The LOUD Night Howls @ Cosmo (Part III)

Apart from the stage lights, this place is lit only by the glowing ends of cigarettes. That must be why nobody (except for me) spots the stray length of ass wipe somebody tracked in. It tangos with a Nike, then rumbas with an Reebok. It finds itself in a ménage à trios with two Dr. Martens, then plays the dominatrix to a pair of Skechers. From stranger to stranger it travels, not unlike a virus. 

Nico makes new friends wherever she goes. Often, they’re new guy friends. (Get this: She once hosted a party where she was the only girl present.) Such a flirt. Drives me a little nuts. Not that it should. Not that I have any business being driven a little nuts by it. Not that I really care anymore. But is it possible that she wants to drive me a little nuts? 

As for Larr, I don’t know if he’s diggin’ this Cosmo scene or not. Maybe he’s indifferent. Maybe he’s goovin’ in his own private way. Maybe, he’s completely and utterly absorbed. And maybe, in the first place, there never was a whole lot going on between Larr’s ears. And yet I envy him. 

Zen points to a guitarist in the second band. I agree, he looks familiar. No way could it be him, though. Way cool if it were, though. This ain’t exactly that guy’s scene, though. 

When we’re downstairs, where an orchestra pit used to be, a stoned girl burns my suede sleeve with her joint. She turns and gives me a bovine stare. It’s not even a “Yeah, so?” stare — it’s less than that. I should’ve introduced her to Larr. (Not that I don’t envy the guy.) 

A small miracle: My plastic-cupped MGD Light remains inexplicably cool for the two hours I nurse it. A supposition: God is a Hoot, if God is at all. 

And this music — this SCREAMING LOUDNESS of noise — along with the robotic multi-colors of flashing light — it’s a reminder that you’re still alive. For this crowd, the world outside Cosmo is just TOO MUCH. Up on the stage, it’s the job of the band to one-up TOO MUCH. Everybody standing below the proscenium arch, with their heads and fists punching back the BEAT, they LOVE the LOUD. All these alt-metalheads MEAN it. They’re playing for keeps. I should, too. Mostly, though, all of this just leaves my ears ringing. 

And where the hell is the Bongster? (Probably getting high. Duh.) 

2 October 2004 

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