By the time I had arrived at Market Square, the vernal sunset had reared its ugly head. Market Square, magnetically attracts everyone in town, for NO FUCKING reason, what so ever, then to drink, or admire the southern landmark. The result looks like a Phish concert, being held in an Amish community.
Traditionally, eastern towns had a farmers market at their centers. These squares, act as a main nerve for commerce, and a center for communication and communicable diseases, for the rest of society. Following suit with tradition of the east, Knoxville kept this bleak and desolate, quasi-soviet structure, in the interest of "historical preservation", and lined the perimeter of the square with bars, pubs, and restaurants...in an act designed to appease the growing tourist and college populations. This was done while simultaneously pretending to care about the historical landmark, and the locals that loved it.
This carefully, crafted, concoct sounds good on paper, was as natural to watch as a French maid fucking a buffalo, while licking a tree frogs ass, but not as strange as watching the chick who played Precious, give a midget a lap dance! Since I had a fucked up morning, and was already half drunk, it was time to play the game of personality roulette, where I'm cool as shit to some people, and randomly a total asshole to others!!
I remembered him approaching me, with a $20 bill extended in one hand, and brandishing a March 1998 issue of Penthouse magazine in the other. A black man with ornaments in his corn rows (like condoms, a baby's pacifier, a half smoked blunt), wearing an un-tied bathrobe, torn up jeans and carpet slippers, asked me "Do you believe in magic?" We found our selves in the Preservation Pub, (a beat down local dive bar that served moonshine) and after only 15 minutes in the pub, an angry crowd of white patrons became offended at Magic's enthusiasm for literature. He was just zest full of public appreciation...of the fine arts...as Larry Flint conceives it.
As a result, I was expelled from the club, before the moonshine was served...and again, those fuckers shall pay!!! I opened up a bogus tap with the bar on the 2nd floor, of the pub, getting a double vodka, and Sierra chasers. I then ambled up to the 3rd floor, and did the same thing again, informing the 3rd floor, I would be on the 2nd floor, then went down to the 1st floor, slammed my drinks, and ambled out the building with a $23 tab (not to bad???)
|This chick is wearing the glasses I stole!!!|
The Asian man put up no struggle, as I gently but assertively led him by his arm, with a smile, to the open guitar case, and moved his hand over the guitar case. He dropped his cash into the case as I smiled, and turned to the buskers and asked "Hey, you wanna split it?"
"No man..." answered the guitar player "You can have it!"
"Thanks man...I'm travl'in!" and with that, I walked away, a little bit richer.
|Me and the bike taxi guy getting drunk!!!!|
I flagged down a bicycle taxi, got a ride to the liquor store and was dropped off by the square. I only had about an hour left till my next stop...NASHVILLE!!!! I needed a smoke, and saw a group of people smoking. What the funny thing about drunk conversations is, that they always end up different then they way we perceive them at the time. What I BELIEVE was said was...
"Excuse me sir??? May I please bum one of your delicious cigarettes???" What was apparently said was...
"HEY MOTHERFUCKER...GIVE ME ONE OF YOUR SNIGARETTS...OR ILL...OR ILLL GUT YOU...FUCKIN PUNK ASS BITCH FAGGOT PIECE OF SHIT, ILL FUCK YOUR MOMMA, AND MAKE YOUR SISTER VIDEO IT...NOW FUCKIN..." and of course, at this point I may have laid hands on the dude...
Anyway, it was unclear to me how this conversation ended, except that it was followed by someone yelling in the distance "GET THE FUCK ON THE GROUND MOTHERFUCKER!!!" while I was simultaneously dispatched into the side of a paddy waggon, the same one that would cart me off to Knox County jail, exactly one hour before my bus departure...so here I am now!