“House of Fun” by Madness. 

Walking to Cheers; left one block, right, two blocks forward.  Just on the left, behind the 7-11.  Two A.M.?  It’s difficult to tell in Las Vegas.  “If you serve, I’ll be on my way.”  The bars never close; the ambient heat presses down on you heavier than a Sumo wrestler.  I just got off the phone with a girlfriend in San Francisco.  We’re worse than Freda Kahlo and Diego Rivera; nothing but boozing and whoring.  She’s sprung on some rocker and can’t stop talking about him.  Born in Bakersfield, about my age, in a cow-punk band, and drives dead people around for a living.  Sounds hot to me.  She can’t stop talking about him, but I still listen anyway.  I’m jealous.  I should be living in San Francisco and dating hot punk boys.  I should be able to pick up random tattooed and pierced chicks on Craigslist.  Instead, I’m listening to dramas from a million miles away and contemplating stumbling over to the local dive for some brew. The Newcastle there is cheap as hell at night and the bartenders have a generous pour.  I usually know at least 6 people by name and more by face every time I walk in.  “Where everybody knows your name” I guess.

“Party Girl” by U2

A Latina I know from the Goth club is inside.  She’s been all over the world in the past year.  At least to Mexico and the Far East; far enough for me to say “all over the world.”  A slightly round face, palest olive skin, and jet-black hair frame the brightest smile.  She just put two deep green streaks in her hair; on each side of her face.  She comments that it’s the same color as her apron at work.  She’s a barista at the Evil Café ©.  I guess she only wants a part time gig and at $7 and hour plus tips she’s making enough to pay the rent.  I buy her a beer since I think the rent is about all she can pay.  We go outside to see her scooter.  It’s smaller than the ones I’ve owned.  She’s spray-painted it metallic silver.  The rear brake is on the handlebar instead of the floorboard like most scooters I’ve seen.

“Go Your Own Way” by Fleetwood Mac.

 People fade in and out as the night goes on.  Three becomes four becomes dawn.  I catch a ride from this chick with a Mohawk and lots of facial piercings.  I almost want to go home with her, but I need more sleep than I’ll be getting before I have to leave for work.  I fall asleep quickly, thankfully.