I was waiting in line at CVS when my friend Kenny walked in. He had big shadows under his eyes and looked sick. "You alright?" I asked. "Yeah, I'm sick alright...Look... you're going to hear a lot of things in the next few days, and since I have you here, I just want you to know there are two sides to everything. Oh, and I'm not going to be playing that gig at the Green Line today," and with that he shuffled out of the store leaving me feeling bewildered.
This didn't last long, because I was already on my way down to the Green Line, which was bustling with people sipping coffee and people there to see some music. There was also a marked tension in the air, clusters of scrappy West Philadelphia anarchists in deep and hushed discussions about something that had happened over the weekend. I sat on a stoop drinking coffee and looked up at my friend Dan. "I've been in New York the past two nights," I said. "Did something happen over the weekend?"
"Oh... oh, you uh, you haven't uh.. heard what happened?"
"No," I replied. "Did it involve Kenny?"
One of the anarchists, a friend of mine named Bill, glanced over. "Yeah. Kenny raped Maureen."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's quite an accusation," I said warily.
"Well, that's basically what happened," said Bill. "The other night, Kenny raped Maureen."
I sat down on a stoop and pondered this for a minute. Another anarchist, Rhoda, was waving her arms around and sputtering angrily.
I squinted up into the sun at and asked, "ummm... did anyone report this to the police?"
"Oh, and what good would THAT do?" Rhoda retorted. "Hmmp, the police."
I puckered my lips like I do when I'm thinking and absorbed this. "I bumped into Kenny on the way over here. I don't think he's playing." The two looked surprised. "That's disappointing," said Bill. "There was going to be some sort of confrontation. I think Maureen was going to come and say something."
"Has anyone..? Oh never mind," I said getting up. I walked down to the corner and looked at a groop of children playing in Clark Park. It was one of the only truly beautiful days we had in an otherwise rainy and cold spring. A trolley came rattling down Baltimore Avenue. A bird tweeted somewhere. As these things were happening, I turned around saw my friend Robert walking down the the street. He was scheduled to play with Kenny. "Hey man," I said, waving him over. "Listen.. I have to talk to you and get to the bottom of something." "Sure," he said, and we sat down on a stoop a few doors down from the Green Line.
"So what the HELL happened this weekend?" I asked.
Robert looked down the street and then up the street before meeting my eyes and saying, "Well... Kenny fucked up. And he fucked up BIG TIME."
And then the details came out. Kenny and Maureen had been chatting it up after a gig, both of them really drunk. Kenny invited Maureen to stay at his house no strings attached. They went home together. Kenny, in typical guy fashion, made a move, which was rejected. He made a second pass, also rejected. Maureen then woke up in bed with Kenny, her panties around her ankles.
This didn't last long, because I was already on my way down to the Green Line, which was bustling with people sipping coffee and people there to see some music. There was also a marked tension in the air, clusters of scrappy West Philadelphia anarchists in deep and hushed discussions about something that had happened over the weekend. I sat on a stoop drinking coffee and looked up at my friend Dan. "I've been in New York the past two nights," I said. "Did something happen over the weekend?"
"Oh... oh, you uh, you haven't uh.. heard what happened?"
"No," I replied. "Did it involve Kenny?"
One of the anarchists, a friend of mine named Bill, glanced over. "Yeah. Kenny raped Maureen."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's quite an accusation," I said warily.
"Well, that's basically what happened," said Bill. "The other night, Kenny raped Maureen."
I sat down on a stoop and pondered this for a minute. Another anarchist, Rhoda, was waving her arms around and sputtering angrily.
I squinted up into the sun at and asked, "ummm... did anyone report this to the police?"
"Oh, and what good would THAT do?" Rhoda retorted. "Hmmp, the police."
I puckered my lips like I do when I'm thinking and absorbed this. "I bumped into Kenny on the way over here. I don't think he's playing." The two looked surprised. "That's disappointing," said Bill. "There was going to be some sort of confrontation. I think Maureen was going to come and say something."
"Has anyone..? Oh never mind," I said getting up. I walked down to the corner and looked at a groop of children playing in Clark Park. It was one of the only truly beautiful days we had in an otherwise rainy and cold spring. A trolley came rattling down Baltimore Avenue. A bird tweeted somewhere. As these things were happening, I turned around saw my friend Robert walking down the the street. He was scheduled to play with Kenny. "Hey man," I said, waving him over. "Listen.. I have to talk to you and get to the bottom of something." "Sure," he said, and we sat down on a stoop a few doors down from the Green Line.
"So what the HELL happened this weekend?" I asked.
Robert looked down the street and then up the street before meeting my eyes and saying, "Well... Kenny fucked up. And he fucked up BIG TIME."
And then the details came out. Kenny and Maureen had been chatting it up after a gig, both of them really drunk. Kenny invited Maureen to stay at his house no strings attached. They went home together. Kenny, in typical guy fashion, made a move, which was rejected. He made a second pass, also rejected. Maureen then woke up in bed with Kenny, her panties around her ankles.
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