The heavy base, low and grumbling beat of dub step filled the dingy bar turned hipster club. Animals of all sorts covered the wall, all stuffed by taxidermists. The owners, or maybe it was some patrons trying to be funny, had put random club accessories on them. One deer, a doe, was dressed up in an old Steve Urkle shirt no doubt a Goodwill bin find. A mountain goat adorned with beads, pacifiers, visor glasses, and wore out glow-sticks. The amount of flair was astounding on these creatures, turning them into some kind of post modern art exhibit, a possible statement on hipster kind, but that was the joke wasn’t it?
The dressing up the mounted animals was nothing more than a funny attempt at irony which ironically enough, didn’t convey it at all. Just a marketing ploy to get college kids into the door to buy over priced PBR. Which John was already on his fifth tallboy. He thought it was probably time to start slowing down.
Despite all the flare on the walls, this small dingy bar was a pretty good place. The owner had laser lights put in, which did work well with the animals. But the thing that made this hole in the wall stellar was the acoustics. It was originally a black box theater built back in the 70’s, a place for local actors to subjugate unsuspecting masses to horrible, horrible not ready for Off Off Broadway shows. Needless to say that this place was turned into a bar before Regan was thinking about running for President.
John was feeling good, the beat reverberating through him physically and spiritually. The combination of weed and beer helped too. The club was hopping tonight, biggest crowd since, well ever. This boded well, it was his night to get up there and spin. That is if he could get over this crippling anxiety. The weed helped but not much, the beer, well it was free for the DJ’s and it helped just a little bit more.
What wasn’t helping was the current DJ, Sk4pp3r, was dishing up sick dub. Her breaks were spot on, she knew how to work the crowd. She made them antispate, want, NEED the break to come to the point they just couldn’t take the wait any longer. When the beat broke down, the crowd jumped like a school of salmon.
The thing that added to Sk4pp3r’s appeal was that she hid herself behind a mask. Actually there was nothing about her that indicated that “she” was a she. Sk4pp3r’s mask was something of a cross of a Star Wars alien and a Muppet. “She” wore a simple track suit under it. John couldn’t help if maybe she was British, that was the fashion for some over there. But then why would there be a DJ over here as some no string opening act, well why would John get billing over a DJ that traveled across the pond.
The reason John could tell Sk4pp3r was female because of how she spun. It was subtle the softness of her beat. There was a very feminine voice to they way Sk4pp3r spun and a graceful way that she moved that could have only come from years of training. Maybe she attended some kind of southern sophistication school or whatever the fuck those are called? Her hands always landed where she wanted them to, she didn’t move fast, but direct. The movements of a samurai, strong and eloquent. It all came through in her music, the beat.
John really hoped he was right because he was in love with Sk4pp3r, from the first break of her set. This was unusual for him because up until then, he didn’t even believe love was a thing. Just something to sell cards, an inflated sense of lust or attraction or something in that vein. Not that all encompassing passion deep inside, that spark of utter and total interest in a person that you can’t explain.
“Time to become a king mother fucking salmon” John looked down at his tallboy, swished it around to see how much was left in it. Probably nothing more that a strong swig. He downed it and tossed the can to the side then proceeded through the crowded dance floor. It was time to get closer to her! John stayed in the front for the rest of her set, transfixed like a dancing floor lamp on her. His heart broke when her hands shot up at the ceiling, waving to the crowd, her set was over. The music wained. Sk4pp3r walked off stage.
He hurried around backstage, trying to fight off the masses as the milled about, looking for the nearest provider of PBR. The fight back was existing, longer that it should have been. The large crowd made it nigh impossible to move, an ironic downside.
Bursting through the green room door, he looked around, trying to find her but she wasn’t to be found. Only a man, another DJ stood there.
“Skapper around? Want to tell her… him… them that they were sick out there” John wasn’t sure what to say, he wanted to hide his interest, be cool. Just in case.
The guy just looked up and shook his head no.
“Fuck”
Authors note: I wanted to do more with this one and by the looks of it I will once I’m done with this two weeks of flash fiction. If it wasn’t the need for sleep I would have continued on and not give it such a shitty ending. Look for this one sometime later on.
