SlyKat

SlyKat sits at the corner of the bar with a shot of Jamisons backed by a gin and juice in a tall pint beer glass mulling over his future, creativity, and the never ending night. He is dressed in a Raiders jersey, camoflauge pants, and black LA Dodger baseball cap, no one would could ever accuse him of not living up to the current hip fashion culture high jump bar of those who endeavor to never be seen out of character regardless of the place or time. For some reason, people such as SlyKat feel the desire to start up conversations with me, maybe just out of boredom or possibly from some inner invisible kinetic energy that radiates from my prescene in such places as this low end college two for one drinks dive I happen to be drinking in tonight.

Either way, it does not seem very possible that SlyKat will resist the need to drag me into some sort of dialouge that will no doubt transcend the realms of the rationale to the irrationale as well as whatever other plasma like particulates that float around the universe, nothing is off the table, when some people drink excessively for extended periods of time; they begin to merge the visual drama of their personal inner mind with the immediate surroundings of the reality around them. The trick is to merely take part in the illusion in a pedistrian sort of manner as if visiting a wax musuem or planetarium, just let the walls dissapear and people such SlyKat will fill in the rest with their own personal surrealist type of painting.

This guy just wants to bounce his weirdness off of someone, of course, nothing really phases me anymore, so why not just let him babble for a while and see what develops, just another means of how I get material to write. SlyKat begins by hunching over the bar and simultaneously yelling at the bartender for another drink, his last drink of the night, but that was almost two hours ago, the neccesity of constant alcohol as well as a stage to act out his routine prove to be to irrestable to pass upon on a Sunday night as the late night football game plays in the background. The drink arrives as the lesson begins with SlyKat reaching over the bar once more to shake the hand of a cook who has come out to the back bar for anothe shot of tequila. I remember the bartender pouring the man a large four ounce shot about an hour ago as he sat near the entrance to the cooking area, trying to look inconspicous, anonymous, ninja like, grabbing a quick drink then heading into the back once more to continue on with his culinary duties.

SlyKat and the cook have a quick conversation, not much more than three or four words, the cook looks as if he has been busted, yet the emotion on his face quickly departs when he realizes what kind of weekend drunk has made contact with him, no different than hanging with his buddies after a long day at work, no threat here, just grab the tequila bottle, then casually make way back the kitchen to finish the rest of the bottle with the boys. Afterwards, SlyKat looks at me and says, "You should say hello to everyone, regardless of who they are." "Doesn't matter if they are a dishwasher....... (voice trails off) ........ "When I am at the club, I say hello to the doorman, bouncer, porter, ........... everyone, (while slamming his hand down on the bar for emphasis)...... " You know why I do that?".......... (as his eyelids fight to stay open)...... I tell him, "Because you never know who might rise up in the game and become a big player."
SlyKat points his finger at me, "That's right" (while swaying back and forth in his chair) He pounds his chest, right at his heart, "You feel me, right here." "I can tell, you get it."...... (drifting from consciousness again) "Everyone remembers me, in every nightclub in town." "It gives me access to everything." SlyKat steadies himself once more.

There are points when a division between being serious or rather insane becomes an impassable rift, by this point in the dialouge I was looking for any way to distract myself with the football game on the television. The talk took on the form a rising tide from a flash flooded river swelling to such a massive proportion that it consumes nearly all of the surrounding state. Words like weights, drowning in high tides of slang, not much left to do but nod, then agree sometimes while slowly tuning ol SlyKat out, luckily for me a friend of his shows up which provided the perfect opportunity to break away from his drunk ramblings. I mean damn, should have just got up and left the bar, yet part of me is busy observing the characteristics of this urban hipster, just another chance to write about the bizarre beings who make Las Vegas their home.

Who knows how long SlyKat stayed; he seemed pretty well connected at this particular bar, no break in the flow of drinks, one right after another as if flowing from some hidden door passing down a conveyor belt directly into his hand. Couldn't drink anymore, could have been watching SlyKat who has been heading down the same path as myself for way too long, another trapped creature attached to the unlimited flow of booze, drugs, and partying, sleeping a lot less than I which almost was too impossible to believe, but with that glazed over, semi conconscious, and almost angelic tragedy upon his face; there could be no doubt that he has no yearning to change his current course of self destruction. He would be at the bar tomorrow for Monday Night Football getting wasted once more carrying on with more hardcore babbling that all the other patrons would fail to understand, thankfully I got it, a silent cry from him to get out from under all the sleepless nights, unachieved goals, and possession by a life that keeps breeding new generations of throwaway children doing the same things SlyKat has spent his entire life doing but with more reckless abandon than ever before; all too willing to take my place in front line of non stop festivities, good, I am done with it, forever.