Book of the Dead by Anthology

Author:Anthology [Anthology]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2011-04-23T14:45:07+00:00

The lobby looks something like an attic and it’s dark and crammed with furniture. Some guy at the back, the manager maybe, is dealing dollar bills to a pair of policemen. He nods at Skip and he nods at me and he lets us through and this girl in the corner winks at me and tries to smile, pale white lipstick and her tongue licking out, and she knows Skip and she says something that I can’t hear and Skip gives her the finger.

Inside the lights are bright and it takes my eyes a while to adjust. The place is crowded but we find a table and five chairs and DJ orders a round, four Coronas and a Jack Daniels, straight up, for Deb. “Black Light Trap” is playing over the sound system and the bar is lined with boys trying to look interested in anything but what’s about to go down. No one is looking at Jane, plain Jane. Some are looking at Deb and some are looking at these other girls smoking clove cigarettes and standing or sitting in little groups. Skip points out his friend Philip, standing in the back and wearing sunglasses and a black Bauhaus T-shirt.

I get up from the table and go to the bar and then outside with Philip and it’s raining and I can hear Shriekback from inside singing that we make our own mistakes and I score from Philip and then I go to the bathroom and lock the door and stare at myself in the mirror. Somebody knocks on the door and I put my foot back against it and say “Deal with it” and lay out three lines and do them and take a drink from the faucet and decide I need a haircut.

It’s hot back in the theater and I hold my Corona up to my face, my forehead. There’s a man sitting at a table next to us whose eyes are closed so tight that he is crying. The girl he’s sitting with is tugging at the crotch of her Guess jeans and drinking a California Cooler and she’s fourteen if she’s a day. When the man opens his eyes, he looks at his Rolex and he looks at the stage and he looks at the girl and for some reason I’m relieved.

That’s when the music goes down and the lights dim and there’s some applause, scattered, and the music revs up again, something by Skinny Puppy, and at long last it’s showtime. There are video screens set in a line over the stage and I look up and they shoot on one by one and it’s a clip, just a short sixty seconds or so, from one of the films we saw, a grainy bootleg copy of a copy of a copy with subtitles in some foreign language, Spanish I think, and the zombies are loose inside a shopping mall and Skinny Puppy is pounding on and the singer’s voice is barking deep down trauma hounds

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