I had a tradition in New York of having a late night bologna sandwich after I got home from seeing a White Stripes show. It’s been a while, but I’m having a bologna sandwich right now, at 2:50am, after two late nights of dancing. Tonight a local notorious, the Dance Bully (dances violently and self-obsessedly at shows), was the dj. During “Bulls on Parade” (please.) Dance Bully joined the crowd for some of his air punching and jumping, and my $5 cover was made worth it when I witnessed him get on his knees, grab one of the crutches of a conveniently nearby injured dude, and play his air guitar heart out. What made it more ridiculous is that Dance Bully’s Father had joined the circle and was watching the whole thing. I refrain from including photos because I wouldn’t want Dance Bully to realize I’m antagonizing him. I mean, he could hurt me! It’s just another reminder that next time I should be exhaustedly eating bologna sandwiches after my own dj set. (Er, our own. Dirk?)
Um, I like commas. And parentheses. I’m just like Faulkner.