The Palisades soiree was one thing that I needed all summer long. Everyone can appreciate a nice break in routine. For a while, I felt like we were salesmen on conveyor belts to the circus yard. We had expended our hopes and dreams for variety. And, sure enough, we got even with such a burden. We loaded a car, drifted into a pocket of wealthy greenrock, and tumbled all throughout a giant dollhouse cradling secret passageways, spiral staircases, and remnants of relics only found in romantic frontier tales. Peace at last. I planted myself on a patch of grass when no one was looking. I listened to what the trees had to say about us visitors. I didn’t mind the time passing, nor much of anything at such a great and defining moment. I climbed into the basement to find my fellow travelers dressed up as what would only suit them if time had stopped indefinitely. We expanded shoulder muscles with gratis matchpoints. Solids got even with stripes. Long sticks got aquainted with short sticks. We were told of fingercuffs ruining the felt, but we didn’t mind it much. We came to play, rain or shine.

Well, Crazy 4 Cult was good…or at least I remember it that way. We showed up, skipped the line, and made our way through the 108 degree studio. The work was amazing. I definitely should have brought the camera.

Next, we wandered next door to find a comic book shop where a marine was handing out Colt 45 tall-cans (they gave me 2 because I had “donor” written on my ID. “So they can’t have your liver,” one of them chuckled.

The backyard atmosphere of the comic shop gathering was one of anxiety, distraction, and cheap thrills. We settled our debts on the 45′s and continued off, but not before having a photo moment with the beloved girl and having an upstream alley accident with a homeless man.

We ended our travels at Footsies, where the girls were flexing their shoulder muscles on lightly hustled pool games. I lost my appetite for polite drinking at some point and came down with a case of the hiccups. looking around in my disconnected and gulping state I found that the bar had closed, our friends remained: kissing, pushing, playing, drinking, stumbling, and quite so…last resorting.

Somehow, I came to. All clothes still on, the crisp morning air creeping in through the closet window, bad headache, and above all…a serious and threatening craving for pancakes. Despite, that I am still left without a romantic ending, I found the bisquick to be a spiritual healer of sorts.

On to the soiree…