A Random Night In Austin

Last night, Sam had soccer practice, so she dropped me off in "SOCO" (I feel like every big city has a SOCO somewhere). On the first Thursday of every month, there's a carnival...thing on South Congress. I can't quite describe it. But she dropped me off and there were plenty of people, so whatever it was, it was happening.

- I thought that I would start the evening off with a drink. But, very soon, I realized that I had left my wallet in my shorts. I had decided to wear rolled up long sleeves and jeans for the first time in a week, and it seemed that I am quite forgetful when I am slightly more formal. And I only had a couple bucks in the pockets of my jeans. I sighed aloud and mumbled rather slowly, “Goddamnit.” This evening was off to a very off-start.

- Slightly defeated but still quite curious, I walked (with my laptop bag) by some food stands that were run out of airstreams. And one of them, I think, was selling goats as pets (or food for Tyrannosaurus Rexes). It was like a little gypsy camp. There were tiny lights and paper lanterns. Some had Christmas lights around the tent in front of the airstreams. And there are just people everywhere as the sun is setting soon.

- Giving up on the gypsy camp, I watched a band of older men playing classics from the Sixties in an open dirt bar. No roof. Just tables and a cement patio for a stage. It looked like a small ranch. The older men playing music were surrounded and cheered on my drunk college students. It was an interesting mix, almost something that makes you stoked on age-gap interaction. There were colorful paper lanterns and lots of southwestern plants. I was going to sit in there, but then I thought, “And do what? Talk to who? And buy beer with what money?” So, after having this intense argument with myself, I just stood there on the sidewalk and listened.

- Then I meandered through a boutique. Lots of gimmicky things. Lots of wonderful art. You know the mixture, where you can’t tell which category is for which booth. Necklaces with real bugs. Art made from aluminum cans. Stamped t-shirts. Earrings made from guitar picks. Et cetera.

- Upon leaving the small boutique, I heard a kid say, “Mom, the zombies are coming. They’re getting closer.” I smile, and then think, “Good Lord, this kid’s fucked up.” I think that until actual zombies (or locals dressed up as zombies and yelling at other locals) and the army of the undead walk by the boutique. Wanting to avoid any of the harassment I’ve witnessed at Knott’s Scary Farm, I turn back to the boutique and ask a series of inane questions regarding the guitar pick earrings. “Really? No kidding. Picks have never been used. Huh,” I say as if I’m going to buy the Mick Jagger guitar pick earrings. The zombies past and I move on.

- Looking for a coffee shop where I can work on fiction, I realized that every place will be jam-packed. And I haven’t enough money to eat at any of the restaurants. So I keep walking, seeming like the only person walking the way I am, as everyone walks towards me. The sun is setting and the shops and booths are lighting up. It suddenly looks like small town Texas. I instantly have the urge to be Jeff Bridges in The Last Picture Show. This awkward notion of time travel and fiction as reality lasts the rest of the night, and I feel myself revisiting the mysticism I felt the day before. It’s so strange, I can’t explain it. It actually makes me slightly suspicious of everything and everyone. I become delightfully paranoid.

- There’s an old soda fountain shop that I duck into. I wander through several times, deciding what I can afford. There’s candy I’ve never seen before and gourmet chocolate in the window. I am now upset myself for forgetting my wallet. Sometimes, even though I have the capability to be the loudest person in a room, I can appear to be the shiest guy to strangers. I (very) quietly ask if I can have some popcorn, as if I’m some small-town preacher’s son who has left home and is sinning for the first time. I buy some sour candy too and ask for a water (all in the lowest audible tone I have in me). This girl (who is younger than I am), with her country twang hidden in her voice, talks to me like she thinks I’m afraid of the city. I take my candy and just stand there waiting for my popcorn, watching the girl who waited on me talk to another female employee about local boys. Finally, she points to me and says, “And then…he wanted something. I forget. I’m sorry, honey, what’d you want?” Very quietly, I responded, “That’s ok. Popcorn.” Then the girl calls herself a bunch of funny names while laughing, as the guy there gives me a water and tells me to enjoy my “time.”

- Now, walking around, it is night. The weather is still warm, but the stars are out. This all seems like something out of a movie from the ‘50s. There’s no yelling, just plenty of people with plenty of reasonable conversations. A man plays violin on the street. I cross the street to the other side where there are some old brick buildings and a larger gypsy-looking camp, as I start walking back towards the city. The gypsy-looking camp, of course, is not a real camp of gypsies. It’s just a few airstreams and booths again, serving everything from burritos to snow cones. I sit on the curb of the gypsy camp and eat my popcorn and drink my water (keeping my candy for later), as everyone passes me within inches. I people-watch and hear fragments of conversation.

- Quietly sitting, eating and thinking, I am finally addressed by a well-dressed man who hands me a small, thin pamphlet.

“You looking for salvation?” he asks. I’ve been approached by plenty of religious advocates but this seems the strangest. I was already in a weird mood and observing everything in some emaciated cinematic quality.

“Nope,” I tell him, which is true (I’m not).

“You know where you’re going when you die?”

“I have a general idea.”

“Is that something that interests you?”

To which, I shrug, still eating my popcorn. I probably look like a simpleton. I’m only eating a small bag of popcorn and drinking water, while everyone around me (smart enough to come with wallets and purses) is stuffing their faces with beer and burritos. The well-dressed man hands me a pamphlet.

“You going to read that?” he asks, pointing to what he just gave me. I want to be honest, so I skim the thing and ultimately space out, forgetting he’s there. Finally, I make a decision.

“You’re better off giving this to somebody else,” I say, still looking up at him.

“But I want to give it to you. I want you to read it,” he tells me.

“You sure?” I say, with this weird suspicion, as if he’s giving me something personal, like it’s the only copy he’s ever had to pass out and he chose me. Of course he has a whole handful in his pocket (probably next to his wallet.

“Yeah,” he says definitely. “I’m sure.”

And then he walks away. The whole thing seems weird. He’s the first person to acknowledge me after sitting there for fifteen minutes (of course, he’s the only one who has motivation, but it was still odd).

- Then, the next person who walks by me, actually says something to me. It’s as if having this pamphlet for salvation lets everyone know that I’m a decent person, not a preacher’s son looking to stray. It’s an older woman with a dog who asks, “Is that kettle corn?” I shake my head, “No. It’s just regular corn.” She laughs and walks away. I suddenly feel uncomfortable with my spot, so I leave, listening to the religious singers clash with the percussion gang (both are on the move, winding through the crowds on either side of the street).

- Walking along the street, I hear the zombies once again (one of them now has a chainsaw). They're now all on the roof of a bar hyping up Halloween hijinks in October or something. People from the sidewalk are yelling at the zombies on the roof and the zombies are screaming back. It's all playful, but it's still bizarre. I just keep walking between the two factions.

- I watch some capoeira dance-fighters. It’s beautiful and threatening. There are numerous musicians and other dance-fighters cheering them on along with the random bystanders of the street carnival. It’s such a majestic display, but it’s in front of a sewing machine repair store, so it’s tainted with the mundane. I stand there like an idiot with my laptop bag, popcorn, water and salvation pamphlet.

- Finally, I decide that it’s time to get some work done. I walk towards the bridge for the other side (where there are much less crowded coffee shops). But the capitol is at the end of the street in the distance. It’s warm and I just want to get there to sit down. It’s total night now and the percussion gang is behind me. There is no one between me and the moving drummers. It felt like I was marching to burn the capitol and this was an army behind me.

- They stay with the carnival and I keep going. It’s quite a walk. I am handed two or three more pamphlets of salvation. Far away from the carnival, and now the only person walking in this direction, people periodically approach and pass me. A man stops me and I automatically assume he wants to save me as well. “Excuse me,” the mans asks in a Eastern European accent, “do you know of any shops that are open late?” I’m relieved. “Actually, I’m just visiting,” I tell him. At this point, I feel like he could give me a cryptic response, like, “Aren’t we all?” and that would’ve made just as much as sense to me as anything else. Instead, he just nods, smiles and moves on.

- I make it across the bridge where the bats come out at night and watch the peaceful lake move like a quiet river. I cannot see the moon behind the clouds and a man on a bicycle wearing a peculiar lit-up jacket passes by me. Once across the bridge, the carnival far behind me, there is a massive gust of wind. It’s so powerful that signs are knocked over. It’s intensely random. I look up and see that the moon is bright yellow and the clouds have parted. This city is a place of dark magic, I swear. I finally make it to the coffee shop (called The Hideout) and just sit down to read and write.

I don’t know what's happening in this city, but I'm having chaotic episodes of mysticism. I can’t describe it and it sounds either marvelous or stupid, but there’s something here, something weird and wild.