble is you know it too good

"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill

And it ain't on Macy's window sill

And it ain't on no rich kid's road map

And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house

And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ

And it ain't on that dimlit stage

With that half-wit comedian on it

Ranting and raving and taking yer money

And you thinks it's funny

No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club

And it ain't in the seats of a supper club

And sure as hell you're bound to tell

That no matter how hard you rub

You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub

No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you

And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you

And it ain't in no cardboard-box house

Or down any movie star's blouse

And you can't find it on the golf course

And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus

And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes

And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons

And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices

That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'

Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin

Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow

Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry

When you can't even sense if they got any insides

These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows

No you'll not now or no other day

Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache¥

And inside it the people made of molasses

That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses

And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies

Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny

Who breathe and burp and bend and crack

And before you can count from one to ten

Do it all over again but this time behind yer back

My friend

The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl

And play games with each other in their sand-box world

And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools

That run around gallant

And make all rules for the ones that got talent

And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do

And think they're foolin' you

The ones who jump on the wagon

Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style

To get their kicks, get out of it quick

And make all kinds of money and chicks

And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat

Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that

Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at

Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel

Good God Almighty

That stuff ain’t real

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race

You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face

You gotta look some other place

And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'

Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'

Where do you look for this oil well gushin'

Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'

Where do you look for this hope that you know is there

And out there somewhere

And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads

Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows

Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways

You can touch and twist

And turn two kinds of doorknobs

You can either go to the church of your choice

Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital

You'll find God in the church of your choice

You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion

I may be right or wrong

You'll find them both

In the Grand Canyon

At sundown

[quietenvoy]

Emma Portner's "last thoughts on woody guthrie"

Together with dancer Aidan Carberry and cinematographer Elliott Sellers, Emma Portner debuts "Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie", an impeccably choreographed performance set to a spoken word piece by Bob Dylan.

Last Thoughts On Woody Guthrie

Written by Bob Dylan

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb

When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb

When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace

In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race

No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up

If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup

If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on

And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone

And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it

And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it

And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long

And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong

And lonesome comes up as down goes the day

And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away

And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'

And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'

And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys

Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys

And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'

And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'

And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'

And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'

And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm

And to yourself you sometimes say

"I never knew it was gonna be this way

Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"

And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat

And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet

And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air

And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare

And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying

And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'

And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet

And you need it badly but it lays on the street

And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat

And you think yer ears might a been hurt

Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt

And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush

When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush

And all the time you were holdin' three queens

And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean

Like in the middle of Life magazine

Bouncin' around a pinball machine

And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying

That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'

But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head

And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed

And no matter how you try you just can't say it

And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it

And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head

And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead

And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth

And his jaws start closin with you underneath

And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind

And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign

And you say to yourself just what am I doin'

On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'

On this curve I'm hanging

On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking

In this air I'm inhaling

Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard

Why am I walking, where am I running

What am I saying, what am I knowing

On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'

On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'

In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'

In the words that I'm thinkin'

In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'

Who am I helping, what am I breaking

What am I giving, what am I taking

But you try with your whole soul best

Never to think these thoughts and never to let

Them kind of thoughts gain ground

Or make yer heart pound

But then again you know why they're around

Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down

"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping

And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping

And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'

And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking

If that was you in the dream that was screaming

And you know that it's something special you're needin'

And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'

And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding

And you need something special

Yeah, you need something special all right

You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track

To shoot you someplace and shoot you back

You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler

That's been banging and booming and blowing forever

That knows yer troubles a hundred times over

You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race

That won't laugh at yer looks

Your voice or your face

And by any number of bets in the book

Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze

You need something to open up a new door

To show you something you seen before

But overlooked a hundred times or more

You need something to open your eyes

You need something to make it known

That it's you and no one else that owns

That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting

That the world ain't got you beat

That it ain't got you licked

It can't get you crazy no matter how many

Times you might get kicked

You need something special all right

You need something special to give you hope

But hope's just a word

That maybe you said or maybe you heard

On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad

And yer trouble is you know it too good

"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill

And it ain't on Macy's window sill

And it ain't on no rich kid's road map

And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house

And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ

And it ain't on that dimlit stage

With that half-wit comedian on it

Ranting and raving and taking yer money

And you thinks it's funny

No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club

And it ain't in the seats of a supper club

And sure as hell you're bound to tell

That no matter how hard you rub

You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub

No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you

And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you

And it ain't in no cardboard-box house

Or down any movie star's blouse

And you can't find it on the golf course

And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus

And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes

And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons

And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices

That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'

Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin

Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow

Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry

When you can't even sense if they got any insides

These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows

No you'll not now or no other day

Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache¥

And inside it the people made of molasses

That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses

And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies

Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny

Who breathe and burp and bend and crack

And before you can count from one to ten

Do it all over again but this time behind yer back

My friend

The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl

And play games with each other in their sand-box world

And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools

That run around gallant

And make all rules for the ones that got talent

And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do

And think they're foolin' you

The ones who jump on the wagon

Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style

To get their kicks, get out of it quick

And make all kinds of money and chicks

And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat

Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that

Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at

Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel

Good God Almighty

THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race

You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face

You gotta look some other place

And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'

Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'

Where do you look for this oil well gushin'

Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'

Where do you look for this hope that you know is there

And out there somewhere

And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads

Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows

Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways

You can touch and twist

And turn two kinds of doorknobs

You can either go to the church of your choice

Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital

You'll find God in the church of your choice

You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion

I may be right or wrong

You'll find them both

In the Grand Canyon

At sundown

[theguzzzler]

Only pics I have of the day. No picture of stout but ye know what it looks like ye fuckers ye! G-G-G-Guzzzle for G-G-G-Galway!!! Finally after 29 years! Galway are All Ireland champions! What a day! Some tension! Jesus I was down the Nally. The nerves! Guzzzling and match day go hand in hand. Pre drinks. Losing pints. Winning pints. Emotional pints. My day started early. I worked first and was out by 1:30. Didn't have the head for work but had to be done. I zipped over to Croker with my flag and whistle in the pocket. I asked herself to load up the hip flask earlier with some jemmy. In fairness to her she didn't try to talk me out of it. Jameson is a solid go to match day belly warmer. I had a few fancier ones at home but they would have been lost on me in that tension. I didn't have time for a pre pint which is probably a first. The sun was out after a pissy morning. We met up with who needed to be met up with. Got in with only 10 mins to go in the minor. What a game we were missing. We got our bearings. It was pure boilin in the Nally and we were surrounded by Waterford. Feck it we were here. The minors won! They ran down to the hill an shlid along the grass. Feck they're only kids I thought to myself! I popped open the cheap gammy flask. (Must invest in a proper one. My birthday is soon...😜). Herself doesn't like whiskey but himself does so myself and himself threw a nip into us. Mmmmm! So warm. Instant excitement. Game started. Those first 4 points in the first 4 minutes were pure sensual lovemaking hurling. The sliotar glided silently. It went were it needed to go every time. We were all in awe. What a start. Waterford were too and they were very nervous now. Then BANG! Waterford goal! The place went fuckin cracked around us! The roar was unbelievably loud! Hairs on the back of the neck. Game on that goal said. Sexy time is over it's time to grind. We were always ahead up to half time. The nips went back and forth. Half time. Jesus this is torture! Sick! This lad stands beside us. He's been up all night definitely. A Galway man. He's so fuckin drunk! Pure rubber face on him. His face paint is smeared all over his face. He gives herself a wink. She's been attracting the weirdos today for some reason. I chuckle. We don't engage and he finally moves on. A lovely tribute to Tony Keady was up on the screens. Second half Tension on tension wrapped in a ball of tension! The acceleration of hip flask nippage increases. A nice warm fuzz now is only slightly helping the nerves. I don't remember much. Just the pain and torture. I was sure Waterford would get their 3rd goal. They didn't. They didn't! We won! Finally! Game over! It took me a few minutes to realise really. Almost like we had to look at each other to celebrate. Most the Hill weren't born when we last won. Yeeeeeesssssssssss!!! We embraced. Guard down. Hug it out! Yesssssssss!!! The speech. The lifting of the cup. Chants of Tony Keady. N17 blasts out of the PA. Never realised how much I loved that song. It was perfect for the occasion. Smiling from ear to ear we evacuated. Round the corner to Gills. Pints! It was Guinness all the way. It's the perfect session beer on a match day. If ya could get craft this was no time for it. We all came in in dribs and drabs. The first one went down. The second one went down. The third one went down. Three pints deep before I realised I'd had three pints. Jesus! They were like nectar! Soup! So smooth and light and perfect for the occasion! We were fuckin wallopin them down! The smiles for bigger. It was class. Yep these were victorious pints. They taste the best and ya swamp them much faster. They kept comin. The round system gets messed up in these situations but manages to sort itself. It alway does. Small bit of banter with some Waterford heads. The Waterford team bus passes pub and stops at red lights outside. The fans applaud. Galway fans join in. Some of the players look devastated. The light stays red for ages. Poor bastards. I stop lookin at them. No need for it. They finally move on. Tough night ahead. We keep swampin. Bout an hour later the Galway team bus comes along. The victorious Galway team bus. They're wavin the McCarthy like fuck out the window. They're leapin about! We're leapin about! I'm blowin my whistle like fuck hangin over the pub barrier. A Garda escort whips them through the lights. They're off... Celebrity news!!! OMG!!! Enda Kenny walks by in a suit. (Your not Taoiseach Enda why so formal?). He embraces Dara Ó' Briain. A Jaysus get a room I think to myself. An Antifa lad roars abuse. Fair fucks. A while later I nod hello to Mary Lou from Sinn Feinn. Ya know the way ya nod howya to someone before ya realise ya only know them from the telly. I did the same to the edge from U2 one day in town. Anyway she was with friends of friends. We taxid down town anyway to Marlborough st. A newish pub there called The Pipers Rest. A GAA bar with trad and craft beer I hear. Sound! In we go. It's gettin late at this stage and whistlin is easier than talkin. I'm not that bad of a state yet but ya know it's just easier to whistle. I order their stout. I think that Four Provinces brewery run this pub. I order the house stout. I remember it to be light and a lot like Guinness. Forget it's name. I go back to Guinness after cos ya know the way your just in the zone at that stage.I'll try it again sober some time. Dublin Legend Dessie Farrell is at the bar. He looks hard as fuck. He's with a few heavies. I just missed Nicky English. A local of his I hear. We used to hate him as kids. He ruined many a Galway day. Ah he's a ledge though. So anyway we kept sippin and slidin and whistlin and poundin all the way up to whelans. Don't know what I drank there. Great blues on and some nice techno upstairs. It's a decent Sunday night spot. Taxi home then at some stage. What a day! Victorious! Some saucin that was.

[dylanradio]

Now Playing on DylanRadio.com: Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan from The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say "I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin' three queens And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin' around a pinball machine And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed And no matter how you try you just can't say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin' On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' On this curve I'm hanging On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking In this air I'm inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' In the words that I'm thinkin' In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why they're around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that it's something special you're needin' And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler That's been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race That won't laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That it's you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting That the world ain't got you beat That it ain't got you licked It can't get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hope's just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill And it ain't on Macy's window sill And it ain't on no rich kid's road map And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it ain't on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks it's funny No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club And it ain't in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell you're bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you And it ain't in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie star's blouse And you can't find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you can't even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No you'll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache« And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do And think they're foolin' you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' Where do you look for this oil well gushin' Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital You'll find God in the church of your choice You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though it's only my opinion I may be right or wrong You'll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown

[dylanradio]

Now Playing on DylanRadio.com: Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan from The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say "I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin' three queens And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin' around a pinball machine And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed And no matter how you try you just can't say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin' On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' On this curve I'm hanging On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking In this air I'm inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' In the words that I'm thinkin' In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why they're around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that it's something special you're needin' And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler That's been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race That won't laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That it's you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting That the world ain't got you beat That it ain't got you licked It can't get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hope's just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill And it ain't on Macy's window sill And it ain't on no rich kid's road map And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it ain't on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks it's funny No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club And it ain't in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell you're bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you And it ain't in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie star's blouse And you can't find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you can't even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No you'll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache« And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do And think they're foolin' you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' Where do you look for this oil well gushin' Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital You'll find God in the church of your choice You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though it's only my opinion I may be right or wrong You'll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown

[dylanradio]

Now Playing on DylanRadio.com: Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan from The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say "I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin' three queens And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin' around a pinball machine And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed And no matter how you try you just can't say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin' On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' On this curve I'm hanging On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking In this air I'm inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' In the words that I'm thinkin' In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why they're around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that it's something special you're needin' And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler That's been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race That won't laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That it's you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting That the world ain't got you beat That it ain't got you licked It can't get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hope's just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill And it ain't on Macy's window sill And it ain't on no rich kid's road map And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it ain't on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks it's funny No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club And it ain't in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell you're bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you And it ain't in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie star's blouse And you can't find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you can't even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No you'll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache« And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do And think they're foolin' you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' Where do you look for this oil well gushin' Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital You'll find God in the church of your choice You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though it's only my opinion I may be right or wrong You'll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown

[dylanradio]

Now Playing on DylanRadio.com: Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan from The Bootleg Series, Volumes 1-3

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong And lonesome comes up as down goes the day And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm And to yourself you sometimes say "I never knew it was gonna be this way Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet And you need it badly but it lays on the street And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat And you think yer ears might a been hurt Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush And all the time you were holdin' three queens And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean Like in the middle of Life magazine Bouncin' around a pinball machine And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed And no matter how you try you just can't say it And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth And his jaws start closin with you underneath And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign And you say to yourself just what am I doin' On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' On this curve I'm hanging On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking In this air I'm inhaling Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard Why am I walking, where am I running What am I saying, what am I knowing On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' In the words that I'm thinkin' In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' Who am I helping, what am I breaking What am I giving, what am I taking But you try with your whole soul best Never to think these thoughts and never to let Them kind of thoughts gain ground Or make yer heart pound But then again you know why they're around Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down "Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking If that was you in the dream that was screaming And you know that it's something special you're needin' And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding And you need something special Yeah, you need something special all right You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track To shoot you someplace and shoot you back You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler That's been banging and booming and blowing forever That knows yer troubles a hundred times over You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race That won't laugh at yer looks Your voice or your face And by any number of bets in the book Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze You need something to open up a new door To show you something you seen before But overlooked a hundred times or more You need something to open your eyes You need something to make it known That it's you and no one else that owns That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting That the world ain't got you beat That it ain't got you licked It can't get you crazy no matter how many Times you might get kicked You need something special all right You need something special to give you hope But hope's just a word That maybe you said or maybe you heard On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve But that's what you need man, and you need it bad And yer trouble is you know it too good "Cause you look an' you start getting the chills "Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill And it ain't on Macy's window sill And it ain't on no rich kid's road map And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ And it ain't on that dimlit stage With that half-wit comedian on it Ranting and raving and taking yer money And you thinks it's funny No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club And it ain't in the seats of a supper club And sure as hell you're bound to tell That no matter how hard you rub You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you And it ain't in no cardboard-box house Or down any movie star's blouse And you can't find it on the golf course And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry When you can't even sense if they got any insides These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows No you'll not now or no other day Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache« And inside it the people made of molasses That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny Who breathe and burp and bend and crack And before you can count from one to ten Do it all over again but this time behind yer back My friend The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl And play games with each other in their sand-box world And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools That run around gallant And make all rules for the ones that got talent And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do And think they're foolin' you The ones who jump on the wagon Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style To get their kicks, get out of it quick And make all kinds of money and chicks And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel Good God Almighty THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face You gotta look some other place And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' Where do you look for this oil well gushin' Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' Where do you look for this hope that you know is there And out there somewhere And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways You can touch and twist And turn two kinds of doorknobs You can either go to the church of your choice Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital You'll find God in the church of your choice You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital And though it's only my opinion I may be right or wrong You'll find them both In the Grand Canyon At sundown