this was last week.
for some magical cosmic reason the bar was filled with magical cosmic persons. asian hipsters with jagged long haircuts. red-headed teens drinking from whiskey flasks in the girls bathroom. sweating blonde amazons dancing in groups. ghetto wannabe rich kids. gutter punks with scruffy dogs. beautiful lonely blond ian curtis reminiscent guys. chunky girls in skin tight red and pink tube dresses. coke heads screaming in their booths. sadly, no dylan.
pretty fucking cool. like, finally, some diversity at burt's tiki lo. oh, and also, they finally got their neon sign fixed.
in between mgmt and marvin gaye, a shirtless and dripping wet maniac jumped up on that ledge in front of the stage.
the guy: tall. thin. not classically handsome, but makes up for it with lovely grimy air of heroin user. chest tattoos, arm tattoos. like, how you'd imagine iggy pop, if iggy pop were 4 feet away from you and kicking people in the head. swoon.so there i was, standing next to one of those beautiful lonely ian curtis', trying to chug my tecate. we're watching the punk hanging off the stage light and a crowd of barbacks and the sound guy stand below him, swatting at his neo nazi jeans. burts doesn't have bouncers as much as it has the barbacks who drink on the job. so they grab him and throw his body outside. yawn.
in between the thin hipsters with large neon frames and stoners playing foosball were these guys. the wednesday night hip hop crowd crashed our drooling drunk dance party.
everett came out again. bloo eyes. beard. gulp.
tdog dancing with a brunette beauty whilst 200 year old business man looks on.
floor to ceiling hipster flannel. yeah yeah si i'll post this on facebook.
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