Outsider Part 1: Acknowledgement II

Invisible Walls

New stomping grounds means new rules. I had to see how these people operated. I couldn't help but feel a vibe from them. People were cold to each other. You saw people joking and maybe a couple holding each other through a song, but they stuck in the same clusters. It seemed no one wanted to stray from their pack. There was even a couple sitting down at a table playing cards. Not as much mingling as I would expect from people with seemingly common interests. When a band was on, I saw only one couple slightly bobbing their head to the music.........from the back. A heavier set came on after and it was more of the same from the crowd. The screams of the singer and the intensity of the band were fierce, but did not seem to put a dent into them. I'll give one guy credit (if credit is a factor in this), though. He was jumping around, pushing a couple people friendly (sounds weird right?) and seemingly enjoying himself. One guy smiled and pushed him back. The rest were fucking golems. Not one in the front was bobbing their head. Not one was even tapping a foot. If they were into the music, they showed no sign of it.

I do recall one guy walking around with his eye plastered in a video camera. Walking around and standing on table and chairs to get a better view of the band. I regret not asking him questions later in the evening.

At about this time, my brother is sitting with me having already talked to his friends. Our second pitcher is halfway killed and the buzz I had was only moderate. The pills kept me awake and on my toes. I wanted stronger drink, but the bar only had beer. I was grateful that they had tap. There were a few older gentleman toward the back of the establishment by the bar and pool tables. They kept to themselves through all of it, either clinging to the bar with a clutched brew or casually shooting pool with another of their kind. I also regret not asking if they were veterans.

I was out of smokes and my brother was across the way. Chain smoking and alcoholism go hand in hand. I shuffled through my pockets one last time to only come up with an empty pack of Newports and a crushed pack of Camel Filters. Fuck. Sometimes I loath my chemical dependency. Superman has his X-ray vision and so did I. I looked through my brothers pockets from across the room and knew he had some Marlboros. I was taught the hard way amongst friends to not leave a pitcher by itself. This is equivalent of throwing your wallet on the ground in the middle of downtown Houston and walking away, expecting your 23 bucks, laundry list of receipts, old unused condoms, and non working credit cards to remain there if no one just took the damn thing anyway. I noticed a girl to my left of the table. She was wearing, if I recall correctly, a tan truckers hat tilted to the side a little and a blue shirt. She was really quiet and didn't seem to be reacting to anything around her.

"Excuse me. Hi. I was just wondering if you could do me a favor."
"Huh."
"Yeah, I'm just going to leave for a moment and wondering if you could watch my pitcher."
I received a blank stare that lasted a couple of seconds and finally a nod. I smiled a little bit and thanked her. Her eyes slowly drifted down and to her left, her mouth moving words I couldn't hear to her friend. Probably wierded out by me coming out of the blue but I wasn't sure how to gauge it. She could have just been having a bad day. It didn't help the vibe I was getting.

Fuck it. My brother had the resupplies I needed, and as a bonus, he swiped an old pack of Newports I thought I lost. In the clutch, my brother comes through. It was also how I met a pretty young lady named S****.



Note-Names not given for the sake of respect for them not reacting negative to their inclusion in the article.