Saturday 28 April 2007
20:52 -- YJ's Snack Cafe
18th and Wyandotte
Kansas City Missouri

April started out unusually warm. The angry thunderheads had come and gone with regularity almost every day.
But the weather never seemed to change. It just remained hot and muggy, for April. Joe stood under an awning with his friend, Mike. They were caught in an afternoon downpour after the KawfeeKafe closed down early. It was easy to just watch the rain form huge rivers in the gutters and to watch the wisps of steam rise from the still hot streets. Both silently watched, enjoying the peace of the moment with nowhere particular to go. Even though there were torrents in the streets, this town still was dry. It is a dryness that no liquid could quench. Liquor made it go away temporarily but the dryness always came back when the due was to be paid the next day. " What's there to do in this town?" Joe liked his friend Mike for his matter of factness and for his love of good literature. Many hours had been spent talking to death the in's and outs of the "great works." So much so that the subject could not be broached without covering well worn territory. So even that could not dispel the dryness. So today, the talk turned to drink, and what passed for nightlife here. Mike replied slowly "weeellll, I guess there's a band playing tonight." "You know 'em. Pondscum." Joe shook his head like he had never heard of them before. "You know, Amy and her girlfriends, they formed a band. Kind of chickish rock, but ok." Joe thought of all the Amy's he met in his life, but only one rang a bell in this town. "Oh yeah, yeah, let's do that. Where are they playing?" "At the hammer." "Oh, ok... what do we do until then?" "This is it" Mike said, sarcastically.

Everyone knows the Hammer. It is the kind of place where the piss overflows from the men's room and runs out the front door. The plywood floors are little improvement over dirt and sawdust. It is a townie dive that features only live music. Twenty years ago when things flowed more freely this place featured many up and coming and national acts. There was always a line to get in and standing room inside only. As the years passed and attitudes got more puritain, the crowds thinned to nothing. Now the door man wondered how he was to get paid. Shaking down the bands to pay to play when they didn't drew worked less and less, as the quality of the musicians went under the floor and many bands, if they showed, could hardly afford decent wheels to get themselves to the show. So Pondscum was a joy. Not only were they pretty, but they drew the fratboy crowd from the University. Nevermind that the band was made up of lesbians. Nevermind that the drummer in the band, Amy, had to teach the other girls to play and that they often weren't very good. The songs were catchy and it drew the guys, who liked to drink and yell vulgarities at the girls. The girls mistook it for rabid fans. They also brought in a core group of their "cool" friends every night -- all of them getting in for free. However, many in this group drank hard too, so the doorman always looked the other way. He just took it out of the bands take at the end of the night. The split was supposed to be fifty fifty, but the band rarely counted anyway. As long as they had a crowd.

The rain before made the night seem steamy. When Joe and Mike walked to the Circle "C" to eat some cheap junk, they ran into Stevo and Lupe. Lupe was driving his car, so they all decided to cruise. Joe liked Lupe a lot. He was a simple kid with a great sense of humor. He had a tendency to laugh at nothing -- to just sit there silently and burst out laughing like he heard the funniest story. And he would keep on laughing and giggling at his own private joke for hours. Most people found it odd in a funny way. Joe enjoyed it. "Too many people in this world are too hard to please. They demand you entertain them with something funny, then they grade you on your wit. It is their own insecurity that makes them sour. And it is their lack of imagination and drive that makes them demand to be entertained." "Who needs 'em." Joe thought. Lupe is like a kid, easy to please, and therefore entertaining to be around in his own right. Joe also liked Stevo. He is a bit uptight ... too worried what people think of him all the time, and as such, he is awkward and often kind of dull to be around. But inside he was deep and philisophical. He loved trains, much more than Joe, spending a lot of time away from others at the tracks, looking mooney eyed at their convergence in the distance, wishing that a distant airhorn would bring some excitement, and would eventually take him away. Many people didn't like Stevo, and thought he was a dork to be around. Joe never had any problem talking to him about things that were interesting to both parties on a much deeper level. "People like Stevo are kind of like divining rods. When you are around them they are always so deep and thoughtful, that when others would try to dis them or ignore them, you can figure out who's a fake and who's not by the way they react to Stevo." "Stevo is just happy to have a friend around since he seemed to have so few of them." Joe always thought this way about his friends .. re-evaluating and sizing them each time he is around them. Joe is usually jovial and affiable, but he has a hard time really trusting people.

They drove around town for about an hour and a half. Joe was drinking, but with his three friends, he didn't need the alcohol to chase the dryness away. The time seemed to go by like minutes. They made it to the Hammer, and found the bar packed and the girls were playing. As usual, when the band finished a song, or even if they didn't, they were greeted with the usual cat calls and blue propositions, which they mistook for appreciation of their song. Their friends, for the most part, clustered in a group in front of the stage. Most of the "fans" hung out in the back in the maze of bar stools and tables that littered the place. The bar is a cavern. The walls are all black and covered with pictures of all the acts taht played there before, along with other memorabilia. No one is sure if the walls are painted black, or if they just appear that way from the dim lighting and layers of soot. Actually, nobody has ever really put much thought to what color the walls really are. They are so covered up with pictures and antlers and road signs and such that if they have any color at all, it would be barely visible were the lights, though non-existant, turned up full blast. The owner is a high school coach. He has long since retired from this place, though it is named after his nickname -- Tony "the Hammer." No one thought much of where he got his name. He has rarely visited his place except to take care of the business of keeping it open. That isn't too tough, as he knows every cop and Judge in town, and drinks coffee every morning with the head of liquor control at the "britchbusters" club at the Second Empire Cafe. Half the cops played on his team or were in his gym class. So if there were ever any trouble at his place, no one ever thought for a second that it would turn out bad for the staff or the boss of the Hammer. Most of the townies knew this, and would try to get on the good side of Tony, or his manager. No matter who started the trouble, if it were someone no body knew, then they would catch the bad end of it. But with the dryness of business lately, the bar has been forced to try new things. This new crowd was allowed to take it over on certain nights. They were dumb kids mostly. Many of the old hands at the bar would try to help the kids in their efforts, only to find themselves brushed off. The kids were too "cool" and didn't seem to care too much for these old guys telling them how to run their scene. Normally that kind of rebuke would get an ass kickin', but lately, it seems the kids were the only ones bringing in people. Most of the old crowd has gotten married off with kids and responsibilities and little time for music or bands. So the few old hands could give a damn weather this new clique listened to them or not, as long as they brought some money into the bar.