We got the fuck out of Kingman. We rented a car and aimed it for Flagstaff, a college town with lots of people and many things and also some stuff. I’ll miss blasting Nick Cave on the Sportsman’s jukebox and getting supernaturally weird with the locals. I’ll also miss cupping my ear to hear over the lonesome wail of the train that comes through town every thirty minutes, and the way people looked at me like I’m an alien, but we had to get out of there before we began writing on the walls with our own excrement. This, however, didn’t mean abandoning the newborn tradition of Dark Tuesday; that was definitely still in observance. We wore black from head to toe and affected morose countenances. We went to the breakfast buffet and let the air around us radiate with misery and doom. Then we got the hell out of that town.
When we arrived in Flagstaff, Dark Tuesday quickly became Blindingly Bright And Impossibly Awesome Tuesday. Flagstaff is rad. I called my buddy Mike’s double-cousin, Jon–who is basically a bearded version of Mike–and we met him at a bar in town. After a couple of beers, Jon took us on a tour of the town and we hopped some bars. Weirdly, in one bar I met a guy and girl who grew up in rural Victoria–which is where I hail from. They were playing pool at the table adjacent to ours and I overheard their accents. It never ceases to amaze me how small the world really is.
We ran around town for a bit and got some pizza and did some jokes. Frankly, we were euphoric. It was so nice to be around people again. We went to Jon’s place to meet his (and Mike’s) cousin, Thomas (pictured with red bandana), who is a conspiracy theorist. When we knocked on his trailer he was watching the Zapruder film. He was hilarious and he had a sawn off shotgun he called his ‘insurance.’
Later in the evening we went to this house that has live shows in the basement. That was insane. It was a ramshackle homestead with a bunch of kids out front drinking beer and smoking and being cool and young. We went down to the basement and saw a band called Ghost Foot. They were amazing and everyone jumped around and pushed each other and stuff; I think they call it ‘moshing.’
After the show we were pretty beat, so we headed to our motel, The Knight Inn. On the way we stopped by a Jack In the Box and had to use the drive-thru to order food because they’d closed the restaurant for the night. We also had to comply with store policy and order our food through someone in a car, meaning we had to run up the drive-thru to where a girl was just finishing placing her order and ask to add our stuff on. We got burgers and tacos (we’re getting fat), and Joe ordered a lemonade, asking if they could ‘water it down a bit. I don’t like it too sweet.’ Warren and I lost it when he said that. Joe is one of those dudes who has to alter everything he orders wherever he goes. He’ll order a salad and ask to substitute for the blue cheese dressing and please put it on the side; it’s totally a New York thing. Anyway, we’re standing in the drive-thru of a Jack In the Box, ordering with a complete stranger, and Joe is pulling his fussy shit. I almost wet my pants. Maybe you had to be there.
We bought the girl her burger for helping us out and she was pleased as punch. Then we told the girl in the window that she had beautiful eyes and she gave us fries for free. Telling the girl at the drive-thru window she had beautiful eyes was more than likely creepy, but at the time we thought we were being enormously charming. Sorry, Kimberly.
Back at the motel we listened to Rowland S. Howard’s ‘Shut Me Down’ eight times in a row and passed the hell out. Dark Tuesday was the best. I’m so tired. I hope what I just wrote made sense.
Next up: Monument Valley and The Grand Canyon!