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Paranoia, Guilt and Solve for X

So I’m in a beach house in southern China. It is a sort of hipster commune with people coming and going and crashing out around the rooms. It is a nice 2 story house with white trim from my childhood spring breaks in Seaside, FL. I am out on the wraparound sundeck outside of the upstairs master bedroom having a drink. Somethink orange in a champagne glass, and there are fireworks over the sunset. I hear a commotion on the street below, and there are 20 or so men in the olive drab of the Chinese military surrounding the neighbor’s house. On one…two…three BANG! and the front door is smashed in and a flood of olive drab rushes through the house. “Where is my fiance?” is the first thought that comes to my head at a time like this. Both concerned for her safety, and childishly mad that she is missing this spectacle and can’t corroborate my story later. That is when I see her. There. With the Chinese general on the side of the house. They are exchanging money and papers. The transaction is complete, and he leaves towards the transport trucks, but she out of habit or paranoia scans around for witnesses. Our eyes lock, and at that moment I knew. SHE was a Chinese spy.
She is up the stairs and in the bedroom before I can even finish my drink. The argument. The broken vase against the wall. One broken heart, and a fist sized hole in the sheetrock. It meant nothing to her, just a job, and she is gone. Her perfume stays behind to press the issue and make sure I don’t forget. I become one of the crashing mass, and curl up on a bare school-nurse mattress next to a candle and passout in cool silence.
Morning breaks, and the sounds of waves crashing across the street move in and out of busy street noise. Families at the beach. Mothers in striped sun hats trying to keep an eye on youth flashing in and out of sight like some kind of fragile tropical bird. I walk barefoot down the worn steps and the rough planks are warm from the sunlight. The front door was torn down, long ago, and it is the smell of dirty bodies, and drugsweat that keeps the normal people out. Squinting, I step out to the salt air and head down the Avenida Las Olas parallel to the beach. 30 feet or so to my left is a slight hill with a gathering of Chinese hipsters milling about. Usually, these people tend to shy from groups in the fear that they are in a trendy place and not the sole discoverer of the next new thing. I knew something was up, so I decide to investigate.
Someone in a neon yellow bike hat tells me that RJD2 is about to have a free concert. What? Where? He points to a steel door on the side of some ramshackle building. It is rusty and unmarked, but the people are here. That is when I see her. Standing in a trio some ways towards the back of the crowd. Most decidedly with her new mark. I think of all the calm ways to speak and keep the moral high ground on the few steps over, but when I arrive all I can say is “Hi”. She seems reluctant and indicates that I am an ex-boyfriend. The taller of the two surfer dudes she is with steps up to the plate. “Why dont you just take a walk, bro? The lady here is with ME.” Definitive. And ignorant. My rage bellows from the depths, and I can see in his companions face a slight tremble. Saying nothing, I uppercut the tall one fiercly and squarely in the jaw. Tightening my core, and using Quads and Glutes for maximum power. I can tell that his jaw is cracked, but he does not fall. His friend steps in, but I rabbit punch him in the throat, and he falls flat on his ass; clutching his neck and gasping. Guy #1 is back for more action, and actually hooks me one in the ear. Then, a charge at me and I swing aside like a matador following his path. The RJD2 steel door is behind me and I grab the back of his head, and force his own momentum face first into the door. Several times. He drops, but slowly the door opens a crack. It is the manager thinking that people are knocking for the show. “OKAY!” He says. “Comeonin!” Since I am already at the door, I am first into the “room” it is more like a closet. Comfortably accomadating 6 with standing room. The rest crowd around the open doorway and the set begins. This does not sound like RJD2. The beats are great though, and I actually let the music in and begin to enjoy myself. What happened to Laura? I don’t know, and I don’t even look back at the doorway for her face.
5 minutes into the set, the power in the room begins to cut in and out. Fed up, the DJ quits and begins to argue with his manager. I can’t make out the words, but I see the manager throw up is hands in an “I don’t know” kind of way and I know that the set is over. Everybody leaves the room, and outside it is already late dusk. Aimlessly, I wander and the entire time thoughts of her get my blood up. I am hot and fuming, I walk back to the steel door in the shadows. There 3 on the floor and 1 in a hammock are 4 girls just drifting off to sleep. I choose one blonde on the floor and begin to kiss her. Some semblance of a conscience in me tells me to reconsider, but she begins to reciprocate and the guilt vaporizes. Roughly, almost angrily, I enter her, but she seems to enjoy it and feed off my energy. Her friends are still pillowtalking oblivious to the spectacle 3 feet away. Grasping her by the shoulders, I finish. Anger is almost instantly reverted back to an empty sorrow. I have no more energy, and I blindly remember the good times with the woman I almost married. Under false pretenses no less, but regardless, it was still the same to me. Ignorance was bliss.
At my head a door opens, and the DJ and his manager step out from some green lit backroom. I stand and introduce myself. No wonder he didn’t sound like RJD2, he is Peanut Butter Wolf. I admit I am kind of excited, so I blurt out like a teeny bopper. “PB Wolf? Like, My Vinyl Weighs a Ton PB Wolf? The StonesThrow producer??” I can tell that he enjoys the recognition, and he pauses. I tell him of yesterday’s news and he sympathizes. “Come with me. I have something that can help” He takes me to the green-lit back room. More of a closet really with concrete walls. It is empty but for a rusty filing cabinet. He reaches inside and pulls out two gigantic pills the size of hookah coals. Eat these, and you won’t feel a thing he tells me. And with that he is gone and I am left alone with the sleeping girls outside.
Back at the house I hesitate. These are BIG pills. What the hell am I doing? In between thoughts of doubt I just down them before I have time to reconsider. They are ecstasy. They are extremely strong ecstacy pills and I begin to dance around the fireplace in a Native American rain dance. I feel my invisible feathers ruffle and the wind is from another place. I make my way upstairs to look at the stars. That is when I first hear the gun fire. It is so loud it sounds like it is inside the house. Outside on the wraparound balcony again, I look down to see the Olive transport in front of our house with Laura riding shotgun. Old hippies and beats begin to flee up the stairs into my room and the gunfire echoes up the stairs behind them. We jump the railing, onto the metal roof and begin to run. Here in China, the building are so dense, that we can actually run from building to building without too much trouble. It is dark and I am still fully in the throes of the drugs, so I am having a harder time than most. I cant see the soldiers in the dark, but the bullets leave trails of amber sparks for me to avoid. My Metal Gear Solid skills come in handy here, and I time it right to get about 3 roofs away. Then, my mistake. I look down. It is a sheer 3 story drop directly to concrete, and my head begins to reel. I think I might be crashing off the X and I begin to get nauseous.
Creeping on hands and knees, I aproach the edge of the roofline and slide down a gutter pipe like a scraggly trembling Indiana Jones. Barefoot in the alley puddles, I am running until a red blur and a car screches to a halt in front of me. The door opens, and it is one of the girls from the PB wolf show. “Get IN!” I slide in banging my head on the doorframe and slam the door shut unnessecarily hard. The tires peel out and we weave through alleys for a minute or two then, she pulls into an Esso station. “What are you doing?!?!?” I am nervous, and coming down and we are not out of danger. She says shes hungry and going in for some chips. I agree that some Sea Salt and Vinegar chips would be good, but maybe later. I go into the store after her, but as I push open the door everything fades to white.

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