2. johnny thunders, chapter one continued from synchronicity

I once climbed to a girl’s third storey window, placing flowers at the casement. She phoned me the next weekend, complaining that the decomposition was stinking up her apartment. There was a screen on the window preventing her from removing them. I immediately replaced them with a plastic arrangement. Life is speckled with a garden variety of ironies. Some incidental or even occur ineffably. Others are cultivated from the fruits of labour. Occasionally, these two flourish together.

I imagine it’s about time I introduced myself. I’m Greg. I own this brilliant pub called Stereofish. The place is overwhelmed by James Dean clones, differing exclusively by the fact that they’re sleeved in tattoos. The women’s looks intimate Betty Page, tattoos withstanding. To our customers the seduction is music. We are the only bar in the city that offers punk nightly. Although, it’s not just punk music, every alternative genre you can think of-stuff like Bowery Electric, The Stone Roses, The Specials, Neutral Milk Hotel, Public Enemy, DJ Shadow, the Pixies and The International Noise Conspiracy. Sometimes it’s just really good rock and roll, like The John Spencer Blues Explosion, MC5, Iggy and the Stooges, Rocket from the Crypt, The Supersuckers and Guitar Wolf. You’d probably hear The Jackson 5 and Stevie Wonder on any given night as well. Sophomoric jocks and the dance bar crowd colorfully discern Stereofish as “the fag bar”. I shouldn’t use the word discern in my description of them, they lack the consciousness of perception or just plain propriety.

It’s July 15^th, the birth dates of Ian Curtis, Johnny Thunders and Trevor Horne of the Buggles-they’re the ones that sang video killed the radio star. Consequently, a song I’ve always hated, on many levels. Most momentous of all, today is the day that I meet Kara and the beginning to an episode that could nurture lyrical content to a thousand Emo bands.

I was at the liquor store picking up Canadian Club, Bombay Sapphire, Stoly or blah, blah, blah, provision for Stereo Fish, ambling through the aisles when it happened.

“Hi my name is Kara” hand outstretched, it was the girl from behind the counter.

“Hi, I’m Greg.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you”.

She spoke in a manner that was both urbane and affable.

“I’m very pleased to meet you too.”

There was momentary confusion, what had just happened here? Could it be that this girl liked me or was she just being helpful? And why had I become infatuated already? My friend Maxim theorizes that you have inclinations towards certain people because you’re subconsciously cognizant that they’re attracted to you primarily. Simplified, you like them because they like you. That’s not to say you recognize this in reality, and it’s certainly not exclusive to all forms of attraction, primarily lust.

“You own Stereofish don’t you?”

Kara’s question induced a deluge of questions and acknowledgments like, I know so and so who works there, and do you remember this band that played there? Finally, it had led to what I most wanted to hear.

“What nights are you there? I might want to come by and visit you.”

Normally, the thought of requited affection would propel me into some sort of puerile anxiety. But it hadn’t, there was something comforting about Kara.

“Would you like to come by tomorrow, I’m at Stereofish all night.”

Kara nodded in confirmation.