The Whole World's Watching

I was getting pretty drunk so we went to the court

We brought a basketball and beer of all sorts

Just not enough that I would or could

We're just a buncha punks from the neighborhood

-Morning Glory

Chapter 3: Clusterfuck is Born

Some City, USA

It was Monday morning when KC finally decided to find the members of a band that he had formed on a drunken whim. He lovingly referred to it in his mind as his "Friday Night Donut Social", due to the amount of police that showed up to break up all the rioting. The event had made that morning's news, and quite naturally the local underground music scene began writing reviews of the "band" and their performance. There were quite a few venues that opened their doors to local musicians and bands, and if they were good enough, they were reviewed and published in weekly newsletters that catered to the scene. The Tenderloin was one of those places, and happened to be a goldmine for those seeking recognition. All the best locals showed up there, and it was one of the roughest bars on that side of town. It also just so happened to have it's own magazine, The Loin Cut , which was probably the most recognized and well respected in the area. Before actually locating anyone, he decided to stop by the 'Loin for two reasons. First of all, he wanted to know if he was going to be able to throw any more "Friday Night Donut Socials" at the place. Friday night's extravaganza may well have caused some extensive damages to the building, and since he was responsible for the most part, he might not be allowed back. Greta had said the band had been "really good". However, Greta was the last person on earth to give a really solid opinion of the type of music he played. After all, she listened to Bubblegum Pop and dated frat boys. As much as he adored her, there were certain things that she just didn't understand. One of those things happened to be the type of music that caused people to get violent.

The second reason was that KC wanted to see if Glacier, Floyd, and himself had actually made into the 'Cut. It wasn't every day a band caused an all out riot and made it out unscathed, unless they sucked so badly that the riot was directed onto the band themselves. Sometimes that happened. When the cops made their appearance, KC tore out of the place with such fervor that he never really discovered what had become of his band mates. Greta hadn't told him what had happened to the other two, as she had made it out very shortly after he did and wouldn't have known any way. They might have been pummeled alive for all he knew, or in jail. He figured if he could just stop by and check in on the place, he'd find more answers. If he weren't allowed back in, it would leave him a bit remorseful. This was one of his favorite haunts and the owners knew his face quite well, and he would have hated to be the cause of destruction to a place he often called a sanctuary.

When he made it down the corner to the hole-in-the-wall bar, he stepped in with bated breath and braced himself for banishment. It was dark and quiet in the place, as it should have been at that time of day. KC had to squint hard as his eyes adjusted from the morning sunlight to the more subdued lighting in the bar. Everything looked normal, at least as he had last remembered it. It was oddly decorated with old band posters, lanterns made from liquor bottles (varying from Skyy to Patron), red lights strung up over the bar, and lots of random pieces of art that patrons had put up there to sell. Lovers' names were carved into some of the walls and tables by patrons, along with some less tasteful phrases such as "Shannon sux dick and wil give u hot carls" or "Kyle has whisky dick". Some of these were accompanied by phone numbers. Some people left stickers on the table, mostly from punk, metal, and alternative bands. "Dethklok" was one of those bands, and the band's name adorned many different areas in various fonts. These were all normal, but there were some new carvings, and even some spray paint up along the walls. One particularly large one etched into a table said "NoCa$h 4eva!" . "No Cash" was one of his own monikers, and KC was quite sure he wasn't the one who had written it. It was new, and he found his eyes drifting past the liquor-lanterns and the bar only to see the words CLUSTERFUCK spray painted in bright red letters across the back wall of the area that served as the stage. The letters of the graffiti were almost as large as KC was tall, and nearly encompassed the entire wall. He knew every inch of the place so well that he might have well just lived there, and these new decorations were alien to him. Something big had happened.

No one who worked there seemed to be around the main floor, so he called out to see if someone would come out from the back. At this time of day, Tim (the owner) would probably be doing the prep work for the night crowd. Sometimes an alcoholic would breeze in at this hour in need of something to wet his whistle, and Tim would be around to provide that sort of service. Other than that, he stayed in the back and got the joint ready for the night patrons, unless someone rang for him up front. It was eleven in the morning, and even the random heavy boozer wouldn't be in for at least another hour or so.

"Tim, you there, dude?"

KC heard the office door creak open, and out came Tim. He was in his forties, and aged quite well. He was a skinny, stringy dude, but could still bounce if the situation called for it. Hardly anyone fucked with Tim.

"Hey, you! You almost got me fined, kid!"

Instead of sounding angry, he had a bit of a bemused tone. He had a deep gravelly voice that was most likely the result of thirty-some-odd years of chain smoking.

"Fuck... Shit. I'm real sorry bro. I got too fuckin' drunk. I'll make sure it won't happen again. If there's any damage, I'll work it off or something. Fuck, man. I'm real fucking sorry for that shit I pulled on Friday." This was all KC could come up with in apology to the older man.

"Sorry? You're fucking sorry? I haven't seen a band like that play in a long fucking time. You got something good here, Cabrera. Sure, you almost fucked up my bar, but I got that taken care of. I got my ways around that type of shit. And there were more cops here on Friday than flies on a pile of shit, but that was something, bro! I dunno what it was, but... it was fucking something. We want you here again. Friday, if you can make it. Bring me a show like that again, and you can consider it your payment."

KC didn't know what to say. Nothing could be said. He hadn't remembered what he had even played that night, due to the effects of whatever had been drinking that night.

Then he remembered Glacier and Floyd. What happened to them? Surely, they weren't throttled as he had initially thought?

"I gotta find my drums and guitarist, first. What happened to 'em?"

Tim lit a cigarette and tossed him the latest issue of the 'Cut. "Fuckin' bailed right after you did. Swift thinkin', dude. Unfortunately... for me, I had to clean up you guys' mess."

"You want us to clean up after ourselves, then?", KC inquired after eyeballing Tim's cigarette. "Can I bum one a those?"

Tim tossed him a Pall Mall and a lighter. "Are you even looking at that rag I tossed ya? You're on the front fucking page. All you guys."

So it was. There were all three of them, with KC up front with his bass and also on the mic, Glacier hammering the drums, and Floyd was off to the side looking a little nervous on guitar.

In front of the stage was the swarm of people already starting to riot. Whoever took the picture was probably standing on a table in the back in order to capture the whole scene.

Under the picture was a short article, written by the one and only Maxwell "Moody" Arlington. He was always the one who wrote about the bands that happened to grace the cover of The Loin Cut. Max was always chosen to write for those bands because he was rather unbiased and was open to a wide variety of sounds. If a band was particularly terrible, he would write about them in a column in the back, "The Panel of Shame". There he would mock them accordingly. While there were no actual ratings of the bands that played at the 'Loin, anyone that graced the cover was pretty much guaranteed to be a crowd favorite and anyone in the back was quickly forgotten.

He began to read the article.

CLUSTERF**K

August 8th, 2009

After Milkmen Mayhem bailed out on us on Friday night, an unexpected and pleasant surprise took their place in the from of Clusterfuck, the newest band in the local underground scene. They've got a good old school punk sound, but seemed to have upped the bass guitar and the drums. Karson "No Cash" Cabrera is their angry front-man, and is also behind that thundering bass. Gracie "Glacier" Wolfe delivers on drums, and Floyd McAllister adds a bit of subtlety to the sound on guitar. Altogether, they make a great mix, and it seems Mr. Cabrera is out to seize the world with his gripping lyrics. Unfortunately, their show was cut short due to the amount of rioting. People seemed to have gotten a little bit pumped after this gig! Congratulations, guys. We hope to see you again soon!

-Moody Max

He flipped the 'zine over to the back, for curiosity's sake.

Panel Of Shame:

Milkmen Mayhem

August 8th, 2009

You guys suck so bad, you didn't even show! At least you guys know it. You'd do better not to ever book again! Looks like your replacements delivered full force! Congrats, you fucking losers!

Your Friends,

Tim and Moody Max

Tim noticed that KC had stopped reading. "Ya like that, dude? You're the fuckin' man, now! You and your crew."

"Sounds good to me... But hell, I was so wasted I don't even know how I even pulled that shit together. Seriously."

The younger man folded up the paper and stuffed it in his back pocket.

"You'd better find out, real quick, or you ain't comin' back here.", Tim said. There was an edge in his voice. He meant what he said.

As he was turning to leave, KC thought of what it would be like not have this place of refuge and replied to Tim's threat. "Guess I'd better get it together, then."

However, the older bartender wasn't done talking to him yet.

"You know, we had a lot of bands come through here. Been here a long time." He dragged on his smoke, making the cherry glow even brighter in the dim light.

"A lot of guys that make the cover of the 'Cut, they make it big. Some bigger than others... but big all the same. If you got any sense in that skull of yours, kid,

you'll follow through. Maybe you won't be living in a squat or sleeping on a bench for the rest of your life."

In all his life, KC never thought he'd have the option of actually living somewhere that was his own. He didn't want anything fancy, just somewhere to call his own, a place to make music and somewhere warm. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be huge, but at least maybe he would be somebody in this crazy world. No, there would be no dragon-castles in the sky, endorsement deals, and hopefully he wouldn't end up in the tabloids. He just wanted to be more than a cockroach hiding in the kitchen cabinet of society.

Tim piped up again, "You know something funny?"

"What's that?", KC asked, mildly intrigued.

"This place has been around, like I told ya. I've only owned it maybe sixteen years? And there has only been one other riot in this place that was better'n yours and that was when Dethklok came by. They were big... not a big as they are now, sure as shit... But they stopped by to drink and do a gig. This was before they replaced their first rhythm guitarist with that Norsky kid they have now. He didn't come along until they were huge... Kid's a lot younger than the rest of 'em. Anyway, we had a riot so bad that people were getting bludgeoned and stabbed 'n' shit."

This was quite a surprise to KC. He never really thought about Dethklok in their early days. He felt rather dumb about it, because everyone started somewhere.

Tim crushed out his cigarette, which was down to the butt. "They were actually pretty cool guys. I think the fame went to their heads. Yeah, definitely did."

KC wasn't really fond of where the conversation was going. He didn't want to end up being an asshole. Not ever. He briefly wondered how on earth Tim still kept his bar after a stint like that. "Dude, I gotta go... find my crew, you know... But, I gotta ask, how the fuck do you still have this place if people were murdering each other in here?"

Tim gave him a toothy yellowish grin.

"They got one fucking hell of a manager."

After bumming a few more smokes off of Tim and taking a few more copies of the 'Cut, KC was on his way out to find his Drummer. Glacier would be the easier one to locate, since she didn't go to high school at this hour like Floyd and worked at the local good will store, and she would most certainly be there today. She would often let KC sort through an endless variety of donated flannel shirts and let him take the ones he liked the best, but not after washing them first. Sometimes people got lazy while donating their unwanted apparel and donated the vomit and piss stains along with the clothing. He got his beloved black beanie from her, as well. They got on quite well, although he made the mistake of taking refuge in her apartment one night. It happened to be the city's Roach Motel and there were bowls and other stuff in the sink that were half-full of rotting food and colonies upon colonies of writhing maggots, making whatever it was they were living in undulate in waves. He wondered what she paid to rent the place, because cleaner lodgings might be found in a dumpster. He would be the one to know; he'd camped out in dumpsters before.

Good Will was a few blocks over from The Tenderloin, and with some luck, he'd find the girl on her lunch break. After a trek down the block and a stop a convenience store to pilfer a soda, he found himself in such luck. Glacier was around back smoking. Her hair was a shock of neon purples and pinks, with some stark white thrown in for good measure. Half of it had been shaved, but had grown out, leaving her with a caricature of an asymmetrical bob. Also for good measure, her large bosom was hanging out of a leopard print halter top. She had a paw print tattooed on each tit, and she liked to show them off. She rounded out the look with some hot pink skinny jeans and a pair of black wedgie sandals. One might have considered it her "summer ensemble". The winter one might have included a furry coat, and the sandals were replaced with some kind of boots to rival her coat.

Glacier noticed him approaching, and nearly exploded in excitement at the sight of him, flung her half-smoked cigarette behind her and flung herself at him.

"Homan, I thought ya were in jail!", she cheered, not letting him out of her embrace. She talked kind of like a floosey, with some sort of other dialect thrown in. She was tiny, and most of her body weight probably dwelt in her chest region. She was a blessed freak of nature (and of society).

"Likewise", KC replied, prying himself from her iron grip.

"Naw, I got outta there when you shot off." She was patting his hair in a disapproving manner, as it was a nasty green-blond instead of a dark marine blue. "Ya nevah come see me no more.", she remarked with a pout. "Ya should go down ta see Shaniqua. Ya know she'll fix it for ya! Lookit mine!" She ran her fingers through her multicolored locks.

Since she was talking about hair, he just fisted over one of the copies of the magazine Tim had given him. She took one look at the and started laughing maniacally. "Hoshit! Forreal? US? Ya know we really were a clustahfuck ya know!" She paused and skimmed through the article. "Hofuck! Is this great or what? Also, I look pretty fuckin' great in that pitchah!"

"Hell yeah, it is! Tim wants us there... this Friday. Can you make it? I still gotta find Floyd."

It took her a moment to come back to reality and remember that Floyd was their guitarist. "Floyd... Floyd. Floyd. Hoyeah. He's that schoolkid friend a yours right? Got green hair like the Lady Liberty?"

"That'd be the guy.", KC sighed. Sometimes Glacier could be air headed. She was always daydreaming of some sorts. He wondered how a person could be so out of it without ever doing drugs.

"Boy, I gotcha covered. I can find him for ya. He comes around here pretty often. Looks for them flannels, like you do."

"Uh, how often? 'Cause we need to throw this shit together by friday night. That's four fuckin' days and I ain't got time to wait."

He had a lot to do in that small time frame, and waiting for Floyd to just pop up wasn't going to work in their favor. He had to write out lyrics for at least five songs, report back to Tim that the band was indeed going to show on Friday, and find some way to help Greta with one of her papers.

She lit up another stick. "Like, tomorrah kinda often. He comes up here every Tuesday to shoot the shit 'n' stare at my puppies."

With that, she exhaled. "Ya really are worked up with this aint'cha? Wanna smoke?"

Knowing full well he had quite a few cigarettes already, he took up her offer. Karson Cabrera wasn't one to turn down charity. He lit one up and handed her her lighter back. "Yeah I'm worried about this shit. C'mon! We got a chance, and that shit was fun as hell... before we got busted, yannow? Besides, if we don't show, I'm not allowed back in the place. Like, ever again."

She smiled at him devilishly. "Ya really like that place don'tcha? Yannow, ya can always stay at my place. I gotta TV now! Speakin' of, Where are ya stayin', toots?"

Awkward. He had been at Greta's for two days now, and he was hoping that landing these gigs would allow her to keep housing him. Glacier always acted like she was totally into him, but being a little flirtatious was second nature to her. Everything between them was strictly platonic, and it was the same with Greta as well. It came as a shock to him that Glacier didn't like the other girl, who had seemingly done nothing nothing to Glacier, who had met her only once. The female species were mysterious in their hierarchies.

She knew what he was thinking, and remarked that he was probably staying with her again. "Ya really like her don'tcha? Ya really do. Ya ain't never gonna admit it are ya?" she asked earnestly.

KC had no choice but to admit it. He did like the girl, but he wasn't her type. He sighed and exhaled a cloud of smoke. " So, I like her a little bit. A little bit. She's an alright girl. She's not a slut or anything. So, what you gonna do about it? You like me like that, is that why you hate her?"

Glacier stubbed out her cigarette and ruffled the man's hair with a smirk. "Break's ovah. I gotta go let Floyd know about this when he stops by tomorrah. And I believe ya got some shit ta do, too. And I'm not hatin'. If I were a lesbo, I'd be on it too, yannow?"

She turned and opened the door leading into the building behind her. "Alla us, here. Tomorrah, aftah my shift at seven. Comprende?"

"Comprende."

He watched her disappear into the building, and stood there for a small moment, feeling quite strange and overwhelmed at the same time. Did a woman just goad him into revealing his feelings about another woman? Even so, he had other business to attend to. His own feelings didn't matter at the moment. He was on the edge of something huge, he could feel it from the time Greta had told him what he did on Friday. They were all in for something life-changing, good, bad, possibly in between. A small tingle of energy seemed to buzz at the base of his feet, traveling up to his core, and the young punk sprang back toward the Tenderloin at full force.