Promoting In Binghamton...

Ahh, Friday nite on State Street. Bingo-town's finest come crawling out of the woodwork.
Yes, this is sarcasm.
I'm so sick of the bar scene. Unless I'm gigging, watching a good band, or attending a Fetish Ball where someone's getting strung up on meat-hooks, I don't want to be there. But last nite I was out for a good purpose: My music. So, you know... Sacrifices and stuff...
Here's how it went:

I was mildly impressed by a new place that opened called Dillenger's. It's beautiful inside. Clean. New plank-board floors, flagstone and granite bar, high ornate ceilings, classy black and white pictures on brick walls, and dragon decorations everywhere. Typical of my entry, the room lulled - people looked over their shoulders. I used to blush...
I spoke with the DJ, gave him my CD, then hopped up on a chair at the crowded bar. An unopened bottle of Merlot was uncorked and poured. The bartender waved my money away... I lounged...
"You know, you're the only person here drinking red wine." some older guy in a suit said. I didn't look around. "I have good taste." I said. He invited me to go to The Number 5 with him - Binghamton's most ritzy expensive restaurant and bar. He'll drive. No thanks, potential murderer/rapist. And he became indignant. Nice. As a matter of fact, you're such a creep, I'm leaving. I hopped down, shouldered past him, and walked out...
Next.

"QOORRTNNIII!!" the bouncer sang from half-way down the street. I grinned and greeted him as I walked up. I don't know his name, but I know I never wait in line or pay to get into this club. "Where have you been, pretty little girl?" (I hadn't been out since August.) I didn't say a word, but made a big gothy production of putting the back of my hand to my forehead, leaning back, and sighing dramatically. That was my answer. He laffed so hard he leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. After righting himself, he asked me what CDs I had in my hand.
"Mine!"
"I didn't know you played!" he gasped.
"Why yes, darling."
"Come with me."
He took my hand and led me into the club. People standing in line complained. The room lulled and looked over their shoulders. I was introduced to the DJ, and we spoke a bit. My CD was whisked in one direction, and I in the other. Fresh Merlot was poured, the bouncer went on his way, my money waved. The bartender and I chat about death metal, Chris Barnes, and Danni Filth. I stayed only long enough to finish my wine...
Next.

I hit some club under the street. I was waved thru the door, but the people behind me were told to buck-up. The room lulled. This is getting olde. Some girls came bouncing up to me. One played with the ribbons in my hair while the second started squeezing my legs, asking me what my pants were made of. I purred while the third stood there grinning lasciviously. Some college guy came up and started talking to me. His lips were moving, but I wasn't interested in what he was saying. Probably something like, who are you? I excused myself and spoke with the DJ... On my way out, I asked the bouncer if I needed a tacky bracelet. He shook his head, "No. I'll remember you."
Next.

It was Mardi Gras nite and people in beads and masks were scurrying in and out of bars, giggling. I went back to Dillenger's because I sensed that someone I knew was in there - and by this hour it would be nice to speak with someone familiar. I went back in... Blah blah blah. Some guy came up to me and asked me if I'd go back to his place with him and smoke a spliff. I looked at him blankly and blinked - his idiocy baffling - and I was distracted by someone a few feet away whose stare I could feel boring into the side of me. I didn't answer the pothead. Instead, I turned to give this other guy an exasperated, saucy grin.
And it was my high school crush.

*Cue record scratching sound.* You know the one I'm talking about.

Yup. This guy I doted on from afar, and never ever went up to talk to. And here he is, nine years later, standing there absolutely gawking at me.
"Qortni! I knew it was you!" he said, and wrapped himself around me.
Ok. Step away from the girl. This is too weird.
We never said more than a few sentences to each other in school, but he was asking me all about myself now. And him? He's married. Has a son. Still lives in Afton. When you live in Afton, there's not much to talk about. You work. You live. There's not much to tell because there's not much going on. When you say you live in Afton, you can expect conversation to be relatively short. Eventually our conversation died down, and I decided it was time to disappear for the nite. I told him it was nice to see him, and that I was taking off. He clung to me again.
Beh! Stop it!
I smiled, gave him a little wave, and went home...

Mmmmm... Bed...