An overly-eager artist being welcomed into the industry is taken on a bumpy ride as she learns life does not have as many sunny days as she thought. Within the process, she comes to learn that her tour guide is a lot more important to her than she e...
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Early Summer 1985 Venice Beach, California
Slumped shoulders belonging to a frozen body somehow remained still as my wandering eyes busily bounced around from dancer to dancer. We stood off in the cut of the crowd, discretely shielded by security. Everyone's attention remained glued to the two teens spinning on their heads on cardboard in the center of the concrete strip along the sandy shores of the California beach. When visting Venice Beach, during these times, you were bound to hear George Kantz's Din Daa Daa at least once every hour. Most street performers found a way to incorporate the song into one of their routines after Breakin', the movie, was such a huge hit with the song included though it was already popular amongst real breakers.
Before I rolled around with the crew I do now, I'd go there and watch them dance for hours. These days, time is cut short. Time is cut short because I'm busy, amongst many of other things. One of those things happens to be the necessity of exiting areas that we feel will go into a frenzy after the wrong kind of people spot out my people-watching partner.
"Look at 'em. They gettin' down."
I heard the smile in Prince's voice. Seeing children with any kind of true talent has always been the kind of thing to steal a giddy grin from him. Sure, children with supposed talents are cute. Doesn't everybody think their kid can sing? Most people do. To see a kid who can really blow though? That's another kind of cute that quickly transfers over to amazement. Prince is a sucker for any talent standing at 4'4" without the phonic intelligence to not occasionally talk like Elmer Fudd.
A soft giggle escaped me as my hands fell into the pockets of my denim jacket. "Aren't they?" My fingers tinkered around with the chapstick that Prince asked me to hold onto in the car. I'd been focused on not mixing the two up, being that we use the same brand. I kept having to tell myself that I have the cherry flavored stick.
"C'mon," Prince nudged me, his weight shifting to the leg standing closest to me at the moment, with a grin still remaining present. "You said you were hungry. You can't just live off churro stands."
"The hell I can," I playfully objected. "Listen, I know you and your sweet tooth are on a diet right now but there is something about these churros. These things are... I don't know..." I paused in the midst of struggling with how to accurately describe the happiness that those churros always seem to bring me. "I don't know, P. Maybe an orgasm?" Like a dog hearing his favorite command, Prince's eyebrows rose to the center of his forehead. The expression was short lived as I carried on talking. "Yeah, an orgasm. These churros are like orgasms with every bite."
Prince head shook in disappointment, his chuckles remaining low as his right eyebrow slowly perched back up on a forehead wrinkle upon the ceasing of laughter. "You know what too many orgasms makes you do, don't you?" My curiosity got the best of me. Falling right into his trap, I allowed my oblivion to present itself in plain sight. My pause said it all. Prince swooped in for the kill. "Make you fat."
