Ambient 06 - Going, Going, Gone

the old days it took a special kind of individual to live in a back house. Trish and Borden and I fell out of the cab when we got there, found the street entrance to the alley – an archway cut through the building facade, next to a junk shop renting the storefront – crept through the dark until we reached the court and then made our way up the wooden stairs that led to the second floor door. Things were swinging by the time we got there, and pushing into the room was almost as challenging a job as squeezing into Max’s.
    No sooner did I begin to scope the action than my usual suspects started to find me. »Walter,« somebody shouted. When I gave the looksee I spotted Marv Ballard, Ogilvy scribbler by day, gutter lounger by night. »How you doing?« he said; I heeded the gleam in his eye and counted five. »You holding?« Goes without saying I was; that killer bud Chlojo left me rested in my inner jacket pocket. Weeks in the open air and the potency hadn’t lessened a bit. Hard to say how much moolah the frugal man can share, keeping a permanent stash. When it came to sharing the wealth I’ve always been a Huey Long, mind you, but Marv couldn’t stop asking for seconds until he reached nineteen.
    »Fieldstripped, my man,« I lied. »Lighter than air.«
    »Bummer.«
    His eyes lit on new arrivals, and he vamoosed. »Bumbadiered,« I called out after but he was already hard at work. Before I could slip a hand into my pocket and hold that bud beneath my nose long enough to slip into overdrive I spotted Gaspard, inconveniently close. Turning quickly I managed to miss his eye. Even if he hadn’t been such a blowhard we’d likely as not have called him Gassy, it just fit. He was the kind of art boy who never found the right gallery, and definitely not the kind of individual best fitted for the field of mind expansion. Couldn’t drain a half cup of mocha Java without spinning into a tizzy. Best tale I heard, he’d gone upstate to see a friend, ran into a powdered donut man coming back from Buffalo. Next thing you knew old Cokey Joe’d done half an ounce of snow and called the local constabulary, shouting I know you’re looking for me, coppers. Coppers tried to tell him they weren’t but he was so insistent they finally went to his hotel. Lucky for him, by the time they got there he’d done up the rest of the bag. No evidence of anything save for aggravated stupidity. They kept him around till his head reattached itself and then stuck him in the first Northern Line heading back to New York.
    Borden wandered over, a panatella-sized spliff in his claw. Smiled like the cat who’d swallowed a dozen canaries. »Savouring the moment?« I asked.
    He drew in enough to fell a mule; tried to speak, couldn’t, and tottered away. Irish broke out of her huddle and slithered over in my direction.
    »Having fun?« Across the room Auden sat in a chair, pulling, that poet routine so as to better lure the chickadees. Horror of horrors, I eyed some Fenster Moop in the corner whipping out his guitar and starting to plink out his version of »Tom Doola«. Wasn’t Grayson and Whitter’s, I can tell you that much. Made me want to go over with scissors and cut the strings but he didn’t take too deep a stab at it, some kind stranger was good enough to put on a mambo album. »Glad now you took my advice and came out, aren’t you?«
    Before I could say anything I realized that some unexpected crashers had made it through the door. My evanescent wallflowers lurked near the kitchen, giving me the fisheye. Only other time I’d caught them outside my crib was that time I saw them in DC, in the Willard. I tapped Trish on the arm.
    »Look in the corner. Over there. What do you see?«
    She chinked her eyes as she focused on the mob. »Long Island girls out of their league. Borden holding up a wall. Two bowls of potato chips –«
    »That’s it?«
    »About covers the terrain,« she said. »What’s up? You look like you’ve seen –«
    »All good fun must come to an end,« I said, suddenly wanting out. »Must run.«
    »Stick tight, it’s early.«
    »Maybe I’m coming down with something,« I said. Nerves, to be sure, but I didn’t say it. »I’ll call you. Got to talk.«
    »Heart to heart?«
    I nodded. »Fabulous. Whenever, wherever.«
    She made with the double air peck and I started to push. After a few minutes of rush hour IRT I got through the door. Stepping into fresh courtyard air, I felt like I was popping out of a submarine