004-Candy.txt

004-Candy.txt

Something that is pleasant or appealing in a light or frivolous way .

"And this children is a hostel. When you're older and begin traveling on your own, this is one of many places you'll stay in. You have shared rooms in hostels. With girls in one room, and boys in the other" said a tour guide dressed in colonial era clothing.

"And be sure to bring ear plugs so you can sleep through other people snoring" I interjected to a bit of laughter from the group.

"Where are you from?" asked the tour guide.

"Salt Lake City, Utah."

"Are you enjoying Philly?" he asked.

"Definitely."

This was my first encounter with Tyler. It wouldn't be my last. Just after Ji Su went into the hostel at around 3 AM in the morning I heard a someone shouting "hey Utah" from a distance. It was Tyler. No longer clad as a founding father.

"What are you up to tonight man?" asked Tyler.

"Nothing, I think I am going to bed."

"Nah man, you want to see the real Philly?"

"What is the real Philly?"

"Come with me."

I figured I could trust an off duty tour guide, so I obliged as we hopped into a taxi.

"So where are we going?"

"We're going to an underground bar."

After 15 minutes or so we hopped out in a town that had seen better days. I always wondered what degenerate areas looked like in their prime. Before they started balding, got over weight, wrinkled, lost their jobs, and began drinking too much. No one ever built a neighborhood to look decrepit. Life takes hold, urban planning fails, property values drop. What is your back story? What famous people walked here? When did it all go wrong? What was the catalyst to its current state? Would the area ever rebound?

Tyler informed me we would need money first as this was a cash only bar. Being careful, I covered the pin pad. I began wondering; What if this was a scam? Was Tyler really his name? Maybe this was his racket, find people outside of hostels, offer them a chance to see a different part of town, then take their money. Would I be extorted? I began sizing up Tyler. He was about my height and build. I guess I could stand a chance. I wasn't much of a fighter though. The last fight I was in, was back in high school. I was absolutely destroyed and embarrassed. I had a walk of shame with a black eye and fat lip back to class. From then on I decided if I was ever in an altercation again, I would aim directly for my opponents balls.

"I can't remember exactly where it is, but we have to hurry or we won't be able to get in" said Tyler as he began jogging.

We descended deeper into what was looking less and less like the Old City. Finally we got to a two story building with a green door. It looked like the entry way to a rent controlled apartment. This was it. Tyler's friends would hop out and surround me. Maybe they would be nice, requesting only all the money I had, and tell me to get going. Maybe Tyler was a drug addict. Perhaps this was his way of paying off his dealer. Tyler knocked on the door. I was ready for anything.

A stalky, yet well-built individual opened up and stepped outside.

"Do you have memberships" asked the bouncer.

"We don't, but I've been here before. This is my friend from Salt Lake City, Utah" responded Tyler.

"Five dollars each said the bouncer" as we flipped through our wallets to pay him.

I get a bit nostalgic when I can smoke in bars. In my early 20s you could still smoke in bars. I believe the smoking ban went into effect in the summer of 2009. I remember that night vividly. Sarah and I were out bar hopping. I was teetering on black out. We were in my go-to bar at the time, Johnny's on 2nd. Smoking and that bar had a symbiotic relationship. The strong, foul odor of cigarettes served a positive role. It blocked out the even fouler odor trapped in the bars carpet. How many beers had been spilled on this carpet? Kegs worth I would imagine. How many people had vomited where I stood? Too many.

When the smoking ban went in effect they had to close the bar to replace the carpet. If you go in there today they have pergo flooring. I can't imagine who ever thought carpet was a good idea for a bar. I hadn't smoked in a bar open to the public in nearly 10 years. The first I'd seen since then was a place called Wonderland in Richmond. Smoking was allowed due to a loophole in the law. Smokers were a dying breed, literally. We used to run the world. Smoking in office buildings and hospitals. Now it was hard to smoke in a park. Bars like this were pockets of a resistance for smokers. It had almost a speak-easy feel for me. We could flaunt the law. Here, we were still in charge.

Inside the Republican it smelled of Johnny's on 2nd. I assume the stale cigarette smoke served a similar purpose here. With limited time left to drink we ordered a few rounds of whiskey shots. Jammeson was my go to for shooting. Not my favorite whiskey, but it never did me wrong.

"Are you going to buy me one?"

I turned my head to discover a topless girl. Candy's nipples were pierced. She was slim and covered in tattoos. She had short dark hair. She reminded me a bit of the actress, Fairuza Balk. My eyes scanned downwards to the money in the sides of her thong.

"We should buy her a shot" said Tyler.

"Do you want to suck on them? You can bite them if you'd like, just be gentle" said Candy with a smile.

A part of me was a bit repulsed at the idea. How many patrons had sucked on Candy tonight? It was a germ thing for me. My mother had so vehemently infused into my still malleable brain the dangers of viral infection. But alcohol had withered my inhibitions. A titty was a titty and I went in. Candy cradled my head as if I were a new born. It was comforting. Life's problems, decay of society, past regrets, future worries, global warming, and the genocide in Myanmar. They were all blocked out in the serenity of her breasts. I could stay here all night. Leaving only periodically for air and alcohol.

"So is this a strip club?" I asked Tyler, in breast muffled tone, with my head slightly turned in his direction.

The explanation was a bit more nuanced than that. According to Tyler these girls were not technically employed by the bar. They did this simply for fun and side money.

I woke up the next morning with a sizable hang over. I had been trying to avoid taking shots. In my 20s I rarely experienced hangovers, but at 33 I was paying dearly for my drinking. I found that if I stuck to beer and drank a copious amount of water before bed I avoided the worst of it. But liquor was too much to combat. I sipped my coffee wondering what I would do during my final day in Philly. In the distance I could hear the only other American in the hostel talking with the staff.

The hostel was booked out and Aaron was trying to figure out how to get a room. He was a bit of a hippy raver type with long hair. You could tell he was beginning to bald at the top. He traveled with his dog, Bosa, a flute, and several pounds of weed. He had to either have big balls or no brains to travel by air with that much bud. I imagine he would do prison time if caught. It must be a federal crime to go on planes with that much. Aaron had been trying to convince me to help him sell weed the entire time. When he wasn't convincing me to sell weed, he was trying to talk me into going to Detroit with him for an EDM show. It was a bit annoying. I wanted no part in illegal activity or seeing anymore of America. My journey this year had taken me from Salt Lake City, to Richmond, D.C., Baltimore, and finally to Philly. I had big plans this Summer and making a hundred or so on the side wasn't worth it to me.

"Hey man, they only have one room available tonight. It's their most expensive room. It's a two-person room so it would just be me and you. If you switch over your reservation I'll pay the difference" said Aaron.

It was a good deal.

"Do you snore?" I asked.

"What?"

"Do you snore? If you promise you don't snore I'll do it."

"No, I don't think so."

The deal was done. If he didn't snore I would get good sleep tonight. Sleep I needed as the drive back to Virginia would take me several hours.

That night I decided to travel to the Republican on my own. It was my last night in the city. I had seen all the touristy stuff already and wanted to just drink for cheap, by myself, watch some titties, and maybe run into Candy again. When I got back to my room Aaron was there. Both inebriated, we talked about traveling. We exchanged stories of where we had been and what was next. It reminded me a bit of a camp out with the scouts or a sleep over with your friend in grade school.

There is an eternal comradery when sending words into darkness. There is no need to look someone in the eye. Like reading a book, you only need form images in your mind. The interpretation of the conversation is far more open. And you can never remember the last words before you trail off to sleep. At what point did we mutually decided to end the conversation? When did the necessity for sleep take hold? When did the darkness of the night win over words? It fades, another sun lit morning, massive hangover, and a drive a head.