Street Feeling

12 - Bash

He pulled up and the sky was purpling, getting darker by the second. It wasn't too late yet, and the party clearly hadn't reached its peak, but just from getting out of his vehicle and standing outside of the house, he could tell it would be hard to find Carp. The house was tall and extravagant, and in the darkening atmosphere, it was illuminated from below like some building from a Batman comic. The shadows played menacingly. Shouting and music could be heard from the yard.

"I've never been in this part of town," Lanky said.

"Me neither," Churches said. "But the houses here really are a special kind of ugly."

Lanky laughed. "They really are,"

The sun was sinking lower and lower as they approached the house, from the walk to the yard, it was like entering a strange new world. Outside, it was filled with people, sitting on the steps, looking like they were about to puke their guts out. The hedges were green and enclosed the area in such a way that was claustrophobic. Once they were in, it would be hard to get out. Lanky seemed tense, recognizing some people from the small crowds of Theseus Noise shows. Churches didn't know why he was scared. After all, there were no Skins here, and those were the guys who threw the bottle. Churches marched up the walk and up the porch with purpose, demanding order and justice with every time his feet hit the ground. He passed through the door and came unto the entry hall.

Once he was inside, that power and authority that he had once carried with him when he was entering had been drained. He felt overwhelmed, small, and insignificant, looking at the amount of people here. There were mods and punks dancing to the music on the blasting stereo. The bass and drum were high but it wasn't a great sound. Churches wondered if it might have been a Thick Green Machine commercial model of sound system, but he wasn't about to geek out when he had a mission. He wandered around slower than he would have liked to be wandering around, trying not to touch any of the sweaty, stinky people that surrounded him. He tried to spot Carp. It shouldn't have been this hard.

Meandering to what was finally recognizable as a study, less busy and without the walls of moving flesh, they could hear the noise of the rest of the party masked behind the running of a record player, playing Johnny Thunders and The Heartbreakers' "L.A.M.F". The desk lamp was on and there were sheets of paper scattered on the table. A pen was on the ground as if it had been dropped. Churches recognized what was on the paper: it was Carp's artwork. He had seen their drawings in the zines they made for the band. Carp had been here. He wondered what made them leave.

"I didn't know Bill had such good music taste," Lanky said. "This is the New York stuff."

"Bill wasn't in here last. Carp was," Churches said. "They were drawing you, actually. Look."

He pointed to the art on the table. It was a sketch in the middle of being inked -- Lanky was drawn with a cartoonish ice pack and thermometer sticking out of his mouth, cast on his leg and band-aids on his face. He looked like a sick Looney Tune. Text was planned out to the left of him:

"ALRIGHT, WHO THREW THE BOTTLE!? VIOLENCE AT OUR SHOWS GETTING BAD"

"Hey, that is me!" Lanky said. "I always love how they draw their cartoons."

"Must be a drawing for the zine," Churches said. He couldn't stop staring at the pen on the floor. "Do you think they dropped that?"

"Dropped what?"

He pointed at the ground. "The pen. Do you think they were startled and dropped it?"

"Maybe they just had a case of the butter fingers, I don't know," Lanky said. "What I'm confused about is the record player still going even though they aren't in this room."