||[Jan. 22nd, 2009|11:59 pm]
An epitaph to an old friend is what I must make.
How to be romantic about a place that was disgustingly dirty and had the foulest bathrooms ever?
Know of what could sprout from the dirty and muck that lived there.
The many late nights and early mornings that led to friendships, lovers, husbands and wives.
Books that started, books that died.
People who puked their love after stupid drinking in Belltown.
The weirdness that only went with too much coffee, questionable food and who knows what else.
My friend Josh proposing to someone he never met on his knee.
Jim always being a strange calm when dealing with utter assholes. That nonchalant facial expression.
People who know me as Carl and laugh at me saying my name is Pete.
All the great books I finished and all the knowledge I acquired.
Vonnegut made his way into my mind.
Those girls who broke my sunroof and got me stoned on my dock.
The only place that could play Big Dumb Sex by Soundgarden followed by Amish Paradise by Weird Al during a bar rush and it only fit.
The place that let know there was a real value in tipping.
A place where I could go to deal with a broken heart.
A place to find a path to a broken heart.
Somewhere better than Beth's or the Hurricane.
A place to foster a counterculture or a revolution.
Perhaps it's better it died. Something famous could have happened and it just might have been another tourist attraction. As it stands, it's just a place that a few of us remember and mourn it's passing. Even with the ugly fat Elvis stage at the end.